Back when I was young(er) I learned why I couldn't become a doctor. It's a tragedy of enormous proportions am sure, since my bedside manner is great. Sigh. OK, am not a good candidate for an award in the order of Florence Nightingale. But still, what a waste am sure more than one person would have benefited from some "take it like a man" straight talking words of wisdom. If you need a love tap to wake you up, I'd love to be the one to boom, slap you with my foot, smell it, smell it, now kiss it. OK, that wouldn't work either, although am extremely flexible, am not as good as the Zohan. But I can try. :D

Although if we're honest, it's not "taken as a man" that you need to worry about, it's take it as a woman. That's tough. I know of a first person (now second with me) account of a woman that underwent major surgery (bullet issues, ouch) without being knocked out. (double ouch) It was war time, and supplies were on the short side. she was a rebel fighter, and all the while ruling party soldiers roamed the very area where she was getting her midsection split open. Yep. tough.

Anyhow. I knew from an early age I wasn't destined for a scalpel (apart from the fact that I was always craving the use of a brush that is). Ahh, those beautiful days of our youth, when we give priority to eating, sleeping and avoiding any and all rules. You remember your own biology classes? I do. I went to a ghetto school, with teachers that did what they could and didn't tax themselves with the "lost" causes. Their caring stopped sometimes at the toll of the last bell. (Not all, after all this is a very self-sacrificing sort of career)

Now that I think about it, that's the worst kind of boredom, poor saps, but I feel more sorry for the kids. The teachers were facing an unending line of kids coming and going over the years. So many, that they became ghosts...or perhaps cattle to be herded through their rooms. Give them the requisite knowledge, hope it sticks, paste a pass or fail grade...moooo...and on to the next station. Very automated. Robotic.

Biology though? that has special meaning in my book. I hated it, with a passion. There was the octopus (I think it was, other wise it was a squid) class, where we had to cut open one of those slimy multi-tentacled bulbous headed (yummy in ceviche though) creatures. Our mission: the ink. We had to "fish" around and find the ink sac. Next with a brush or stick (faulty memory chip) and perhaps one of the few cool parts we had to do (non-too-sick) was write our names with it.

That's not such a big issue, but for the fact that it was a nasty smelling mess. There's two other times we played doctor with cutting tools. Yah, hand over those cutting implements to the kids please. The first I recollect, was the grasshoppers. (Yes, yes, a friend once mentioned to me that they are cousins of the roach. I don't care Jiminy Cricket, and Mulans little friend certainly don't resemble the monsters from the Men in Black flick.) Those little suckers didn't stand a chance. We had them pinned with long thin needles while carefully we did our best to learn and "explore" the little boogers (I was going to say buggers, but I hear it's a bad word in England. These creatures gave their lives to science, some respect please.)

Crunch, crunch there went the exoskeletons. (Am building you up here let me know if it's working) They were actually kinda flaky (literally) guess they'd being dead for some time. I don't think I was as grossed out by the insects though, as I was by the larvae state. We had this (one of the few cool teachers that I remember, and had a chance to meet again many years later, he'd turned counselor at that point.) this lesson were we learned about the maturing process of butterflies, flies, insects that start as larvae (maggots) get in the cocoon, and come out as a winged beaut or not. (The housefly, Daniel Goldblum sure made a career of mixing his DNA with one...in the movie "The Fly")

There we were, learning about maggots. Let's be real here. They were maggots (I may have vomited a bit in my mouth, hold on I need to rinse it out. OK. Am back.) and I don't particularly care for them. Reason why I don't mind the idea of squashing them. Anyway on that particular springy sort of spring day, our teacher made an offer, that to this day I shudder to remember it. (ewwww) He offered class points, yes, points for those that dare to eat one, or two, or three...of the alive and squirming little BUGGERS in his bowl. You see? It seems that maggots are just another commodity in the world of science, and they are bred in "clean" environments, fed only high grade grains, etc.

That's the kind these were. They were clean, ready for consumption, or use. They were squirming. 'Nuff said. To prove that he meant it, and to make sure everyone in the class believed him that he MEANT it, and would give out class points? He reached in grabbed a couple, and like popcorn (wriggling, segmented, disgusting, type of popcorn) he well popped them into his mouth, chewed a bit, yes, freaking chewed a bit, and swallowed. He didn't require the chewing part, but the brave point seekers had to swallow.

