Rabbit, Rabbit!!! I was scared to put this in yesterday in case it cursed it by doing it early.

I was shamed into doing the beginning of this post. Shameless self promotion, what a quaint blogging term.
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You really can’t buy this kind of publicity:

Courting Destiny This writer is absolutely amazing. She may be too busy, but I hope not.

Thanks Riley!

I used to have a page of good things bloggers said about me. I gave equal time to the ones who didn’t like me. I had the quote in The Christian Science Monitor out. Tried linking to the group interview in Newsday but, uh, they wanted me to buy it, and I have never bought a newspaper article that has my name in it. I do keep out the paper that loves me’s cover because I just find it so darn adorable.

I suppose that I should be more publicity-oriented but staying under the radar suits me right now as I am focusing on my book when not obsessing about throwing away money each month.

One person thought the four figures I give my building was rent. No it’s money I pay on top of having bought the apartment outright.

i did that because I sensed that real estate was going to go to the sky. My bank kept offering me a mortgage and I never even inquired. Now real estate in most of the rest of the country is going down and in New York it might go up a bit. I’m not selling yet.

The condo in North Myrtle was so organized that cleaning four and a half rooms took at most half hour a day and was fun.
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When I came home I thought I was depressed and had one of many revelations.

I wasn’t depressed. I was sad.

That was before I saw a book in B&N about people buying into thinking they’re depressed when they’re sad, which is a natural thing and can be easily helped without medication.

So I acted which is, I think, the only thing that can solve sadness.

i spent the week organizing my apartment. I have done everything but one dresser in my one closet that is 6′ by 12′ so I really can’t complain, get rid of clothes, and uh, the storage cage in the basement. But those things can wait or be done when in between other things.

Any more time spent organizing and I will be procrastinating. It was sad to leave a duplex for six hundred square feet, or two and a half rooms with a granite kitchenette and a marble Doris Day/Rock Hudson bathroom.

When I finally sell, I will come back to New York often.
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I have been having a perfect New York weekend. Yesterday afternoon I took a nap because all this organizing uses parts of my brain that haven’t been used in years. Lucia called while I was still sleeping but before I would have overslept and been too tired to go out.

I met her and Little Luce at their apartment. The building only has about 20 apartments. Everybody knows everybody and it’s what people think of when they think of the Upper West Side. As we had friends living there 30 years ago, i know all the older tenants and most of the new ones. It feels a lot like home.

I say “it’s me” and have checked to make sure that I’m “0″ on speed dial, on the landline. “0″ is the really coveted spot because it’s the operator, and was my mother on mine for many years.

We went to a new sorely needed Italian wood burning pizza restaurant, and sat in the tiled and brick covered terrace that faces the street. They were prepping before filming a new thriller On the hook

It used to be that filming a movie was a tortured experience for the pedestrians that passed by. I would be on my own street, and a lowly PA would physically stop me from walking up the block. Never stopped me for more than 30 seconds. i do feel that people come before film shoots.

Now they’re more humane. They only stop people when they’re actually shooting. They only shoot for about a minute, and they try to let you pass even if filming. Yes, the people of New York won that one.

It was interesting to watch from a table because they were doing the light to simulate daylight. I see that often and assume it’s because night light can be used to make the exact lighting they want. There was a time in my life I would have Googled this, called the union, and found out everything I could.

Now I like the magic.

People began screaming from apartments for the noise to end as Elliot Gould was being filmed, and filmed, and filmed. Don’t know how many takes they took.

He wasn’t noisy, but some machines were.

Tomorrow the first overhaul of New York noise laws, in 30 years, will go into affect.

I don’t think that construction noise will be affected, but I’m getting my revenge on the penthouse next door anyway. They have incredible furniture that was obviously custom made. My building is on its second summer of pointing work on my line, and the dust goes into the deck also. Revenge can be sweet. Of course I sit here sneezing from the dust edging its way in as I have the windows open because it’s too beautiful for air conditioning.

After dinner I walked the eight blocks and two avenues home which is only a bit over half mile. A mile is 20 city blocks. Avenues are measured differently, and have differing widths.
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This morning Lucia came over and we walked on the Hudson River Parks to the West 30’s and back up. At one point we were walking in a bike only road, but didn’t see a pedesterian one, nor did it say “bikes only, no peds” anywhere. We were given a friendly warning by a policewoman. I wish I had my camera or a phone with me, and should next time, in case I’m given a ticket. Actually, exactly where she stopped us, it said “yield to peds” so uh…..

