The Shame of Penn State

A Pennsylvania Grand Jury has released a report alleging that sexual crimes against young boys were committed by Jerry Sandusky between the years of 1994 through 2009. Sandusky admitted in an interview that he took showers with the boys, touched their thighs, and “enjoyed horsing around with them.” In 2002, Mike McQueary, a graduate assistant, witnessed Sandusky sodomizing a young boy in the shower. Not touching his thigh. Not horsing around. A brutal rape. McQueary reported what he saw to Coach Joe Paterno, who in turn reported the abuse to Penn State’s Athletic Director. The result? Nothing. There was no further investigation by university staff, no police report filed, no trauma counseling for the wounded child.

As an advocate for victims of abuse, I was naturally disturbed when I heard about these horrendous allegations of child sexual abuse, but I was equally dismayed when I watched Penn State student’s reactions to the firing of long-time coach, Joe Paterno. It saddened me to realize that these young people did not understand the severity of the allegations.

The effects of sexual abuse are long-term, far-reaching, and devastating for the victims. Children who have experienced sexual abuse battle a multitude of psychological problems. They suffer from depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and social and emotional developmental damage. They themselves may become sexual predators and perpetrators, continuing the demoralizing cycle of abuse. They practice self-medication with illicit drugs and alcohol in order to block disturbing feelings, forget disgusting memories, and numb emotional pain. In 1998, the National Institute on Drug Abuse reported that as many as two-thirds of people in drug treatment programs reported being abused as children. The child’s psychological problems often manifest into high-risk behaviors, including promiscuity and prostitution. In their adult relationships they struggle with intimacy and trust issues. Victims must receive counseling to deal with the emotional trauma and follow-up with psychological support throughout the healing process.

It is critical that any act, or suspected act, of sexual or physical abuse be reported immediately to the proper authorities. This is the shame of Penn State University. Their failure to act allowed a child molester to continue his systematic sexual attacks upon vulnerable, innocent young boys.

The grand jury indictment against Jerry Sandusky is very specific and graphic with credible witnesses. My hope is that the notoriety of this particular case will educate the public about the mandatory reporting laws that define state roles in protecting children from abuse.

Geronimo, Union Workers, and General Miles: Six Degrees of Separation

On September 4, 1886, Geronimo surrendered for the final time to government troops, ending three decades of war between the Chiricahua Apache leader and the United States cavalry. Between 1874 and 1886, Geronimo had been captured and/or surrendered several times, and each time, he escaped and continued to fight for ownership of his native land. His surrender in 1886 was to General Nelson A. Miles, who had recently replaced General Crook in the quest to bring in the Apache chief. General Miles pursued Geronimo over three thousand miles of scorching desert terrain and deep into the treacherous Sierra Madre Mountains before negotiating a surrender that exiled Geronimo and his followers to the state of Florida.

Tomorrow, September 5th, is Labor Day, a holiday first celebrated in 1883 in New York City. In 1885, the Central Labor Union designated the first Monday in September as Labor Day and the observance spread from city to city and from state to state. In 1894, with the approval of Congress, it became a legal holiday honoring American workers for their contributions to the economic prosperity of our developing nation. The holiday was first proposed by the labor movement, but disagreement persists to this day as to which union leader can take the credit—Peter McGuire, Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, or Matthew Maguire, International Association of Machinists. McGuire, also the co-founder of the American Federation of Labor (AFL), gave a moving speech proposing a federal holiday to credit those “who from rude nature have delved and carved all the grandeur we behold.”

The epitome of grandeur at this time was the Pullman Sleeping Car, a luxury rail car designed and manufactured by entrepreneur George Pullman. The sleeping cars were a lavish display of rich décor - patterned carpets, tasseled draperies, gold-gilded accessories, and velvet upholstered furniture. Some cars came with separate libraries and sleeping quarters and offered the services of a porter, known as the Pullman Porter, which led to the creation of yet another union; the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, comprised of African-American males.

Congress passed the Labor Day Federal Holiday act after the workers at the Pullman Company, along with the American Railway Union (ARU), staged a strike against the Pullman Company for cutting factory worker’s wages while continuing to charge high rents to the workers. Pullman had created a city outside his factory and all his workers were required to live there and rent from him, even purchasing their food and gas from his profitable stores. The embittered workers and the ARU began a boycott of all Pullman sleeper cars. In four days, 125,000 workers on twenty-nine railroads across the country refused to handle Pullman cars, the factory workers walked out, and the first nationwide labor strike in the history of the United States was underway.

Edwin Walker, Counsel for the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railway, obtained a court injunction that prohibited the union leaders from supporting the boycott. The ARU ignored the injunction and continued with the strike. President Grover Cleveland then sent in federal troops to force a shutdown of the strike. Thousands of U.S. Army soldiers descended upon the strikers; killing thirteen and wounding fifty-seven others. The Pullman Strike came to a bloody end.

Who was the U.S. Army Commander who led the U.S. soldiers in their attack against the Pullman strikers? General Nelson A. Miles.

I came, I saw, I retreated.

I experienced a twenty-four hour sensory extravaganza in downtown Denver this weekend where the sport of people-watching rivals that found in Times Square. I was on a mission: to determine whether or not I could live in a metro loft above crowds of people bustling about day and night and endure the dissonance of car horns, sirens, multi-genre music, and seasonal roar of Coors Field spectators. I would also test the waters of the twice daily bumper-to-bumper rush hour commute on I-70.

After checking into the Sheraton Hotel for a complimentary stay (see Categories/Travel/Feb 07, 2011/Beware! Vampire Bugs) and studying the map the concierge gave me, I started out on-foot for the LoDo District. Five blocks later, sweat trickling down the back of my neck and knees, I boarded the 16^th Street Mall Shuttle en route to Union Station.

Within minutes, three teenage boys jumped on, cursing and maligning someone who was, by now, out of sight. Obnoxious and vulgar, armed with attitudes meant to intimidate, they were intent upon dominating the shuttle’s small space as they blocked the rear door, ignoring the physical shifting of apprehensive tourists and apathetic locals. I observed the trio of angry adolescent males and noticing that each had a slight physical disfigurement marring their appearance, I speculated that they had been fighting for their rank in life since they were young school boys.

Walking back to the hotel, I came upon two young black men, around ages 18 or 19, talking to two very young white girls - one with spikey dark purple hair and the other with pink and black streaks mixed in with her long blonde locks. I could easily overhear their conversation.

“See ya, later. Nice meeting ya.” The taller of the two grabbed his friend’s arm, pulling him away from the girls.

“What the fuck was that?” his friend protested. “They were hot. They wanted us, man. What the...”

“Yeah, right. That’s what you call trouble. If I called my mama at work and said, ‘Hey, Mama, I just picked up two fourteen-year-old white girls and I’m bringin’ ‘em home’, she would say, ‘The hell you are! Are you crazy boy?’ An, she right. That’s trouble, man. That’s what that is.”

“So, don’t tell her they white!” his friend argued.