Now, you know we gals? We dare, and do things that can be brave, but we're not stupid (plus we usually have the better grades because we're supposed to be good...if you're a nerd like me at least) so we don't follow...the leader. A few guys (2 dumb asses) chose to take the dare, and for 5 measly points (that couldn't make you or break you) they went ahead (after much deep breathing, to psyche themselves up am sure) they swallowed maggots. (nasty) That's another strike in the doctoral career.

But. Wait. I have one more. (And this one, just clinched it for me.) All those dissections are in my opinion, required scholastic torture. We passed the invertebrates, went into the exoskeleton members of society (yeah, there's some of us that are so thick skinned they might as well be insects, MIB) did the larvae and went into the warm blooded section of nature. The pig. The dreaded BABY pig. I think that's when I got a phobia of, and hated for YEARS bacon. I could not eat the stuff, even though it smells great. How about that. The pig organs are supposed to have very similar characteristics to the human organs so we were given some of the porcine young to cut open.

I don't know about you, but having one of the little (and I mean little, about 6 inches long) suckers spread-eagled on a tray. Skin peeled back, muscles cut according to instructions, and soon organs "explored" and taken out to watch shape, color, and texture. (yuckkkkkkkk) Dr. G. Medical Examiner, AM NOT.

Although I have this fascination now with "who done it" (Law and Order, CSI, NCIS, etc) shows that show you all kinds of shots of the morgue and it's denizens...lying in gurneys or walking around. BTW, have you ever seen that show Dexter? That is one sick freak, but fascinating. Go figure. Human nature.

Yah. That piglet sure did the trick. I was done in that particular field of knowledge. My Pops at one time even managed to wrest a promise from me that I would look into perhaps doing something medical related. I couldn't move past those memories, and take a look at the University's course catalog. That poor, poor baby pig it was given it's wings before it's time. I would not be doing any exorcist stuff (like projectile vomiting) on the sight of my first cadaver. Heck no. Why put myself through that? Plus, I've got a sensitive nose that would not like the formaldehyde and whatever other "preservatives are used.

My hearing? That's faulty, but the nose? That works pretty well. (Reason why I LOVE that my man doesn't wear cologne. Just natural body scent which is SEXY and just fine by me. Thank goodness.) I'll stick to paints, pencils, clay, and doing my sculptures. That's worked rather well, and no, I won't be doing any human body research like the artists of old used to do. How do you think the "ancients" learned what muscles went where and how to depict them accurately? They invested in body snatchers, and "explored" the dead to know how to create their perfectly aligned limbs. That's another tradition of the medical field. It's ghoulish need for bodies, to learn the insides of humanity.

I am thankful for the knowledge the doc's have. I don't envy or want to know ANYTHING of how they went about learning it. I'll inquire more on the subject? When pigs fly.

Tales from Last Year's Xmas List

There's nothing like the sense of anticipation. You're an adult already, you don't want to seem too eager, but it's hard. Christmas is one of those times of the year when we give ourselves a pass to let go...a little bit. We don't jump around, we don't scream (much), but we do tear that wrapping paper with gusto.

Yay. It's a gift, a present from someone that cares for you. Last year you gave them a sweater. A nice knit aqua colored sweater. As you're remembering that time a year before, when your loved one tore into their own present, you're feeling glee! You're excited. You can't help it. A gift that comes from those you love is always heartwarming.

You reach the box, it's long and flat. Hmmm. It doesn't rattle. Ok, it's not the exercising Nintendo Wii. (Big relief that one, you don't want anyone saying you've put on some "love" handles) It's got to be clothing. Yessss. That's always good. You're a clothes horse, you love to shop, and any gift of that nature, it's good, its GREAT! There. You've pulled all the bits of tape that sealed the box, people around you are staring. They are sharing your quiet excitement. It's Christmas after all. And every gift be it yours or not: counts. It's so exciting.

With bated breath you open the box, pull back the tissue paper. Tadda! It's a knit aqua colored sweater. What? Huh? Oh me, Oh my, you've being regifted. How do you begin to react? Well, first take a deep breath, the excitement is gone, now you start to think about it and shake your head. It happens. If you're lucky (and come on now, you've got excellent taste, so the regift is...nice. Correct?) the sweater fits. Look around, some will recognize it if they went shopping with you last year...and if they have long memories.