Then we went to the 79th Street Boat Basin for brunch. They only have white toast. How weird is that?

This is why I generally don’t write about my day. It’s not exactly fascinating. And I talk about things like toast.

We tried buying tickets for a New York Waterways Fourth of July fireworks cruise but we should have tried months ago. And don’t even ask about this.
Dylan in Bethel.

For all you Wikipedian’s, Bethel was the site of Max Yasgur’s farm where Woodstock, the one and only was.

However Lucia and I are determined to go to every thing we can. New York’s at its best in summer. The new river parks are everything I have dreamed of. They have many activities and we plan…..We’re also into a boat thing.

This morning we toured a tiny wooden boat that came here from Germany. They’re raising money to go to Scandinavia. I had neither camera nor phone nor can be trusted to photograph the right things. Also I have panic attacks when walking down staircases without good bannister’s or ones I’m not familiar with. it is part of my inability to judge space properly.

Now that I know there’s a physical cause, I wish I had let myself believe what I always intuitively knew years ago. It’s amazing the changes a bit of faith in oneself brings.

I’m listening to a Dylan song that sounds an awful lot like Tom Waits. I have to admit Dylan’s voice is uh easier on the ears. Yes I am that weird. I love Tom Waits and will come back to New York the next time he performs at The Beacon. I’m beginning to love Dylan again.

I count the years
and I shed no tears….

The games gotten old…
I’m going to have put you down for awhile

Dylan’s amazing. When I was in Junior High, he lived in the Marlin Hotel on Eighth Street. My great aunt, or my mother’s much older cousin, I was never quite sure of the relationship, managed and lived in apartment in it. My father and I went to visit her, and I won’t tell the rest of the story.
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Cooper get over the yuck crab factor. I have been kind of forced to watch people trap them and then we would cook and eat them.
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Stumble it!

This blog isn’t about Paris Hilton. Never has been and never will be. All that is wrong with our culture can be summed up in the networks frenzy to interview her. I used to love pop culture.
Trivia has been trivialized.



New York, present day

Maris paced back and forth. She needed a sign. Just one sign that things will be better.

A few weeks ago she had given into temptation. Allie had convinced her, after a couple of straight shots of Tequila, to go to Harrigans, a humongous bar, with live music, on the Upper West Side:

“We’re too old. I can’t remember the last time I went to a bar just to drink.”

Allie swirled in her new baby doll dress that fit perfectly but looked way too young for her:

“Come on. It will be fun. We haven’t done anything like this…”
“Since the year, fourteen years ago, the cabdriver kicked us out of his cab, you fell onto the sidewalk, and I had to talk the policeman out of taking you to Bellevue?”
“Maris when was the last time we had real fun?”
“Last week at the beach?”
“Doesn’t count. You know what kind of fun I’m talking about.”

They went to Harrigans. The one and only improvement over the old days was the lack of smoke. A band, that was to leave a negligible effect, was playing whiter than white boy blues.

Allie was strutting around. People were staring at the 49 and holding woman with the long blonde hair, white with baby blue flowers baby doll mini dress.

Maris thought she was beginning to truly resent this immature f–king bitch who is determined to go down, in every sense, in a blaze of alcohol fueled glory.

Maris hadn’t known what to wear. She was wearing a black and gray with a red arrow thin cotton tee, and cargo pants. Some boys tried to buy her a drink. She declined having no wish to talk or flirt or have anything to do with 20 to 30something boys.

Allie was loving the attention. She began dancing by herself, and soon was surrounded.

It made Maris sicker than she could have imagined. How could Allie have been her best friend since college? Men laughed when they asked about Allie. One had actually asked if Allie was dead yet. She had always defended Allie but couldn’t anymore.

She left the club. Maris almost ran off Columbus. On Amsterdam she ran into an old friend from high school, Jake. He had been divorced for almost a year and claimed to feel lonely. Maris had heard stories and wasn’t sure the lonely part was true.

But when he offered to take her to Cafe Luxembourg, she agreed. They sat at the bar before their table was ready and sang along with the piano player. Conversation was easy. The wine was constantly replenished. Maris went to Jake’s apartment in the new Trump buildings on the river.

