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.

My New Year's Resolution Has Nothing to Do with Me

In twelve hours it will be 2011 and I just settled on a New Year's resolution. I shy away from the mundane: lose weight (never had much of a weight problem) stop drinking (with top-shelf tastes, I can't afford to overindulge) quit smoking (never inhaled a cigarette in my life) and of course, exercise daily (highly overrated). These popular resolutions center around self and as seekers of immediate gratification humans typically begin to feel resentful when they don't achieve positive results swiftly. At the very least, they fall back on the adolescent tactic of rebellion, resulting in massive quantities being eaten, imbibed, and smoked, or days spent lying on the couch refusing to lift anything heavier than the remote control.

Depriving oneself of personal pleasure can set you up for failure and may result in the revelation of unpleasant neuroses on top of the ones you are already aware of. I have discovered that if your resolutions are focused on others they are easier to keep and may become a way of life. I choose causes. I volunteer, donate, assist, or stand on a soapbox; driven to help others. 2011 marks my 25-year anniversary for volunteer work with abused women and children. This is a mission that is near and dear to my heart. I have mentored, counseled, held their hands, and wiped away the tears of the abused and neglected.

In 1993, I drove from Tucson to Phoenix on a work night—getting to bed at 4 a.m. and up again at 7 a.m.—to watch Merl Saunders and the Rainforest Band perform. Merl Saunders was an extremely talented musician and longtime collaborater with Jerry Garcia and he could play the keyboards like no other. During the show, he tossed me a tambourine and I handed it back to him, too self-conscious to participate. I regret that now, but at least it does not rate high on my list of regrets. A percentage of the profits earned from this It's In the Air tour went to The Rainforest Foundation, founded by Sting and Trudie Styler in 1981. I have always been a lover of the rainforest and it was this passion that enabled me to lose sleep that night and work the next day.

The recent proposal to build a forty-mile highway through the Serengeti in Tanzania in order to benefit the global trade of rare metals has revived my interest in environmental issues. The building of roads directly correlates to the devastation of the world's rainforests and this proposed highway will have a detrimental impact on "the place where the land moves on forever", the Serengeti.

Tagging Baby Crocodile 2009

My New Year's resolution, therefore, is to resurrect my environmental ideals; particularly regarding the Serengeti Highway and the ongoing struggle to save the rainforests. Happy New Year!

Monkey See, Monkey Do! Lamanai, Belize 2009

If you are thinking 1 year ahead, sow seeds. If you are thinking 10 years ahead, plant a tree. If you are thinking 100 years ahead, educate the people. ~ savethe rainforest.org