Some do, and some don't care. As to the culprit? Well, you can't hold a grudge...for long, it's your loved one after all. And they do say it's all in the spirit of Christmas right? Right? Good. You've got the right attitude. That's happened before, and it will again. Say thanks with a kiss and a hug.

That's the spirit, and next year...maybe you can hold on to the sweater ... and give two gifts: one new, and the sweater. Just kidding... but it's tempting...

Do you remember that show? Where there were a man, a "little" person (and I mean minute) trying to survive in and escape a land of giants? I can't remember the name of the show, it was one of those 70's (I think) shows, no, NOT the "70's show", but A 70's show. (Gees, that last phrase is grounds for getting anyone dizzy, it spins you around. Anyway) Well. Anyway, it was a rerun. (Am a child of the rerun era.)

That show was actually kind of interesting. A take on the concept of "Gulliver's Travels", I know you all know what that is right? By Jonathan Swift? It's an interesting read, and a deeply biting political satire if I ever heard one. But alas, I digress (again). Like I said, I was remembering that show of the "little" people and (now that I think about it, the political undercurrents, and social breakdowns that Swift's book talks about is missing, but that's just my opinion, and the show was still entertaining)

When the "little" person is "marooned" in a land of giants, he must survive the odds to make it home. I can't remember if it was only one person or if it was a group. So for the purpose of this note, I will simply assume it was 1 person, but feel free to make a comment and let me know if you remember? I can't even place the name of the show. You know those toons of the giant shoe coming down on the small character? That was the kind of trip that show took you through.

Here's my take and break down of the book, and I tell you? Seeing how am not very good with politics (I think black is up {Obama is losing popularity like you can't believe...told you so..}, white is not a color {that's a fact, that is the absence of color actually. uhhh. I do like my mans tightie whities though} but simply a denomination some attack and some use like a badge of honor, and I demand that the shading be left up to the artists, because the politicians tend to muddie up the colors and you have nothing but a nasty dirty looking landscape.)

So. Gulliver's travels? They are about social strata. My guess. There's the Giants. People that rule over everyone else. By force, charm, riches or power. They are monstrous in their strength. The same way that they can be "funny" they also have their faults and frailties magnified to horrifying detail. How interesting is it that in the current society we live? We are able to identify these giants? The luminaries of Hollywood? With their rioting attempts to evade the media. Another giant with it's incisive attempts to cut them open for a "thorough" in depth look at what makes them...uhhh, I don't know? People? At the same time they run around ruling over the rest of the world their popularity to achieve and further whatever "causes" they support? Hmmm? Am I right? Apply that to the bureaucrats, men and woman caught with their proverbial pants down, in affairs, in money laundering, in scams and any number of other brokered physical and/or monetary services? They are the giants. They represent the crushing power of wealth.

Anyone that knows Swifts story though, knows that the land of giants is only one of the anecdotes by Gulliver. There's the land of Lilliputians, who are a people (in reverse now) small enough to hold in his hand. Are then these people not the masses? Those that are subject to the giants? They are the ones that go about life thinking themselves powerful, ingratiating themselves to their particular "giant" (Gulliver) and thinking they are in control, until such as time as the giant turns on them? Even in this caste there's a hierarchy. A king among them, but still too small and ineffectual to truly bring down the giant alone...until they figure out, that their strength is in their unity? They represent the potential power the weak can gather if they unite.

Maybe a movie on the book would be kind of cool, with a reference to the different social classifications being put together. You know what? I think am going to play around with the idea and see if I can put together a book of my own. Hmmm. Modern Day Gulliver. Interesting. I would have to wonder who he is if not a horse (another of the "peoples" he meets in his travels) in his own land. The horse people. Are the equivalent of our intellectuals. A group that is set on exploring the "meaning of life" and exchange thought with Gulliver for a period of time until the moment they find that Gulliver holds the physical characteristics of their brutish enemies (the Yahoos...yes as in the search engine, now I wonder at the intention behind naming that site Yahoo.) It's at this time, that they show the close minded reality of their world. They search for meaning, but fail to accept it when it comes to them.