It was an almost magical night. Jake was going to Europe for several weeks and leaving on an early morning flight. She slept until noon. When she went to get her cell, she realized that she had left it on vibrate all night.

There were too many messages. The sweet one that made her smile and blush was from Jake. The others were from the police and Roosevelt/St. Luke.

The detective asked her to come to the 20th Precinct. Allie had been given a date rape drug in her drink. She had been raped multiple times and beaten. She was expected to regain consciousness, but they didn’t know what the long term affects would be.

Maris literally ran to the hospital. She barely recognized Allie who was bruised, swollen and hooked to three machines.

Two weeks later Allie had regained consciousness, but made no sense. The doctors had done all they could physically do. Allie had no family, she spoke to, and had appointed Maris to make any decisions in an emergency. Fortunately Allie had good insurance that covered long term rehab.

The social worker at Roosevelt recommended that Maris see a therapist because she felt so guilty. If she hadn’t left. If she hadn’t ran into Alex, and taken her cell out of her pocket, she would have heard Allie’s message where she said she had met some guys and….The message ended there. Maris would have ran to the club if she hadn’t given into temptation. She felt as if she were the world’s lousiest friend.

The therapist, her old one, Ellen, kept telling her that there was nothing she could have done. Allie had been on the fast track to trouble for years. She knew Ellen was right, yet…..

Maris hadn’t told Jake any of this. He had met up with some friends and was on a yacht traveling the Greek Isles. He knew Allie. Anybody who had been in New York in the 70’s and 80’s knew her. The city had been littered with drunk and stoned girls but Allie had always made an impression

Once Maris wrote on a men’s room wall in Amsterdam’s, a grilled chicken and pick up place, “For a good time call Allie….” She had given a fake number.

OK Maris wasn’t perfect. She liked to play stupid jokes, drink too much, drug too much, sleep around too much, but she had always been a kind-of lady.

She had grown out of drinking, drugging and f–king too much. Well, Jake but she knew him. He hadn’t emailed or called in a few days.

The doorman called. The mail had arrived. Maris went to the mail room. Flitting inside too many catalogs, junk and broker things, was a thin blue envelope.

Maris noticed that Jake still had the same almost calligraphic handwriting he had in high school. No wonder he was such a successful graphics designer.

This was a sign alright. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope.

The story is pure fiction. It’s loosely based on stories I heard about some women my age, I knew when we were truly girls. I’m not really Maris but yes I have spent too much of my time saving people. I don’t anymore because nobody I personally know would do something like this.

Stumble it!

I wrote a long meandering post that I took down. I was feeling sorry for myself when I wrote the part about the apartment

I don’t want to be known as the blogger who lives in New York and has nothing nice to say about it. Manhattan isn’t a healthy place for people without large apartments and amenities.

A person reaches an age where she tires of living like a student though one who has much money to blow on needless things like housing.

Being home would be wonderful if there was room for my stuff. It would be nice if the living room AC wasn’t already screwed up with construction dust.

It would be nicer still if I didn’t realize that most people in the country would consider this a poor person’s apartment.

It was worth it when the maintenance or amount I pay every month was a bit over $500. At twice that plus some, it’s soooo not worth it.

It makes me resent renters who are stabilized or rent controlled. A bit under 40% of my building consists of renters. They can cry if their rent goes up 7% for two years at the most with six months notice.

I’m not supposed to be angry that my monthly expenses went up 40% with one months notice.

They live in large apartments, at least the renters here, and have second homes.

I believe in stabilization. I also believe that the owners in my building shouldn’t bear all the costs

At the annual coop board meeting, the president presented the sales figures in a square foot basis which makes sense. But when costs are divided, they are done on a room basis. So I pay almost as much each month as somebody who has 300 square feet more than I do and has a view of the park and river.

When I sell and I will, I can’t get half of what they would get. When I bought ten years ago the difference in price was $40,000. I thought I was being prudent.

I was a fool.

And I feel like an idiot for complaining so much, but I was so happy when I was away, and I’m happy when I’m not home, but this is my home.

Coop boards have almost absolute power. If they stack the rules so that it’s fair to the people who own the larger apartments, but not fair to the people who own small apartments, so be it.