“It’s not the color man, it’s the age, the age. Forget about them. They trouble. C’mon, the night is waitin’ on us.” His overall manner was in sharp contrast to the three on the shuttle; he had an air of confidence and sincerity, characteristics that his mama had undoubtedly instilled in him by taking the time to teach her boy the importance of values and the existence of right and wrong.

I had several appointments to view lofts and when I finished with that, I sauntered down the city blocks - watching street performers, chatting with a roadie setting up an outdoor stage for a rock-n-roll band that would be performing for a charity benefit, and finally selecting the outside patio at Willie G’s Steak and Seafood to rest and eat dinner. After all the walking and eavesdropping, I was famished. Willie’s signature seafood trio salad called out to me – shrimp remoulade, smoked salmon, and cold jumbo shrimp served on top of beefsteak tomatoes. I downed a bottle of Pellegrino water and savored a glass of Moet & Chandon champagne while continuing to watch the pedestrian parade. Couples strolled by hand-in-hand, their  eyes locked and chemistry sizzling, while others walked with a foot of space between them, unaware that their body language indicated to others that their passion for one another was waning. I watched as the homeless trudged by with downcast eyes, burdened with heavy backpacks and sorrow. Teenage girls shared secrets that made them giggle at the awkward, boisterous boys who vied for their attention. All would be my neighbors if I chose to become a downtown dweller.

The lofts I viewed were amazing with exposed brick walls, granite counters, wood floors, and private courtyards or rooftop swimming pools, but after one day I was ready to head northwest, back to my son’s apartment with its unobstructed view of the Rockies and uncongested streets. Saying a prayer of thanks as I turned onto Highway 36 West, I retreated to the mountains.  My housing search continues, but the lofty fantasy of downtown living is over.

Denver or Bust

I am in the midst of a move to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. My weekend was spent sorting clothes, shoes, coats, and toiletries into piles of yes, no, and maybe. How many bottles of shampoo and conditioner does one woman need? I didn't realize how out of control my fragrances had become, either. Expensive designer perfumes and lotions purchased over the past twenty years that I have been stubbornly hanging onto even though they probably smell like hell now. Three contractor bags later, I feel like my personal belongings are manageable and moveable.

After move number seventy, I vowed to quit counting...and I did. This move is hovering somewhere around ninety, but I am not sure. The very first time I left my home state of South Dakota I was nineteen years old and I landed in Denver. I am now moving back. Have I come full circle in my travels? Is this where I will weather out my final years? I have no way of knowing at this juncture. Oglala Lakota nomadic blood still courses through my veins, pumping adrenaline along with red and white blood cells, promising excitement, challenge, and change. Where will I unpack this time? House? Condo? Townhome? Apartment? I don't prefer the latter, yet a tiny voice keeps whispering "Downtown loft"—a lifestyle I have yet to try. This thought has been nagging me since my trip to New York City in January. Moving to Manhattan is not financially feasible, but the notion of not having to drive everywhere appeals to me. I can see me walking out of a newly renovated historical warehouse into the heart of the arts district, drinking mocha latte and reading the morning news perched upon a stool in the local java house, returning after work to eat Eggplant Parmigiano at an Italian bistro, and then walking a block to my spacious loft to watch the sun slip behind the Rockies. These romantic ruminations fuel the fire that is necessary to perform the drudgery of purging and packing.

In reality, where I live in the Denver area will depend on where I find employment. I have numerous resumes floating in cyberspace and have had several promising phone interviews. There will be no change in my career path. I am sticking to what I know and where I excel—construction, architecture, and design—and with Denver currently booming in the energy market, ranking fourth in the world after Dubai, Calgary, and Rio de Janeiro,* there are new positions being created in my field.

The job market may be hot for me, but the decision to relocate to Denver came from my heart. I miss my little family who moved here earlier this year. In their absence, my inner joy has gradually subsided. I can’t bear to be separated from my granddaughter’s smile, laughter, and contagious enthusiasm for life, and I know the cure for this temporary melancholy. And so, a new chapter unfolds.

* Colorado Energy News, July 5^th, 2011. Denver Top Five Hub for Oil and Gas Professionals. Staff reporter.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn"

 

Has there ever, in Hollywood history, been a more handsome rakish man or enticing manipulative woman? Has any other onscreen couple engaged in so many passionate squabbles? I don't think so. Entranced with the love story at age fourteen, I made this movie an annual "must watch" for many years, never tiring of watching Rhett Butler's devilish smile as he pulls  Scarlett to his chest, "Scarlett! Look at me! I've loved you more than I've ever loved any woman and I've waited for you longer than I've ever waited for any woman. Here's a soldier of the South who loves you, Scarlett. Wants to feel your arms around him, wants to carry the memory of your kisses into battle with him. Never mind about loving me, you're a woman sending a soldier to his death with a beautiful memory. Scarlett! Kiss me!"

That is all that we saw in the film—grasping, kissing, and morning-after gloating, but it was enough for me, and for the millions of other women who have watched the movie "Gone with the Wind" in the past seventy decades. I'm sure there have been almost as many men who have watched the film (at the insistence of their significant other) but I don't think they find it as titillating as a woman does.

Margaret Mitchell's Pulitzer Prize winning book, one of the best-selling novels in history, was published in June 1936, supposedly on this very day, and remains a timeless classic. David O. Selznick, Hollywood producer, knew a winner when he read one and wasted no time in purchasing the film rights to her book for $50,000.00. The production cost of the movie was 3.9 million and in 2010 (with inflation adjustment) had grossed 2.9 billion dollars. The classic film won ten academy awards. Vivien Leigh won Best Actress, but Clark Gable, up against Robert Donat for "Goodbye, Mr. Chips", did not win Best Actor. Humph. Hattie McDaniel won Best Supporting Actress, which made her the first African-American actress to be nominated and to win.

The accolades do not stop there. Mitchell gave us the unforgettable line, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," which was voted the #1 movie line of all time in 2005 by the American Film Institute.

Sadly, Mitchell did not live to write another novel. In 1949, at the age of 48, she was struck, and killed, by a drunken driver while crossing Peachtree Street in Atlanta, Georgia. The driver was convicted of involuntary manslaughter and served eleven months in prison. I am grateful she was on this earth long enough to write her glorious tale of the old south.

My Father's Shoulders

1956

 In America, we set aside the third Sunday in June to honor our paternal clan members. Although the statistics are hard to come by because the US Census Bureau has not gathered data on divorce or remarriage since 1990, it is assumed that there are now nearly as many stepfamilies as there are biological families. A quick look around at a family gathering will often confirm how prevalent blended families are in today's society. In 2011, it is not uncommon for a man to be both a father and a stepfather, but it wasn't the norm back in the 1950s when my mother, a divorced woman with three children, married my dad.