There's other lands, like the one where one group oppresses the other, by using science, in crazy and wasteful ways. Hmmm. Sounds like modern day man, more and more. And of course, there's also others like the Struldbrugs who are supposed to be senile immortals. Plastic surgery anyone? Have you seen the faces of older people that struggle to stay young by going under the knife...repeatedly? How their faces look like stretched caricatures of their old NATURAL selves? All in a crazy attempt to hold on to a youth that leaves us all behind. No matter how we may try to chase the wrinkles away.

There you have it. I think am not completely crazy in thinking that book's subject is very much contemporary despite the fact that it is supposed to reflect the political strife, and demagoguery that Jonathan Swift lived. I will allow myself the right to hazard this guess: I don't think humanity has learned the lesson yet. Likely, neither have I, but at least? Am aware of it. Thanks for reading.

No wait it's supposed to about You!

There's nothing more interesting that finding a writer that "whets" your interest. That is: said writer brings out in you the need, the compulsion...to respond. Some writers? They manage to engage their readers more than others. Me? I seem to be a provocateur. I am one of those writers that everyone (Ok, that's just big talk...some, we'll say: some) loves to read...but nobody dares to admit it. Hmmmm. Oh, well must be the content? The voice? (Can you hear the desperateness in the questions? Throw me a bone here people.) It's not the subject right? I know talking about me, myself and I is not boring. Ok. I actually don't...but I do talk from my perspective. Hey. That's the only view point that counts...(ooops, did I write that ...uhhh..."outloud"?)

Since it's my intent to be sure and spread my name (repeatable mantra: reason why it's...repeated...often.) to sell my art...I also make a point of reading other blogs. Why? Well. How boring would it be if I only managed to rant about how long it takes my nails to grow? (boring...nothing new to julianne...there a cooking term...see? I do know...something...Rachel Ray teaches well) Hmmm? Yeah, it would be very boring. And truth be known? I almost never manage to keep those long anyway (what was I talking about? ohh, yea, growing nails type of blogs). No I don't bite them...I tear them off, just kidding, I find the nearest cutting tool and I proceed to hack them off. It's a throwback to my clay days (and soon to come back...when I manage to get the kiln that's gathering dust in my garage...to work.) and hating that wonderful dirt (usually the dark stuff that made you look like you weren't only the mechanic's wife...you also dabbled in the trade as well.) that caked under my nails. So I cut them. Often.

But I digress. The idea here is that having your interest "whetted" (the reader) is great and needing to respond...fantastic for the writer. You think we write for the sake of only writing? It's in a way...a very self-centered type of world. As is the arts world at large. (See? I managed to get myself a double whammy.) Being that am an artist? Stands to reason that my attitude toward my writing, is as ambitious as my painting expectations. "AM the queen of the worlddddd" There you have it. Straight from the horses (not so horsey looking though, more on the nice and lively woman kind of look) mouth.

Writing and art alike are a very self-gratifying (as weird as it sounds... no I don't want to even start saying it's akin to a mental kind of masturbation...buttttt...) you give yourself pleasure. You create and explore subjects, and activities that are a pleasure. (thus the "flying solo" analogy...somehow fits) And turn around and hope that what you have created will bring that kind of pleasure, or stimulate (Geez, for a blog that is supposed to be entirely non-sexual...this sounds more and more like it.) a reaction from your viewers...or readers alike.

That's where in writing: the comment comes in handy. It's the validation that your effort struck a chord. So, when I read a blog about what's important to be succesful in this process is keeping in mind that who counts is the reader...not the writer (understandably I was upset, here I thought the world revolved around me). Well fine and good (Raspberry to you all...ok..not really, xoxoxo, don't cry). But what happens if you have a situation like I do? Where I have readers (don't deny it boys and girls, the numbers don't lie) that come read my work...daily (thank you, thank you very much), but I don't know who? I dunno, I guess I keep talking, and they will eventually...dare. Duh.

Guess you could say that in the end? It's all about the process (ya know? the trip) not the final product (the destination). Darn it, am still fine tuning my words though. Comes back to that old saying we artists still debate about: art for art's sake (a reference to the purity of creation for the sake of creating something meaningful versus creating for a market...that actually buys...and gives you money...I'd take the market...but don't tell anyone...this is a war that goes on) or in this case: writing for writing's sake. We'll leave it at that, because when it comes to readers: sometimes it seems that some are just too embarrassed to leave a note...but they sure do love to come back for seconds...and thirds...and home runs. Love them all.