This is the opposite of a democracy. The thing is in person I’m very very nice, so crying to my blog is my only outlet
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I will be back, probably this Wednesday with:



And probably on Friday with: a href=”http://fridayflashback.blogspot.com”>
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It was wonderful seeing Doug, meeting G and the amazing Tali.

Blogless Sar who still is the hostess with th mostesst, Neva, Joel,Al.
MizzyB wasn’t physically there but was in spirit. We did count down the days until 7/5 when the Boho family will be back in the United States

I have to redo the links. Something in my computer added “A”s to many words and for once I can’t take the blame.

I can’t think of a better group of people I would have picked to have lunch in The Financial Center and walk around downtown New York with.

Al knows downtown better than I do. Though when we walked to The Battery itself, as opposed to Battery Park City where my niece was born, not literally, Doug asked if building was called The Battery Fort.

From my vast knowledge of the city,uh, places that have free concerts in the summer, I was able to say:
“No, that’s Castle Clinton.”
Al confirmed it.

Al also has me singing “God Bless America.” Nothing wrong with the song but I have issues with it as my parents claimed I was obsessed with Kate Smith when I was a baby. Apparently I loved her even more than I loved Lucy.

I need to unpack and find my way back to real life.
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Something is desperately wrong with this country when people bashed Sicko before seeing it, simply because Michael Moore made it. Something is horribly wrong when the name “Michael Moore” makes people crazed. I will never forget the missing seven minutes of Bush’s life on 9/11. Somehow seeing it made it more real. Thought Moore deserved many awards for that.

The state of health care in this country is an abomination. In my yearly perusal of woman’s magazines while away I read about women being denied health coverage simply because they’re of child bearing age and have fibroid. People are being denied insurance because they take medication to manage high blood pressure which means they’re much less likely to have a stroke or heart attack.

If you’re planning to move to a state that doesn’t have no fault health insurance where everybody who can afford to have insurance can, should you put off maintaining your health?

And shouldn’t insurance, or more correctly, affordable health care be a right not a privilege?

I so wish that I could believe the Democratic party was planning on doing something about this. I have so lost what little faith I had.
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I’m so much more fun when I’m out of New York, but this city does own my heart, my soul and most of my worldly goods.

Stumble it!

This was the first Mother and Father’s Day in many a moon I could be happy for other people.

In 90, my Dad planned his own Father’s Day. We went to visit his aunt in an old people’s hotel on Long Beach in the Island.
“Where are the girls?”
“They’re right here.”
“Hi, Aunt Ann.”
“Where are the girls? Such nice girls.”
“Right here.”
“Aunt Ann, it’s us, hello.”

Finally we gave up. That was before I was a Licensed Social Worker and knew giving into the fantasy was a viable valuable technique.

Aunt Ann had always been beautiful and sweet, and so she was in deep dementia.

Then we went to an excellent Mexican restaurant in Island Park. Island Park’s known for its excellent restaurants, beautiful inlets and waterways, great bars if you like bar fights. They look real nice. The bars that is, not the bar fights though there is a certain artistry to them.

My sister and I actually spent part of an evening sitting in the car listening to some great vintage disco and watching bar fights. Hey, we know how to have fun.

Island Park’s also known for Al D’Amato, and uh Mafia connections. It will always be remembered by me as the school district that refused to open one year for fear of AIDS from the toilets or some such shit.

But this Mexican restaurant is beautiful. A man sketched my father, and gave us the sketch. The man was a professional artist and my father at 76 had the type of face people liked to look at. Especially my mother who could still basically see then.

It was a perfect family day. My father had one wish. He never wanted to grow old and decrepit and he never did. He was to die Passover/Easter weekend of the next year.

I hope there is a heaven and my parents are reunited. My mother didn’t believe at all, and that used to worry me. Just in case, only people who believe….well, I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a religious education and we are Jewish and Jews believe in the big sleep, with….

My father half believed, and the half of him that did believe asked me if he should shave half his moustache while still alive, so when he died the people who knew him before 69 would recognize him.
“Only if you want to look like an idiot in this life, daddy.”

When I told this story to relatives they laughed. They knew my Dad, and it was so typical.

The summer of the last Father’s Day, my sister had a Hampton’s share and was to meet the man she’s still married to. They have a wonderful daughter who will be Bat Mitzvahed in November. So Father’s Day’s continues in our family.