He adopted my older sister, brother, and me two years after their marriage; four biological children followed, and we were raised as one family. Father provided food, shelter, clothing, wisdom, and comfort throughout our childhood and this continued into our adult years if the need arose.  I have never looked upon my father as a stepparent—he is the only father I have ever known. Some biological fathers do not accept their child-rearing responsibilities or acknowledge their own children and a child is fortunate when a stepfather assumes the role. Often, it is not the bloodline, but the decency, integrity, and trustworthiness of the adoptive parent or stepparent that forms and solidifies a lifelong bond with the child.

Although, our family has had many challenges—family dynamics are difficult even for flesh and blood kin—we all recognize and honor one father; the stoic man who worked for the federal government for twenty-eight years to provide for and care for his family. We are blessed that he is still with us and I am grateful to be going to my sister's house today to celebrate his contribution to our lives.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I love you.

They Play Music in Heaven

For sweet baby Bionca. A song for a child from a child.

Video by RollercoasterMania

Quinn Sullivan and Buddy Guy at the Egg in Albany, NY, March 31, 2100

Devasting news today. I am at a loss for words, so I will post this video for a little angel who no longer walks with us. There is a time and a place for Blues and never has that time been more appropriate than today.

Yesterday, driving home from Colorado after visiting my son and his family, I was listening to BB King's Bluesville on Sirius XM. Bill Wax was interviewing the legendary bluesman, Buddy Guy. With Buddy was his protégé of four years—Quinn Sullivan. In 2007, Quinn went to a Buddy Guy concert with his father and was asked to come up on stage by Buddy. When Buddy heard the eight-year-old play guitar there was no turning back. They have been jamming together ever since. They played this live recording on Sirius in the studio and I was deeply moved by this young man's talent—his tender voice and amazing guitar riffs. I want to share it with you.

If you are reading this post, please say a prayer for a father and mother who tragically lost their little girl today. Hold your children and grandchildren extra tight tonight, be patient with them, give them a kiss and tell them how much you love them. We never know what tomorrow may bring.

Osama bin Laden's Death Does Not Bring Closure for Everyone

I interviewed a friend this morning who was an FBI agent during the 9/11 terrorist attacks. She agreed to talk about her experience and requested anonymity. I will call her Ann.

*

Tracy: The death of Osama bin Laden is a significant event and I wanted to talk to you because you were involved with the clean-up after 9/11. The media is reporting "a sense of closure." Are you feeling a sense of closure?

Ann: When I watched the news last night, I didn't feel a sense of closure at all. I felt numb. I thought that maybe it was because I was tired and I would feel differently today, but I don't feel any different. I still have no sense of closure. I hear that people are dancing in the streets, but I don't feel like dancing.

Tracy: Why do you think that is?

Ann: I am grateful that a very evil man is no longer alive, but I can't help but feel it is still not over. He has loyal supporters who are still very much alive. But, it's more than that.

Tracy: What is it?

Ann: I worked the night shift at the Pentagon. We worked twelve hour days, seven days a week recovering body remains and important government and military documents. Beside the Pentagon building was a large platform. We would bring the debris out of the hole and lay it on the platform to sift through it. The hole was lit up with enormous light fixtures that turned the night sky into day, enabling us to work around the clock. Families of the deceased and missing would come by at all hours of the day and night and they were allowed up on the platform. The Red Cross and Salvation Army had tents set up with food and water for the agents and workers. One night, during my shift, I had an overwhelming sense of fatigue and hunger and, you know, just burn-out, and I was on my way to the tent. Golf carts shuttled us back and forth. Sitting in the golf cart, I had a clear view of the platform. On the platform, with the bright lights behind them, stood a little boy and little girl - I would guess they were ages four and two. The boy was dressed in a suit and the little girl in her best dress. Their mother was taking a picture of them. This was a moment of clarity for me and I forgot all about being hungry and tired and remembered why I was doing this. It was so obvious that these children had lost their father in the Pentagon attack. They stood there, solemn, out of respect for their father who had suddenly been taken from them. This photograph would define their lives. (Long Pause) And the injustice of what this man had done..(her voice breaks)...this psychopath who ordered this horrific attack on the United States... I'm sorry...(heavy-hearted sigh).

Tracy: That's okay. Take your time. (I dab my eyes.)

Ann: That little boy and little girl are burned into my memory and when I recall what happened on 9/11, this is the picture I see. It was an honor for me to recover the victims' remains and treat them with the respect and care they deserved. (Pause) I don't feel like celebrating or dancing. Today, there is a twelve-year-old girl and fourteen-year-old boy who have been raised without a father. Every person who lost a loved one that day will have their own closure. When the time is right for them. Bin Laden's death closes a chapter, but it does not bring a total sense of closure. His followers...what are they going to do?

Tracy: That was my first thought as well. I'm sorry I've brought up painful memories, but I truly appreciate you sharing this with me. You have provided a personal perspective for the tragedy ten years ago and to what happened yesterday.

Ann: No, that's fine...it's okay. I'm glad to do it. This memory is the human side of FBI work. We're trained to close off emotion and to distance ourselves from the case and this memory is what I carry with me as an emotional, feeling person.

Tracy: Thank you so much.

Ann: Of course.

Tracy: Is there anything else you would like to say?

Ann: The fact that he was killed while hiding out in a mansion disturbs me. He was too...comfortable. He used a woman as a human body shield to protect himself. I hope his followers will see what a coward he was. He died a coward. That's about it.

*

New York City, the World Trade Center, the Twin Towers, the North Tower, the South Tower, Ground Zero. These are all landmarks we have heard mentioned time and again when referring to the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. Some of us may forget that one hundred twenty-five civilians and military personnel lost their lives while working in the Pentagon that day. If anything, the death of Osama bin Laden should humble us, remind us to pray once again for the thousands who lost family members, friends, and co-workers and to also say a prayer of thanks to the thousands of dedicated behind-the-scene workers who cleaned up the carnage wrought by an evil man. There may never be closure for them. I thank my good friend for her words today and for her work ten years ago.

Plant a Fruit Orchard - Vote for Manderson, South Dakota

For the past two weeks I have been voting daily for a cause that is dear to my heart and near my hometown. It is a nationwide contest for a deserving community to win a fruit orchard. A non-profit organization on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, "Sustainable Homestead Designs," has entered and needs all the votes they can get. They are up against much larger communities and have been holding their own at 4th place, which is a remarkable feat for such a small community as Manderson, SD. Chicago is in first place, with Colorado and Minnesota communities in 2nd and 3rd. Sustainable Homestead Designs is working diligently to acquire votes and have even put up a new website to help those with the voting process. I commend all who have been working on this project. You can go to their website at http://www.naturalhomes.org/ or you can go directly to the contest website at http://www.communitiestakeroot.com

Click on Vote Now, List By State, Scroll down to SD, Manderson, Plant My Vote. It will ask you to register the first time, but once you do, it takes less than a minute to vote each day. Round 1 voting is until May 31st and the finalists will go into Round 2 voting beginning June 1st. Help bring fresh fruit to the Rez! Your vote is an easy way to keep on giving year after year. Thank you!