Just knowing am entertaining...quite a few actually...is gratification enough (ewwww) but once in a while...a gem calls up and leaves a note. (Don't tell the rest...but I love you more.)

Van Gogh. One of my favorite artists, if not my all time favorite. He along with Gauguin is one of the major influencing forces in my work. The colors, the strokes. Golly. I love the colors. The genius was in the strokes, but also the unapologetic (though he was well known for being insecure and needing his peers...and family's reassurance) explosion of colors. I loved and still love his work. (Both artists.)

That's me too! I need the sales to show me that my work is appreciated though. Sigh. Ok. Am one those special people that will wear (no patterns please, I prefer solids) platform heels, a sarong, braid the hair, and flounce around with only that. One moment am ready to do a Hawaiian dance, the next the Harley is waiting for a ride. That's me. Eccentric. The way artists are in their quest to experience the nuances of life, in all it's beautiful, sometimes ugly detail.

With regards to my painting? Who is the greater influence? I guess in look? Perhaps Gauguin, but I don't have and don't desire to have illicit sexual relations with Polynesian beauties (I have enough with the crazy looking at me in the mirror..not me...my boyfriend...ok, the other crazy :D). In a sense of wonder though? In randomness? You have to love Van Gogh. His work is self-centered, but do you blame him? He was doing a bit of psychotherapy on himself. No one can deny, or wonder if he was on some kind of "trip" to come up with some of those images (judge not lest you be judged). It's widely known he likely "dabbled" or should I say nibbled his paints, drank heavily (including absinthe), smoked with the gusto of a hungry man before a feast. Can you imagine? At the time there must have being all kinds of chemicals mixed in (lead), unlike the strictly monitored contents of art materials today. Art. It has always being a highly gratifying pursuit, but dangerous in some of it's rawer forms.

Van Gogh painted, obsessed and displayed what he knew. Himself, and the surroundings he lived in, while he fought the nature of his prison (his mind). He was a master in communicating great light outwards and perhaps neglected to shine it back on himself. Do you think he might have lasted much longer if he had being a sick man in our modern times instead? I wonder. Why is it that there is such a surplus of young genius gone to ashes? River Phoenix, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe and so many more.

Gauguin and Van Gogh are known for having had a great relationship (friendship) through the years. Some say that Van Gogh cut off (not his whole ear) his earlobe, and some assert that Gauguin did the deed. I don't know what's true, and I don't care to know who did the mutilation. I just care about the works each produced. Well, and the all consuming mind trip that he (Van Gogh) went through in life. Not with a need to know his personal life, but in general, because it follows his work as well. Seems that the more he struggled? The more he created. Sometimes? Sometimes, they say that some of the greatest minds/artists through the ages are the most tormented by their inner landscape. So true. But perhaps it's also related to the fact that being creatives? They also were, we are, wired to live and feel life with a razors sharp need for vibrant, mind blowing, intensity.

There's many more samples of artists that went ahead and made themselves figures of notoriety. They broke the rules. They were for their peers? Insane. They could not possibly be right in the head. After all? What woman in her right mind wears pants in an age of skirts? Talk to George Sands. What artist was a controversial PARTNER not sidekick PARTNER to Diego Rivera? A woman that in her own right is still famously remembered? Frida Kahlo, perhaps more so now than Rivera himself. She went through strife, anger, pain (check out the Salma Hayek movie, in regards to car accidents etc., etc.) She was in that case...also not quite in her mind. I wish I could have met all of them. They were giving a breath of fresh air and pushing aside social constrictions, and renaming the game to fit their needs. That simple.

When we look at history, artists have being walking a mighty fine line between being called the insane entertainment of a bored society and genius. They got away with having their eccentricities chalked up to their artistic bend. Am perhaps being a bit on the jaded side, but there's no doubt that if I were famous and made a habit of dressing as if every day was a costume party (Lady Gaga, Bjork, Mr. T, Dog something or other...there's too many these days...), acted in volatile and incoherent ways? Dressed and displayed myself beyond the socially "appropriate" standards? It would be fine. Why? Am famous of course, I have the eccentric ticket ready to be whipped out. But I also understand that all these people? They first had to suffer the "insane" innuendo before hitting a home run.