I have to give Jacquelin a bit more than a fountain pen. (Old Jewish Bar Mitzvah joke: today you are a man. Here’s a fountain pen.) It was never funny to me and still isn’t.

So clamor for my book which is coming along, and almost up to shopping. That is the last I will say about it, until I have good news, and that’s one promise I do intend to keep. Even if I can’t keep myself from talking I will.

But clamor for it as I believe I have the best platform in the world; bloggers, and I would love publishing people to understand that people who read my blog buy books.

I can promise you that nothing in the book has been in Courting. Isn’t it amazing? I have a whole life never contained in here.

This particular book is about one pivotal year in my life. It’s a Senior Year in High School/coming of age tale but told differently than most, and I think told very well.

I even learned that linear thing, and how to find a true beginning, middle and end, while retaining the essential Pia’isms.

It took a long time. But I have many more books that are just spilling out.
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Blogging’s been changing so much. When I’m on summer vacation, I buy every woman’s magazine I can find. Never read most during the year. Gawd, do they have blogs, and some invite their readers to begin blogs under their umbrella.

But we who have been blogging for awhile, we did it. We made blogging into what it is today and we should be damn proud of ourselves.

Yes I know this began as a Father’s Day post. It still is. My Dad, for all his faults, wanted to share center stage with me. Actually he wanted me to take the stage over.

In my heart, somewhere, I know that my parents are up there, somewhere, together, planning my ascension. Not up there, but down here. They believed in my talents. Had weird ways of showing it sometimes, but….
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If you’re not celebrating Father’s Day, summer officially begins this week, and please don’t tell me you hate summer. Summer’s magic.

All dreams can be wished in summer and many will come true.

I will always believe in the beauty and majesty of summer. I am a Cancer, on the cusp of Leo and my parents always made me feel that all summer belonged to me.

That was one of the most wonderful gifts that they gave me. A belief that in this one time of year, dreams come true.

Days are long, and no matter how much work you have, there has to be time in summer for enjoying life.

It’s different than the holiday season. No pressure to find the perfect gift. Or the religious wars or anything that can cause friction. Maybe from bathing suits, but my secret to a happy bathing suit season is a secret.

Summer’s about slowing down, going to the beach, having barbeque’s, laughing a bit too much, listening to songs you can sing along to

Summer’s about possibilities, dreams still to be dreamed, day dreams that can turn into reality, 57 Chevy’s, old fashioned convertibles, ice cream soda, lobster rolls, dunes, getting sand in shoes and all over. Especially when it’s me

So have a wonderful summer. And clamor for my book. I’m not sure how yet. You figure that out for now.

I can’t believe that after four years, endless revisions, throwing out entire chapters, great stories and more, I have a viable book.

And just in time for summer.

When the stars twinkle just for me, and the moon comes out just for me, and two million people in Central Park sing “happy birthday” to me.

Dare to dream the impossible. It’s summer and anything can be possible. Man first landed on the moon in summer. Just for me. It was my birthday, not that I’m celebrating it this year Really.
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Please err on the side of caution. It seemed like almost every day since I have been in Myrtle Beach, some kid has been badly injured or died.

Two days in a row, kids fell off hotel balconies.

A woman, I have come to know and like, son’s best friend was celebrating his 24th birthday. At 6:30 AM he decided it was his birthday and he just wanted one more. He didn’t live past his 24th birthday. And my new friend’s son drove eleven hours from West Virginia in the pouring rain just to go to his funeral, and drove right back.

We all think we’re invincible, even at my age, but….

Hate to say this but if you drink or drug or both, please don’t drive. Otherwise I will take to the roads, and then….

On that note I’m off for the beach.

And back from the beach. Did I say clamor?

Honestly I haven’t been that great a blogger this past year. My mind’s been otherwise occupied.

I almost discourage comments by not having recent comments on the sidebar.

Sometime last week I had my 600,000 hit since November, 2004. I wasn’t really paying attention.

I take my blog off BE frequently but always end with the same or more credits. It’s one of the sweet mysteries of life I haven’t actually analyzed or obsessed over.

Stumble it!

A life long friend told me recently that if I ever learned to drive he wouldn’t just hand in his license, he would do PSC’s warning people that danger is lurking.