NOTE: I am building a writing website and will be integrating my blog. I decided to do a cohesive look for both so I have changed my banner for my blog to resemble my website. My blog content will remain the same...tidbits from around the world and unsolicited opinions from yours truly.

Sexualization of Young Girls

I have never done this before in my blog, but I am reposting verbatim an article written by LZ Granderson. It is too good to pass up and he wrote it so well that nothing more needs to be said (and his writing voice is similar to my own). I am in complete agreement with Granderson's opinion. I am categorizing this post under Profound because that is how strongly I feel about the "shame on you" in this. And, by "you", I mean all who are involved in the blatant sexualization of prepubescent girls - designers, fashion buyers, retailers, and parents. If you have children or grandchildren under the age of thirteen, Puleeeeze read it! - Tracy

Editor's note: LZ Granderson writes a weekly column for CNN.com. A senior writer and columnist for ESPN The Magazine and ESPN.com, he has contributed to ESPN's "Sports Center," "Outside the Lines" and "First Take." He is a 2011 and 2010 nominee and the 2009 winner of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation award for online journalism and a 2010 and 2008 honoree of the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for column writing.

Grand Rapids, Michigan (CNN) -- I saw someone at the airport the other day who really caught my eye.

Her beautiful, long blond hair was braided back a la Bo Derek in the movie "10" (or for the younger set, Christina Aguilera during her "Xtina" phase). Her lips were pink and shiny from the gloss, and her earrings dangled playfully from her lobes.

You can tell she had been vacationing somewhere warm, because you could see her deep tan around her midriff thanks to the halter top and the tight sweatpants that rested just a little low on her waist. The icing on the cake? The word "Juicy" was written on her backside.

Yeah, that 8-year-old girl was something to see all right. ... I hope her parents are proud. Their daughter was the sexiest girl in the terminal, and she's not even in middle school yet.

Abercrombie & Fitch came under fire this spring for introducing the "Ashley," a push-up bra for girls who normally are too young to have anything to push up. Originally it was marketed for girls as young as 7, but after public outcry, it raised its intended audience to the wise old age of 12. I wonder how do people initiate a conversation in the office about the undeveloped chest of elementary school girls without someone nearby thinking they're pedophiles?

What kind of PowerPoint presentation was shown to the Abercrombie executives that persuaded them to green light such a product?

That there was a demand to make little girls hot?

I mean, that is the purpose of a push-up bra, right? To enhance sex appeal by lifting up, pushing together and basically showcasing the wearer's breasts. Now, thanks to AF Kids, girls don't have to wait until high school to feel self-conscious about their, uhm, girls. They can start almost as soon as they're potty trained. Maybe this fall the retailer should consider keeping a plastic surgeon on site for free consultations.

We've been here with Abercrombie before -- if you recall, about 10 years ago they sold thongs for 10-year-olds -- but they're hardly alone in pitching inappropriate clothing to young girls. Four years ago the popular "Bratz" franchise introduced padded bras called "bralettes" for girls as young as six. That was also around the time the good folks at Wal-Mart rolled out a pair of pink panties in its junior department with the phrase "Who Needs Credit Cards" printed on the front.

I guess I've been out-of-the-loop and didn't realize there's been an ongoing stampede of 10-year-old girls driving to the mall with their tiny fists full of cash demanding sexier apparel.

What's that you say? Ten-year-olds can't drive? They don't have money, either? Well, how else are they getting ahold of these push-up bras and whore-friendly panties?

Their parents?

Noooo, couldn't be.

What adult who wants a daughter to grow up with high self-esteem would even consider purchasing such items? What parent is looking at their sweet, little girl thinking, "She would be perfect if she just had a little bit more up top."

And then I remember the little girl at the airport. And the girls we've all seen at the mall. And the kiddie beauty pageants.

And then I realize as creepy as it is to think a store like Abercrombie is offering something like the "Ashley", the fact remains that sex only sells because people are buying it. No successful retailer would consider introducing an item like a padded bikini top for kindergartners if they didn't think people would buy it.

If they didn't think parents would buy it, which raises the question: What in the hell is wrong with us?

It's easy to blast companies for introducing the sexy wear, but our ire really should be directed at the parents who think low rise jeans for a second grader is cute. They are the ones who are spending the money to fuel this budding trend. They are the ones who are suppose to decide what's appropriate for their young children to wear, not executives looking to brew up controversy or turn a profit.

I get it, Rihanna's really popular. But that's a pretty weak reason for someone to dress their little girl like her.

I don't care how popular Lil' Wayne is, my son knows I would break both of his legs long before I would allow him to walk out of the house with his pants falling off his butt. Such a stance doesn't always makes me popular -- and the house does get tense from time to time -- but I'm his father, not his friend.

Friends bow to peer pressure. Parents say, "No, and that's the end of it."

The way I see it, my son can go to therapy later if my strict rules have scarred him. But I have peace knowing he'll be able to afford therapy as an adult because I didn't allow him to wear or do whatever he wanted as a kid.

Maybe I'm a Tiger Dad.

Maybe I should mind my own business.

Or maybe I'm just a concerned parent worried about little girls like the one I saw at the airport.

In 2007, the American Psychological Association's Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls issued a report linking early sexualization with three of the most common mental-health problems of girls and women: eating disorders, low self-esteem and depression. There's nothing inherently wrong with parents wanting to appease their daughters by buying them the latest fashions. But is getting cool points today worth the harm dressing little girls like prostitutes could cause tomorrow?

A line needs to be drawn, but not by Abercrombie. Not by Britney Spears. And not by these little girls who don't know better and desperately need their parents to be parents and not 40-year-old BFFs.

http://articles.cnn.com/2011-04-19/opinion/granderson

A Birth and an Assassination Attempt

Sweat. Tears. Screaming. Cursing. Excruciating, indefinable pain. The glory of natural childbirth when the mother refuses pain medication and epidural anesthesia, relying solely upon breathing exercises and the emotional support (ha) of her Lamaze partner. Alternating between blowing puffs of air into my face and watching sports on television, he had a green hospital gown tied around his bare chest as I had ripped his t-shirt in two from the neck down while in the throes of a 9.9 magnitude contraction.

The drama unfolded in a Sheridan, Wyoming hospital and culminated in the birth of a plump 9 lb. 6 oz. boy who had been stubbornly clinging to my womb for the past 59 hours. I made history that day for my obstetrician. He told me, "I have delivered thousands of babies and have never witnessed a labor like yours." You're welcome, Doctor. The joy of Nathaniel's birth was immense, the relief equally profound. They whisked my son away from me and placed him in an incubator where he remained for three days, traumatized by the arduous labor and difficult delivery. Stitched up, assured that my newborn was fine, and slipping into grateful slumber, my final thought was "tubes tied."