I can't even begin to compare myself because I've yet to manage the heights of famous Artists "insanity", but I don't consider myself less. They have left a mark in history. I haven't managed as much. That's fine. Why bother lowering my head though? My work satisfies me, and I don't apologize for that. I lament I've being slow to make it known to the right eyes. Am working on it though. And it seems that it's true. The "crazier" we seem? The more attention you get. Sigh. In art circles? That's how it is. Though I wish the work alone spoke for itself.

For the world they lived in and the same rock I now walk? Insanity? Goes hand in hand with genius.

Thus? I have decided to become a lucid nut. I think, I rationalize, and act as if am well, but will have my moments of "irrational" genius (I hope, it's an imperfect science after all). All kidding aside, beyond those that were and are believed to actually suffer from mental issues, there's entirely too many that are confused for crazy, when they are eccentric. Yours truly among them. Nice to know, am in good company. Tata for now, I need to go paint.

Dear Santa,

This year I put a bucket next to the chimney. No need to dirty up the designer stockings hanging from the mantel piece. Since surely you've got your secretary (am sure Mrs. Claus doesn't mind the sexy elf that seems to always be underfoot, is that a red lipstick stain on your beard?) running around helping you check that list twice, I just wanted to remind you that I've being very bad this year, and I would appreciate your special attention. To make things easier, and so as to avoid delays in delivery of gifts I am making a list of transgressions. Please be sure to annotate any incidents that I may miss, you are always so thorough. (Your articles on "Elf workers comp." and also the one on "Elf romance in the toyshop" were really well researched and I loved reading them).

Onto making Christmas a jolly one (for me) for those that deserve it; truly. OK. Last June I bought myself a brand new outfit. A flowing red dress (yes, I know red can be more of a late summer/fall type of color but I couldn't help myself) from a designer's Summer collection, strappy sandals from Louis Vuitton, and some new make up to be sure that I had the right kind of rouge. (A girl can't go around town wearing evening wear without the latest in makeup). That cost me only about $1500.00 bucks. Yes, yes, I know that's pricey, but you'll just have to see am worth every cent.

The only snag in that purchase is that I bought it on my ex-boyfriend's credit card (before we were broken up of course.) We parted ways after he accidentally saw me going in for a date with his boss at this nice new trendy Asian cuisine restaurant. (How was I to know it was his favorite hangout?) Anyway, that was actually kind of sad (hold on, I don't want to stain the paper with tears. Let me get a hankie {Hermes} and wipe my eyes), I was just trying to get my man a raise. It's not my fault if the boss seemed to have tentacles and not arms, and got his paws all over me. Plus, again, I didn't know he was going to be there.

That was the last time I spoke to him. Sigh. I miss his company, especially those trips down the coast we used to take. (I would prepare this really good potato salad I usually bought at the corner deli, with deviled eggs, little ham and cheese sandwiches. He would bring his convertible and the wine. I always left that up to him, of course I would pick the year, but he was supposed to get it.) Ah. The nights walking under the stars were nice,

he once pointed out to me the general direction of the star that he had purchased and officially named after me. Soooo, romantic.

Now. Three months later, (and Santa? Please be sure to do a little digging, I don't want to miss out on anything simply because I forgot to mention it.) I think it was mid September. I was working in a fashion magazine for the ladies, and things just sort of snowballed. I was so excited! Can you believe it? I would get to meet celebrities and maybe even get occasional gift baskets, and assorted freebies that the industry sends out to promote their products. (Yeah, I know, it's a little naughty, but designers always want a good word in so they started to send in samples. Guess what? I kept a bunch of that. They were free after all.) It helps that I led a lot of them to believe that the Editor-in-Chief and I had an on-going affair. (Even though she's happily married, and am as far from gay as you can think.)
Well eventually I got canned, but it turns out it wasn't because of all the free samples I got myself. (Prada shoes, all kinds of Xephora makeup, perfumes that usually I sold, an Alexander McQueen dress, and more) Can you believe it? The Editor-in-Chief got angry with me. Seems that it was fashion industry knowledge that she was possibly bi-sexual and when her husband found out he left. (Hmm. Wonder if there's some kind of previous history.) So. I was the other woman, and broke up a marriage.