Actually it was funny. I have long believed that laughing at or with myself is the best offense. I encourage my friends to laugh with me at my ineptness.

Then there are days like today. It’s the third day of rain. The first two were good. I got a lot of work done. I was forced to dig deep into myself which isn’t my favorite thing, but is necessary if I’m going to write a truthful book.

Yesterday I took a walk as it was just misting. My Cannon is large and bulky. I wanted a small cheap camera I can keep in my pocket, and I did forget the installation disc so that I can put pictures in my laptop.

I bought a cheapish camera. I couldn’t put in the memory disc properly. If that happened to you, you would probably laugh it off, return the camera or have them put it in.

But i didn’t want to walk two miles each way in the rain, today, as it was pouring most of the day. Nor did I want to take a cab though the cab company owner keeps lowering the price. Frequent keep this girl off the street discount as she can cause an accident just attempting to cross a street

I hate feeling the way I do today. I don’t find my ineptness funny. I realize, once again, the Asperger like symptoms stem from a lifetime of not being able to do things correctly.

They stem from people either thinking that I was an idiot or that I just didn’t try hard enough when I tried enough for ten people.

I go into panic attack mode when I’m like this. I lose perspective and think that I’m just not good enough in any sense.

It would be so easy to cast blame. But who? My Dad was hard on me, but he had no understanding of this problem. Though I think he did in the beginning, but so many doctors put the blame back onto me. I can’t blame them. Who knew about spatial retardation?

I have nobody to blame so I blame myself. And that’s the part that I really hate.

The ground’s drying, and I know the sun will be out all day or at least most of the day tomorrow.

Always thought my middle name should have been Annie though that’s not one of my top thousand plays.

Posts like this make me very very nervous as my disability is so hidden most people are never aware of it. Except when I can’t judge which car is coming how fast from what lane and just kinda stand there.

Stumble it!

This post garnered almost 400. I begged people to stop because a little thing called Katrina was happening and I thought that much more important than debating, if you can call it that, Intelligent Design.

I was called America-centric and more because somehow when the levees went I knew what that meant, and have spent almost two years wondering if I couldn’t focus on Light in the Piazza how Condi Rice could focus on Spamalotthe next night.

Katrina changed the blogosphere. Before Katrina, trolls were much more common. Trolls felt free to comment on any blog they didn’t like and pretty much tell people that they weren’t welcome.

People worked together during Katrina. Many of us saw that we had much more in common than our surface differences.

After this post I never cared if I got another comment again. They would come in long Gmail threads. Sometimes you miss a comment. People would get on me for that.

Excuse me, but something much more important was happening. I’m great at guilt, but will never feel guilty for putting Katrina over ID

I was invited to spend an extra week here and would love to but have a family reunion and so much else.

Since I don’t moderate comments: At the time ID seemed so very very unimportant. It seems important again.

Wombat, people kept saying that you can’t place blame and help. Maybe having lived 9/11, in NY, I knew that you could. People still trolled me for several months, but they didn’t descend in packs. Actually my worst troll was to come that October, but when he threatened bringing in his friends. Well, that was just stupid.

Trolls still happened. I learned to delete.

I do think that more people learned what we have in common is more important than what we don’t. I might hate a person’s ideology but as long as they’re not going to sacrifice people or animals, or spread inflammatory messages, hey.

Of course I am in South Carolina now. The only state in the nation not to have a major league sports team for a very interesting reason.

Stumble it!

I have been writing and reading too much about selling books, and diseases and conditions you can get from just about anything.

My brain is sun fried and I visited my first Wal Mart’s yesterday.

This has all been too much for me, so I put the two posts I wrote today, in between writing, reading and walking in the beach, in draft.

I will write about Wal Mart’s when I get home. It was an amazing experience.

Stumble it!

If you don’t read The Prattler read it! It’s my beloved Dawg’s weekend blog

He perfectly satirizes RudyG’s one note pitch. A big part of me has been wanting to switch to the Republican party just so I can vote against him in the primary.

But I might not be living in New York then and might be living in a state that lets you cross party lines for the primary. That’s how strongly I feel about him.

He wanted us to change term limits so that he could remain mayor as he believed he was the only person to be able to get us out of the mess. We didn’t.