I awoke to the sound of hushed panic coming from the hospital hallway and I groggily struggled to comprehend what all the commotion was about. The voices I heard were a combination of concerned hospital staff and newscasters reporting groundbreaking news from television and radio. One thousand nine hundred miles away in George Washington University Hospital, skilled surgeons were hovering over President Ronald Reagan, White House Press Secretary James Brady, Secret Service agent Timothy McCarthy and District of Columbia policeman Thomas Delaney. A .22 caliber bullet had entered President Reagan's left lung, missing his heart by a fraction of an inch. Another bullet tore into James Brady's eye, resulting in permanent brain damage and paralysis. Timothy McCartney and Thomas Delaney eventually recovered from their gunshot wounds.

The person responsible for the assassination attempt was 25-year-old John Hinckley who claimed he was recreating a scene from the movie, Taxi Driver, which starred his imaginary lover, Jodie Foster. Hinckley was found not guilty by reason of insanity - a verdict widely criticized by American citizens and resulting in the "Insanity Defense Reform Act of 1984." James Brady would later introduce, and celebrate, the successful passing of the "Brady Bill" which imposes a five-day waiting period and background check before the purchase of a firearm can be finalized.

Although a tragic day in American history, I was blessed on March 30, 1981 with a funny, extroverted, thoughtful, generous, and kind son who has presented me with a beautiful granddaughter. My tubes were tied the following day and I have never regretted that decision. Some women are built for birthing and some are not. Experiencing natural childbirth may very well be the best form of birth control.

The Arusha Manifesto

YouTube, Wildlife Management Areas in Tanzania, Promoting Community Based Conservation and Livelihoods Produced by Real2Reel Film Productions, www.real2reel.org

Today is the first International Serengeti Day. Since my January 6th post, The Road to Ruin, there has been a lot of activity, but very little gained in the campaign to stop the proposed Serengeti Highway. Speeches, petitions, newscasts, fund-raising, donations, organized protests and global pleading have not swayed President Kikwete's stance to move forward with construction of the highway. He refuses to call it a highway because "it will not be a tarmac road." Of course, the devastation to the Serengeti remains the same regardless of the road's surface. Not even a valid offer by the World Bank to fund an alternative southern route has changed Kikwete's mind.

In 1961, Tanzania's first president, Mwalimu Julius Nyerere issued a statement, the now famous "Arusha Manifesto", regarding Tanzania's commitment to wildlife conservation. His statement became an unofficial guideline for the United Republic of Tanzania and is included in "The Wildlife Policy of Tanzania", drawn up by the Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism.

"The survival of our wildlife is a matter of grave concern to all of us in Africa. These wild creatures amid the wild places they inhabit are not only important as a source of wonder and inspiration but are an integral part of our natural resources and of our future livelihood and well being.

In accepting the trusteeship of our wildlife we solemnly declare that we will do everything in our power to make sure that our children's grand-children will be able to enjoy this rich and precious inheritance.

The conservation of wildlife and wild places calls for specialist knowledge, trained manpower, and money, and we look to other nations to co-operate with us in this important task the success or failure of which not only affects the continent of Africa but the rest of the world as well."

- Mwalimu J.K. Nyerere 1961, The Wildlife Policy of Tanzania, March 1998

The fight to save the Serengeti continues and its proponents are dedicated and passionate about the cause. The link below will take you directly to the cafepress website where you can order t-shirts, mugs, bumper stickers and totes at very reasonable prices; a small donation to help fight the road to ruin and celebrate the launch of International Serengeti Day.

Serengeti Watch - Save the Serengeti

Sheen Sheen the Winning Machine

In the late seventies, one of my favorite underdog television shows was The Gong Show produced by Chuck Barris with special guest "Gene Gene the Dancing Machine." I would imitate Gene's chug-a-chug dance step and never tired of amusing my niece and nephew with my impersonation. The Gong Show was a belly laugh for me and listening to Gene's signature dancing music after all these years put me in a happy place. The Gong Show judges were well-known comics of the decade who provided unscripted comedic chaos and combined with Barris' zany antics and the amateur talent contestants, you were presented with thirty minutes of sheer silliness.


I, along with the rest of the world, have been following Charlie Sheen's vulgar rantings on television, while reading about his court appearances, hospitalizations, and cocaine-fueled porn star-attending hotel trashing escapades in magazines, newspapers, and Hollywood blogs. In the beginning it was mildly entertaining. Not ha-ha-ha entertaining like watching The Gong Show, but scary entertaining like watching a flying trapeze artist perform without a net. What is happening to Sheen Sheen the "Winning" Machine is not really funny at all.

As if his media circus was not enough, he has invited us inside his "winning" world via his webcast, Sheen's Korner. After watching Episode 1 of Sheen's Korner, I was no longer entertained by any definition of the word - just bored to tears with his repetitive dialogue of winning, trolls, epic, gnarls gnarlington, tiger blood, goddesses, and more winning, winning, winning.  To make sure we got it, Charlie stated, "I'm not bi-polar, I'm bi-winning." For 50 minutes, I watched absolutely nothing happen except Charlie drinking a liquid out of a child's plastic Sippy cup, minutes later breaking into a profuse sweat that required mopping his face with a rag. Twenty-eight minutes into the video, Charlie hides behind a picture, takes off his hat, opens his desk drawer and bends over it face down, and after a long audible snort, pops back up with an exuberant, "Okay, we're back."

I had to pass on Episode 2 because I was still reeling from the stupidity of Episode 1. Five minutes into Episode 3, after viewing an unkempt Charlie who is unable to sit still for one second, his hair standing on end while he stutters about trolls and his "odyssey of epic, epic proportion," I conclude my research. I offer nothing more than my own unprofessional, unsolicited, personal opinion on Charlie's condition - it is highly likely that massive quantities of illegal substances exist in Charlie's skewed world and combined with the massive quantities that he has already consumed in his lifetime, they are taking a toll on his sanity. His erratic behavior is reminiscent of Hunter S. Thompson during Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but his webcast production of Sheen's Korner bears no resemblance to Thompson's brilliant Gonzo journalism.


I will never watch another episode of Sheen's Korner. It is disturbing to watch someone expose their fragile state on video, and I sincerely hope Charlie gets the professional help that he desperately needs. I don't like to poke fun at someone whose sanity is crumbling like a wedge of Stilton Bleu Cheese on a buffet table, but Joan Rivers made a clever comparison on E! Fashion Police when she commented on the dress that Heidi Klum wore to the Oscars. "This dress is busier than Charlie Sheen's liver."

100 Years of Girl Power

Today celebrates the 100th anniversary of International Women's Day. One hundred years ago, women did not have the right to work, vote, or hold public office in the United States. Thousands of dedicated women around the world have fought for gender equality and while the scale remains unbalanced even in 2011, today is the day to acknowledge the enormous strides that have been made toward women's rights. This is a global celebration of all women - past and present.

So many women have contributed to the women's rights movement throughout the years, some names are synonomous with women's rights and some are not so well known. I randomly selected four of the lesser known women to honor today. Four very different women from four countries of the world with a common goal - to obtain equal rights for women.