I promise I've tried to be good. Really. As a matter of fact, I haven't sent out to anyone the pictures I took of you back in November at that beach resort in Cabo. You remember the place? Who was the petit pointy eared woman that kept rubbing up to you? See? It's not my fault things just seem to happen around me. How could I have expected that I would find you down there? What celebrity actually books a flight under their name these days? I mean they give themselves assumed aliases right? There's Donald duck, Mickey Mouse, Jessica Rabbit, Betty Boop and so many more. And guess what? All of them tend to be some kind of D-list celebrity. (The famous ones are always something like Smith, or Jones, you know, something nice and low key. Boring)

Since I knew that I wasn't likely to find someone famous, I didn't pay much attention. But with my previous experience in the fashion magazine I decided to take my camera (with the telescopic lens that can take pictures up to 1000 feet away).

So I followed you out the airplane, oops I mean I followed the "trail" and ended up with quite an eye opener. What a surprise you are Santa. I really didn't know someone as, uhmmm, jolly sized could be so vigorous. Plus, I was surprised to know that you actually prefer Joe Boxers, I thought maybe you'd wear red flannel long johns or something. Maybe it was a hot weather concession? 

That certainly was quite a vacation though (Sigh, am going to have to do something about cashing in some more flying rewards miles more often). That was then, and this is now. I figure, it's best to make sure you know all my transgressions, before I send you the list of things I want. You need to be able to check that list twice, and make sure your secretary helps with it a bit. She is so invaluable to the North Pole operations (am sure). How's Rudolph by the way? Is he over that nasty cold? Tell him am sorry we at the magazine perpetuated the belief that he's got a red shining nose with that article we wrote way back when. Does Mrs. Claus keep the same hours? I've heard in the rumor mill that she keeps very busy in the elf training camp. You didn't by any chance send her out there, for a bit of "alone" time? Hmmm? Ohh. Sorry, this is getting a bit long with all the chit chatter. OK. As you can see, I've being a bit, (wee bit only) bad. So bad as a matter of fact, that It's being quite a roller coaster ride, so I just wanted to remind you that the coal will come in handy and is appreciated for the cold nights (The chimney works just fine and it'll help keep me toasty warm). Please deposit it on the bucket (be sure to try some of my low fat diet cookies, I hear they help loose weight, and are heart healthy). Now, onto my wish list. You must agree? I was being extremely good too (to you) and didn't publish what could be the sex scandal of the century. Right?

What do you think? We'll see come Christmas morn. Attached is the list, I decided to make it a separate page to be sure I had enough space. Oh, and I thought you'd like a copy of one of the pictures. I'd frame it, but I don't know if you prefer wood or a gold tone.

Thanks so much.

Ps. I would never have thought you'd get a tattoo, naughty, naughty.

It is the downfall of humanity. The perverse factor that brings people's moral factor to zero. You are willing to sell anything, and do anything in order to have that last red cent shining in the corner, under the bed, already weighted down with so many of the other material goods you own.

That's a corrupting strain. More severe than the virulent strain of the 1912 flu. It corrodes from the inside-out. You are not seen for any good you do, but for the multitude and varied acts of cruelty just to get ahead.

I was talking with my Mother. Yes despite our disagreements and my unwillingness to do as she says. (She's a moral, and upstanding woman, but that doesn't mean her methods are mine, or that mine are not moral or equally upstanding. We're just different) But anyway, I was talking to her, and how I hold a grudge against the old work place.

People keep telling me I should sue, file for workers comp under the unemployment laws. Etc. But I truly don't feel like bothering. Why? It would require me going through a lot of steps, jumping a lot of hoops, and wasting my time...making line. Sorry. I don't wanna. Yes, I wasn't paid overtime for almost a full year, butttt, am just lazy and I don't like doing line.

That doesn't mean I don't think about it all. I was telling her that greed again is the subject of what happened. The owner of that particular place allowed greed to be the contributing factor of how he operates, and treats his employees. He gives apparent price breaks, but guess what? Those breaks? He takes them out of the kids working for him. He's got the (and no, am not being racist here) "made in China" mentality, but is attempting to get his cheap labor here. Under the table. Yep, he works mostly under the table.