I voted for Bloomberg the first time because I knew he was stronger and would be a better mayor than either RudyG or Mark Green.

My life was truly divided into “before” and “after” I have been contemplating, as too many of you know, leaving New York, and will for many reasons. Many of them are personal.

I have just reached a place called almost peaceful.

It hasn’t been an easy journey.

If I have to hear about 9/11 for the next two years because it’s the only thing that RudyG can bring to the table I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I don’t think that I’m alone in my feelings.

Most New Yorkers feel that on 9/10 he was a has been mayor who paraded his personal life, oh, he just makes me sick.

Of course many more people care about Paris Hilton being returned to jail.

Sometimes I wish that I were one of them

I just realized that two years ago people would have called me selfish for not wanting to hear or talk about 9/11 other than to slam RudyG.

It still hurts too much. Magazines and newspapers have trivialized it. A blank issue would be a much better tribute. Or, novel idea, interviews with real New Yorkers who pay the price of 9/11 every damn day. I can’t afford to live in my own city anymore, and I do resent that.

Stumble it!

Y’all know I make my own rules for the thrill of breaking them.

Bone wrote an amazing post on his engagement. It resonated with me strongly–every syllable.

This article sums up my feelings on many left wing bloggers.

This is an interesting article from The Economist on the end of The Sopranos Somehow brings him into it. Don’t like D’Souza at all.

I’m a person in search of a political center. Not true. I know what my politics are. Just don’t think saying f–k Bush constantly, or variations of that accomplish anything. I believe that many political bloggers are full of themselves and don’t see the nuances.

But I do love The Soprano’s

Before there was Boston Legal there was Tony and family(s).

My dad had a client, a union, that he eventually gave up because of certain things. But he used to bring me there when I was a child as they were very very child friendly. I do remember them fondly, giant beer bellies, cigars hanging out of mouthes and all….

Am looking forward to the last Sopranos and am scared at the same time. Don’t want any more deaths. My sister wants Tony to divorce Carmela and marry Dr. Melfi. This will let Carmela meet somebody not mob related.

Put the post I had below the italics into draft. Was a bit too self-indulgent for my taste. Dari I will link to Friday Flashbacks when I get back home

Wrote this post after spending too much time in the sun. Don’t feel it until after and then I’m drained and incapable of new thoughts.

Stumble it!

Rabbit, Rabbit
a href="http://fridayflashback.blogspot.com">

In June 1968, the country was in turmoil. On April 4, Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated. On June 6, Robert Kennedy was.

I was seventeen and had always cared passionately about politics and our nation.

At seventeen I cared much more about my love life. No I’m not giving details here. The book is about my late adolescence through my early 20’s.

It wasn’t the book that I set out to write. But it’s the book that’s moving along.

And so I go to Myrtle Beach, deathly afraid of sitting in coach, because I have gotten sick after riding in coach but never in first class.

However the flight is just under two hours and I have never gotten sick after a short flight. I guess the eight Aeroflot rides in the Former Soviet Union, which began this vicious bronchial cycle count as one ride.

I am going to try not to blog next week as blogging can be a good excuse not to write.

Also, I feel out of words. I will never consult a book that tells me what to blog as that, to me, would be defeating the purpose of using a new medium my way.

As I said I’m out of words. I do hope I’m not out of book writing words. There is always my Sally Brompton horoscope to inspire. It’s on the sidebar

Actually I’m not out of words as much as angry. Somebody, not the health insurance company, cashed my May check. It’s not due until the 25th but I always pay it early. Yes I know, never use a check.

When I saw that the account was delinquent, I called. After almost an hour on hold, I was told somebody would call me back. I insisted on speaking to somebody who could help me,

That’s when I found out that they were going to cut me off today. But I Fedexed them a check.

Two things I don’t understand: the envelope was metered 5/24. If it wasn’t due until the 25th how could it be delinquent?

If I paid in April and that check was supposed to be for June, how could they cut me off in June?

I asked if having paid every bill on time or more usually early counts for something. Yes, they wouldn’t report me to a credit agency.

Since they were going to cut off my service and I had paid for the month of June, shouldn’t I be reporting them somewhere?

I learned yesterday that it truly doesn’t matter if you play by every rule. When I asked at the pharmacy for a good health insurance company, the pharmacist said “they all suck. And cut people off for little reason.”

Stumble it!