Alexandra Kollontai. Born in 1872 into an affluent Ukrainian family, Kollontai played a significant role in both the Russian socialist movement and women's suffrage. She organized women workers in Russia to fight against the male domination and conservatism of socialist organizations. In 1918, she was instrumental in organizing the First All-Russian Congress of Working and Peasant Women. That same year, she issued a statement following the establishment of the Central Office for Maternity and Infant Welfare. "Two million babies, tiny lights just kindled on this earth, died in Russia every year because of the ignorance of the oppressed people, because of bigotry and indifference of the class state. Two million mothers wet the Russian soil with their bitter tears each year as, with their calloused hands, they piled earth on the innocent victims of an ugly state system. Human thought has at last come out into the open vistas of the radiant epoch where the working class can build, with its own hands, forms of child care that will not deprive a child of its mother or a mother of her child." A relentless agitator for reform, Kollontai was exiled from Russia for long periods throughout her life. While exiled, she wrote numerous books, articles, and pamphlets promoting awareness of women's rights.

Jeannette Rankin. Born in Missoula, Montana Territory in 1880. In 1912, Rankin was hired by the New York Women's Suffrage Party and became the field secretary for the National American Women Suffrage Association. She was the first woman elected to United States Congress in 1916. Elected again in 1940, she made history as the only legislator to vote against the United States entering World Wars I and II. She was a respected leader and influential voice for women's suffrage and emancipation and an unapologetic pacifist. In 1968, at the age of 88, she led an organized group of over 5,000 women in Washington, DC to protest the Vietnam War.

Asma Khader. Born in 1952 in Jordanian controlled West bank, Khader is an attorney and human rights activist, focusing on women's and children's rights. Her staggering list of accomplishments include: two-term president of the Jordanian Women's Union, founder of the Sisterhood Is Global Institute - an international organization that assists Muslim women in learning technology, developer of legal literacy and legal assistance programs for Jordanian women, adviser for Human Rights Watch's Women Rights Division, and election to the Permanent Arab Court on Violence Against Women. As an author, she wrote Questions and Answers about Women's Rights in Jordanian Law and Law and the Future of Palestinian Women. She is responsible for generating global interest in the plight of women living in male-dominated Arab and Islamic countries.

Malalai Kakar. Born in Afghanistan in 1967, Kakar wore a traditional burka each day when she left the house, but underneath her burka was a uniform bearing the ranking of lieutenat colonel in the Kandahar police force. She was the first woman to graduate from the Kandahar police academy and first woman to become an investigator within the police department. As the head of Kandahar's department of crimes against women, she was the one called to examine crime scenes involving domestic abuse. Kakar was married to a man who was proud of his wife's role in helping their country. A devoted mother to their six children, she was shot dead by the Taliban in 2008 while on her way to work. The Taliban did not approve of a female police officer.

"Oh, if I could but live another century and see the fruition of all the work for women! There is so much yet to be done." - Susan B Anthony

Sources: en.wikipedia.org, encyclopedia.jrak.org, spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk., womenshistory.about.com, biography.com, journeyman.tv, brainyquote.com

The Power of Social Media

Protestors gather at Tahrir Square in Cairo ([EPA]

I don't like to delve too deeply into political issues because politics is not my strong suit and international politics are a conundrum, but I feel compelled to address the 18-day revolution in Egypt and the significance of social media in this movement.

President Obama touched on the global impact of Egypt's liberation in his February 11th speech - "There are very few moments in our lives where we have the privilege to witness history taking place." People around the world were able to experience this revolution on a personal level because of Twitter and Facebook. While the necessity for professional foreign correspondents must not be downplayed, average citizens were able to keep abreast of the revolution, moment by enthralling moment, with a tweet and a facebook check. Toward the end of his speech, President Obama declared, "This is the power of human dignity, and it can never be denied."

Yes, it certainly is the power of human dignity. It is also the power of social media. Egyptian activist Wael Ghonim stated,"This revolution started on Facebook", referring to the Facebook page We are all Khaled Said. The brutal torture and death of Khaled Said at the hands of Egyptian police added fuel to the already growing fire spread by Egyptian revolutionaries. Khaled's face became the symbol of a country desperate for change. Human Rights activists in Egypt have been protesting police brutality for years, but Facebook and Twitter gave them the opportunity to mainstream their protest and their cries of indignation were heard around the world. Uncensored videos were recorded by amateurs, downloaded on YouTube, and viewed my millions.

Would President Mubarak have stepped down if technology hadn't broadcast Egypt's desire for democracy? I think it is doubtful. Dictators rely on suppression and censorship to keep their regimes in place. After thirty years, the voice of Egypt was no longer silent and the entire world was listening. Their euphoric liberation is only the first step and the future of Egypt is uncertain at this point, but I will continue to watch and listen with the assistance of social media.

Lady Gaga versus Cinderella

I posted a comment on facebook expressing my disapproval of Lady Gaga's devil horns at the Grammy Awards. My post generated other comments so I made a journalistic decision to find out more about this self-proclaimed performance artist. I don't want to be accused of talking out of my you-know-what.

For two years, I have been listening to her songs on the radio and, at first, I thought they were catchy (until they became annoying earworms), but I had never watched her videos until my two-year-old granddaughter brought one to my attention. I was in the kitchen fixing her something to eat when I became alarmed because she was so quiet. I bolted into the living room, nearly knocking her over because she was standing right there, in front of the TV, innocent blue eyes glued to a Saturday afternoon performance on VH1featuring Lady Gaga in her bra and panties squatting over a nearly-naked male tied to a bedpost wearing black high heels.  Alejandro, Alejandro, Ale-Alejandro. I was horrified. Bad grandma, bad grandma.I had no idea the video was so sexually explicit, but then, I had no idea what any of Lady Gaga's videos portrayed until that day. Listening to the song, I would never have connected the electro-pop tune with the disturbing video.

For the sake of research, I subjected myself to an hour of Lady Gaga voyeurism and found sadomasochism, futuristic mind control, misandry, and death to be the predominant thread linking her "short films"  that conclude with someone (usually male) being killed or burned. In Telephone, Beyonce kills a man in a diner and then Gaga kills everyone with her Cook'n'Kill poison recipe. Mass murder in the diner...lovely. All of her videos are saturated with S & M, anti-christian symbolism, and the "all-seeing eye" is so obnoxiously prevalent that it lends credence to The Illuminati Puppet theory. Another quirk she demonstrates is her love of licking, or being licked, in the face. I don't know what this symbolizes and I don't want to know. I am now even less of a fan after investigating this artist and uncovering her grandiose depiction of herself - "my destiny is to be a storyteller for the world" - "my destiny is to provide for my fans" - "my fans protect me, it's now my destiny to protect them"  - "I have a lot of fans, and they're spreading the book of Gaga around the world" - "my Haus of Gaga"." Her Haus of Gaga now simply refers to her as "the Lady." She doesn't seem to realize that she is a mere mortal and her naive little monsters, as she affectionately calls them, proliferate her fantasy. One thing that is consistent about Lady Gaga are her perpetual contradictions. She can't keep anything straight because as she has admitted in several interviews, "I lie profusely..."  The media claims that she is a fashionista, bestowing her with the title of fashion icon. That is so ridiculous, I refuse to comment. However, I loved Justin Bieber's remark about Lady Gaga's arrival to the Grammy's in an egg. He told Chelsea Handler, "People say it's artistic or stuff. I'm just like, "You're an egg!"