My whole thing is that I can't stand the laxness of some parties morality, and the ability to turn on and off that button. Either you're what you say you are? Or your not. You can't play the game of good Samaritan, kind soul (bull) and the next undercut those around you just to get what you want. I want to be in business. That's a fact. There's no doubt that I've being trying to start something up, and give a service that is worthwhile, but you know what my key ingredient is? Being straight and up front. I don't employ subterfuge, I don't cheat others, I am not willing to take from others so that I may fulfill any baseness on my part when it comes to wanting what others have: on top of my own hoard. (That is being base! Being so shallow that you find a need to fill yourself because you don't have much bottom. What must be the state of your character? Your moral compass must go up, down and all around.)

They accused me of trying to do business similar to theirs? I told them up front. Maybe in the future, for now? Am just being a broker. And guess what, yes I told them this: it's a free market, I was straight with you, I started this line...only after leaving your place. What more can you ask for? No a thing. Be happy am not bringing down your particular house of cards. (The free market part I said it exactly that, the rest am rephrasing.)

That my friends is called coveting. I don't, and there are some that should learn the lesson. They are willing to drop everything, sell their own soul, and cheat the very last one of those that would give them a solid bond: to have more. Greed. You have someone working by your side diligently, but they suddenly stand in the way of your bigger is always better delusions of grandeur? You begin to shuffle them out of the way, they don't produce as much.

In Corporate America that's the way the game is played. The older you get, the more you get paid. But if you don't keep excelling? You are suddenly just OLD, not older, not valuable, just old and in need of being removed. RETIRED. Right. That sucks. I don't like the corporate mentality. The infamous rat race.

I've got something of an in between mentality. I don't agree with removing those that aren't able to produce the same. That? It's called bleeding your resources because you only like the newer shinier models. You never know when an old school approach will trump the gadget wizardry of modern day replacements. It's wise to keep up with the times. Get to know what you're facing and moving along, but you don't throw away the hammer because you found yourself a nail gun. What happens when you only need one nail, and it takes more time to set up the gun, than simply pick up that hammer...and give it a quick couple of swings. Done.

With the rush to amass more, be bigger, be better? Some people forget to breathe, and figure out that MONEY? Doesn't make you a better person. It just makes you a person with MONEY. Comes down to how much are you willing to sell? Yourself? Your soul? Your morals? Your family? Friends? Ask yourself that. And then is when you know how far gone you are and how nasty your particular strain of greed is.

Because it's a strain, and don't think only some have it. No. We all do. The difference? Some take the time to diagnose and combat it if it's nasty in them, others? They're lucky and don't suffer it much at all. I know some people that are happy having almost nothing at all. They make enough to eat, enough to keep shelter and are not attached to the material things. What happens with them? They don't suffer if they lose it all. They know how to restart, and no problem they are soon back up.

What happens to those that have untold riches? That amass vast quantities of money? They are some of the poorest people out there. Why? They suffer fear of the future, of what may be. You see? They know that as far high as they've placed themselves, the fall? The fall would be quite hard. Getting that high up again? Would be a big sacrifice.

No. You don't need to be a monk, give up all your possessions and roam the land with a hand before you begging for a loaf of bread, but you also don't need the gold engraved plaque with your name on it, on a private suite at the top floor either to be happy.

Where's the happy medium. Truthfully? I hope to make enough to carry a laptop with me so that I can write, art materials so that I can create art and just roam. One day? I would love to be that: A wondering soul. That? Requires money, and I understand that. The difference? I want to make enough to be able to do that, but not so much I'll be afraid of losing it all, so I'll spend my life stepping on others to keep it safe...and forgetting my ultimate goal. Be free. Be giving and share, despite the pitfalls I believe there's something out there that eventually brings us full circle and we meet up with a reward. It doesn't happen immediately, perhaps takes a lifetime, but how much more at peace are you knowing you did someone else a kindness than crying over what you don't have and someone else does?

Work hard, make enough to manage to live in peace, and don't start dreaming of greener pastures when you already have really good ones beneath your feet. Fine expand if you feel the need, but don't forget to keep a good moral compass because if you step on others it adds up? It all adds up in the end. Am just saying.

That's called greed.