With all the gaga sickness being spread around the world, I think parents of young girls have a lot more to worry about than the princess complex. Peggy Orenstein, in her book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, voices her concerns about the possible negative impact that pink frills, tiaras, and magic wands have on little girls. I am guilty of buying a Disney Princess Gown for my granddaugher and she is adorable in it. She serves me tea and cake and flounces about like a ballerina in her layers of crushed velvet, pink tulle and sequins. Am I worried about her? No. It is an unbelievably sweet phase and it will pass. Her father counterbalances the multitude of pink with Frolf and basketball, I am trying to teach her to not be afraid of bugs, and her mother is an ambitious, hardworking, college-educated girlie-girl.

I am more worried about the impressionable tweens and teens who idolize Lady Gaga and her monster act. The symbolism is so complex and they are not emotionally prepared or mentally mature enough to sort through the distortion of intimacy and myriad of sexual innuendos. Diehard fans of Gaga cannot agree on who she is and what she represents. Some say she is not involved with the occult or the Illuminati, while others admit she may be, but they don't care. Still others insist she represents art in its purest form.  Lady Gaga, the artist, is not very original. She refuses to stray from her redundant themes of mind control, satanism, and death laced with liberal doses of homoerotica and, she is a copycat. Camille Paglia of The Sunday Times, said it best. "Gaga has borrowed so heavily from Madonna...that it must be asked, at what point does homage become theft?...she is a ruthless recycler of other people's work."

I say, let your child choose the color she wants to wear - it may not be pink. Provide toys and activities that represent both genders and why be alarmed about childhood phases that are based on "good"?  Then, when they dive into the world of pop culture - fine-tune your parental controls!

 

Blood Suckers

Good night, sleep tight,
Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
And if they do
Then take your shoe
And knock ‘em ‘til
They’re black and blue!

         --- Author Unknown

This bedtime rhyme dates back to the mid 1800’s and millions of children have been tucked in bed snug as a bug in a rug with these soothing words. This seemingly harmless nursery rhyme is not fit for children and I’m about to tell you why, but I’m going to revise the poem and bring it into the twenty-first century.

Forget good night, forgo sleep tight,
Those nasty bedbugs are gonna bite.
And when they do
You’ll need more than a shoe
Because sucking your blood is what they do.
It’s what they do, it’s what they do!
Hotels, motels, theaters, and clubs
No one is safe from this vicious bug.
My innocence lost at such a cost,
Suitcases and clothing, all were tossed!

I didn’t spend a lot of time on the new version, roughly twenty minutes, but I have spent over two weeks cussing, rubbing, medicating, and monitoring the bedbug bites I acquired in New York City. I didn’t mention them in my January 29th blog, Notes from New York, because at that time I was still a naïve bedbug victim - believing the bites would disappear within a few days and, basking in the warm memory of Manhattan, I kept quiet, mollified by the honeymoon phase.

Seventeen days later, I am a distrustful human being. Not towards my own kind – my cynicism is focused, clearly directed at insects and specifically, parasitic insects. I have an enemy. I don’t want enemies and try very hard not to accumulate them, but this antagonist will not let me be.

The top three destinations on my Bucket List: The rainforest, New York City, and Tuscany, Italy. Last year I went to the rainforest and returned with chigger bites that lasted for weeks - six weeks to be exact. My feet, ankles and calves were covered with small lesions that itched, burned, blistered, and scarred. Paranoid upon my return to the States, I threw away all my socks, shoes, underwear, t-shirts, and my suitcase. I checked and re-checked my household plants, looking for the little buggers just in case they hitched a ride to South Dakota and found my Dracaena or Ficus to their liking. Yet, despite all that, I would return to the rainforest; this time better informed about chiggers and with a strategy to steer clear of their habitat. I know where they live, I know their secrets.

So why am I so distressed about the bed bugs? On day fourteen, I awoke with a red hot poker in my arm. My skin was swollen and stretched tight around three bites (referred to as breakfast, lunch, and dinner) with a red line streaking to my upper arm.

Bedbug bites courtesy of Manhattan

By afternoon, my forearm from wrist to elbow was bright red and on fire. The doctor determined I had soft tissue infection and blood poisoning. The vile little bloodsuckers poisoned me! Tried to kill me! I can’t forgive that.

Blood poisoning on its way to my heart

Massive doses of antibiotics were administered – ten a day for seven days, heavy dose of Prednisone for three days, tapering off every three days for nine days. Ever had to take prednisone? This was my first rodeo with the drug and I didn't dare leave the house all weekend. Didn’t trust myself. I felt like Joan Rivers on steroids with a severe case of PMS. Not cool at all. On this bug-go-round I also threw away my suitcase, my underwear, my socks, and my pajamas. I am 99% certain that the vampire bugs did not fly home with me, but my concern now is…When I travel in the future, where do I lay my weary head after a long day of sightseeing? I was blissfully resting in my hotel room on a Sweet Sleeper bed with plush pillowtop mattress when the blood-thirsty bugs assaulted me, inserting their dual feeding tubes into my unsuspecting flesh, injecting anesthesia with one tube and extracting blood with the other. I wasn’t traipsing about the jungle knee-deep in tropical flora. I was in a safe place. Or so, I thought. How will I ever regain trust in the hotel bed? Where will I find the money to buy new suitcases and underwear? What insect will accost me in Italy?

According to bedbugger.com, deadbedbugs.com, thebedbugsbite.com, badbedbugs.com, ehow.com, ezinearticles.com, CBS, NBC, ABC and all the exterminators in the U.S. – we are in the midst of a bedbug epidemic. A resurgence in bedbug infestations. A bloodsucking war that we are, thus far, losing. In August 2010, CBS listed the top ten bedbug infested cities and Ta! Da! New York City was numero uno.

I have shared my battle with the bugs and if you want to know more, visit any of the above websites/blogs to learn how to identify and exterminate bedbugs. Some of the sites include tips for travel and safeguarding your home. There are plenty of photos of the perpetrators and their victims.

Sweet dreams.

Notes from New York

Four fabulous days in New York City flew by like tumbleweeds in a Texas windstorm. I walked the grid in Midtown Manhattan between 8th and 5th Avenues and W. 59th to 34th Street (Macy’s, of course.) The current cold front was a common topic of conversation with the locals along my trek, and a question I repeatedly answered when they found out that I lived in South Dakota was, "It's just as cold there, isn't it?" No. It is not. The frigid air in New York City is not given the option of moving quickly across the plains, it becomes trapped within the skyscrapers and high-rises, swirling along the sidewalks like icy Tasmanian devils biting your ears and nose. And, I would never walk for blocks in the South Dakota cold. No point in that as there really is nothing exciting to see along the way.

I was in NYC to attend the 2011 Writers Digest Conference, a powerhouse of editors and agents imparting wisdom to hungry aspiring authors. I would not have missed it for...shall we say – all the tea in china, because I have a tea from China from Manhattan story. As I scurried along Fifth Avenue, darting in and out of stores to stave off the onset of frostbite, a tea shop caught my eye, and as a tea enthusiast, I gladly entered.  Behind the counter, surrounded by shelves laden with tea tins, stood two lovely Manhattanites. I told them my preferences - Chai for morning, green for afternoon, and something snoozy before bed. Tins were pulled from the shelves; tea scooped out and ceremoniously placed under my nose. "How much is this?" I asked, breathing in the seductive spicy notes of India Chai. "$9.52 an ounce." Okay, I'll take an ounce. The nighttime tea smelled like heaven - licorice, coriander, ginger and anise, a perfect concoction for sweet dreams. $14.25 an ounce. A bit pricey, but still within my budget, so I purchased an ounce. The green tea I selected smelled like freshly cut grass. Not the aroma you would typically associate with tea, but it stirred up my olfactory receptors, producing pleasant memories as a child rolling down a hill in the park, an adolescent swimming at the public pool, and a woman watching a shirtless man with bulging biceps mow her lawn (my ex-husband, not the gardener). "Okay," I said. "One ounce." "It's rare, from China," said the impeccably coiffed sales clerk. "Even better," I quipped. She clicked the keys on the register with her enviable manicured nails and looking me right in the eyes, announced, “$77.57.” The other clerk turned to look,  gauging my reaction. I forced a smile, swallowed hard, gave her my hard-earned cash, took my small bag of assorted tea and returned to the cold. The sparkle of New York diffused slightly with that transaction; it slipped from a shiny ten down to an eight in need of buffing, then bounced back to a dazzling ten that afternoon as I watched the Broadway play, La Cage aux Folles. Very much a newbie, I already understood the love/hate relationship that defines New York City. I have yet to try the green tea. At $53.80 an ounce, it should be saved for a special occasion. Right? On the other hand, I don't know anyone who might enjoy drinking freshly mown grass.

Back to the conference. I am a faithful reader of Chuck Sambuchino's blog, Guide to a Literary Agent, and he was the moderator for the event. Loved his style, his looks, his dry wit, his remarks - he is the poster man for the literary world. Janet Reid, agent and Query Shark. She. Was. A. Riot! The woman you want for a friend. If you are having a bad day and call her to complain, she will either chew you up and distastefully spit you out or make you laugh until you pee your pants. Donald Maass was very soft spoken and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, gaining an inch in proximity so I would not miss a single word. Really. He is that good. If he represented me, I would have to say ten Hail Mary's every night and I am not even Catholic. Richard Nash, Keynote Speaker. A tad too dry for my taste, but I will admit he exists on a higher intellectual plane than I do and just when I was wondering if he was going to make a point, WHAM BAM, he did. The man is a reading, writing, and publishing guru.

The Pitch Slam was a grueling, sweaty event - over 500 writers and 50+ agents crammed into a ballroom that didn't quite accommodate the long lines of anxious writers. By 4:30, the agents’ smiles seemed contrived and their eyes were beginning to glaze over. Except for one. She was continually wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes as she listened to a pitch from Chris Sandahl, the gregarious young writer/comedian who made everyone laugh at the "Ask the Agents" Panel. Looking over my list of agents, I was wondering who I should get constructive criticism from next when I decided to forgo a pitch in order to meet a woman that I admire - Regina Brooks, the first African American woman in history to graduate with a Degree in Aerospace Engineering from Ohio State University. She worked at NASA before making her mark in the publishing world; obtaining a degree from Howard University Publishing Institute and founding Serendipity Literary Agency. Her list of accolades is long and impressive, including working with underprivileged women and children. We spoke for thirty seconds and I found myself rejuvenated. I got my groove back. When the final three-minute bell rang, she gave me her business card – the only one I obtained that day.  Her parting words, "Let's stay in touch," ended the pitch slam on a perfect note.

I met many wonderful writers and New Yorkers, some I will remember and some I won't, but I will never forget the illuminating passion shared by all - for writing and for New York City.

The Road to Ruin: Forty-mile road proposed through the Serengeti

 

A forty-mile road that will cross the northern end of the Serengeti and pass through the largest wildlife migratory corridor on the planet was proposed by the Tanzanian government in 2010. The government, wooed by Gala Group Ltd. and other smaller mining companies, is convinced that the highway will facilitate commercial traffic and promote tourism in Tanzania. President Jakaya Kikwete has fervently defended his support of the proposed highway despite the predicted outcome: collapse of the world's greatest existing migratory system.

Environmentalists, conservation groups, scientists, lawyers, and even the travel industry are working together in an attempt to cease construction of this destructive road. The African Network for Animal Welfare (ANAW) has requested an injunction to stop the proposal. Lawyers Environmental Action Team (LEAT) is lobbying against the highway. Jane Goodall, who has spent a significant part of her life in Tanzania, has personally implored Kikwete to seek an alternate southern route, even offering to campaign internationally for donations to build a southern highway. A southern route is feasible and is actually less expensive, but would circumvent Lake Victoria, an area rich in rare metals. Metals that we need for cell phones and laptop computers. Metals that China buys up as quickly as they can be mined from the Serengeti Plain.

Devastating deforestation of the Amazon Rainforest began with a road that allowed loggers, miners and ranchers to invade the pristine land; spewing pollution, spreading disease, trampling flora and fauna, butchering wildlife, and destroying cultures. Trees were cut down, wildlife habitats were fractured, a flawless ecosystem shattered, and indigenous people were forced off their land.  Sound familiar? It should. It happened on the Great Plains of America in the 1800s when millions of buffalo and thousands of Lakota co-existed in an ecologically sound relationship until a railroad was built to link the Eastern states with the West to access its promise of land and gold. Of course, I wasn't a witness to the rape of the plains, but my Lakota ancestors were.

The buffalo and some Indian tribes came close to extinction in the 1800s, and now, the wildebeest, elephant, zebra, and aboriginal people of Africa are faced with the same threat if the Arusha-Musoma highway is built. History repeats itself as with the Great Plains and the Amazon. Roads are constructed in the name of progress and progress is often a disguise for greed. China wants the metal coltan from Tanzania and the world wants cell phones and laptops from China. Computers and cell phones are no longer a luxury but a necessity in our busy technological world and boycotting them is not likely, but promoting and encouraging a southern highway that bypasses the Serengeti is a realistic alternative.

SavetheSerengeti.org is a permanent nonprofit organization opposing the commercial highway. It is a valid conservation organization. Please visit their website and support their efforts. There is not much time left. The road is being surveyed right now and construction will begin in 2012.