The Power of Barry Manilow

My father raised me on one album, Barry Manilow Live.
Barry released the album in 1977, I was six. My father put it on the turntable every sunday and danced around the living room with me. The love I developed for Barry never released it's hold, often to the detriment of my mid-eighties teenaged social life. Now, I have over 5 hours of Barry Manilow in my Ipod, all the hits and all the new stuff. I am listening to him right now.

Ooh Baby, I love that Spandex.

This weekend I visited friends at their house in upstate New York. Their backyard opens up on 20 acres of woodland and swamp. On Sunday starting at noon we heard gunshots. Not just a pistol. Not like I know the specifics of gunfire, but I can tell the difference between a shotgun-sounds like a sonic boom- and an automatic-sounds like me after beans. Between noon and four I identified four unique weapon discharges. I was freaked out; I desired not to be felled by a stray bullet. My friends had complained to authorities about the violent intrusion on to their lazy 'wish our children and dogs could play in the backyard' weekends before. After four hours something had to be done.

My friends husband plays in a band, therefore he has amplifying equipment at his disposal. He thought about blaring Culture Club, or Skid Row into the woods.

"No," I said, "they might like that. I've got 5 hours of Barry Manilow at the ready."

We hooked it up to two speakers, wrapped my pod in plastic, pressed play and went inside. We play dirty, baby.

After thirty minutes of angst filled, melodic, 150 decibel Manilow, a woman appeared from the woods. She claimed they were having a skeet shooting party and were unaware of my friend's proximity. Success. Truce declared.

What can we learn from this incident? How can Barry Manilow music achieve world peace? Unfortunately, for the Fanilows out there, I think we know.

Fuming...at the Pro-life

Pardon this post and any grammatical errors it may contain. I just turned off NBC nightly news after watching a little girl, no more that 6 or 7 years-old, holding up a sign that read, "Obama Lies, Grandma Dies" First of the parent that put that sign in her hand should be shot along with the PETA Person who scared a little boy so much that never wants to eat Chicken McNuggets again.

Back to the little girl: She has no idea what the words she hoists so proudly mean. She may as well be holding a Che Guevara sign. Her parents must have told her that Big Bad Obama wants to deny her oatmeal-cookie making grandma health care simply because she is old. The Karma you send out tonight may bite you and your parents in the behind little girl. However, I pray that your grandma will pass quickly in her sleep, not to be found until morning so she will not have to suffer the pain and indignity of ICU care. I pray that you never see her with a tube shoved into her throat forcing oxygen into her lungs. The tube will make her lips dry out, chap and bleed. The ventilator will make her chest rise and fall making you believe she is alive. She'll need a feeding tube to eat, a bladder tube to pee, and a rectal tube to prevent diarrhea from burning her bottom. The doctor will cut her neck to place a large IV with three separate openings for continuous cardiac medicine which constitutes a 24-hour code blue. With this therapy, she'll linger in the ICU for months before her frail body gives out. She'll be immobile, dependent on the nurse, or your mom, to moisturize her skin, swab her mouth, and change her position to prevent a crater forming in her ass.

Not many have seen what I, and my fellow nurses, have seen. Not many have caused the pain that I, and my fellow nurses, have caused. Not many have wished they could give an overdose or morphine which I, and my fellow nurses, have wished. Not even the family or the physician can appreciate the torment people feel at the end of their lives. Family and doctors visit for ten minutes at a time. The nurse holds a 24 hour vigil at the beside.

Obama wants Americans to do now, what we should have done 20 years ago during the boom of life-prolonging technology: Talk about our wishes. To be counseled on end-of-life care. He wants healthcare to honor the patient's living will, even when the children on the other side of the country disagree. When one fill out the health care proxy or the living will they think they are safe from barbaric heroic measures. Not the case. One dissension among your next-of-kin and they will lubricate the tracheal tube. And you'll be the little girl's grandma: trapped in your head, unable to scream.

Obama's plan does not mean one will be denied heroic measures if they want everything pound of medical care. The plan wants us to be informed and make our own decisions without our family's input should that be our choice. If you want everything done come on down; I'll get my tubes ready. The extra money will come from the millions not spent on those who'd rather slip away in peace.

America's Got Talent (Not)

Tonight's regularly scheduled blog about my Greyhound bus trip will be replaced by an analysis of tonight's AGT.

I got sucked into this show, but my roommate's obsession with reality TV. I've seen Jillian vacillate between Ed and Kipton, celebrities and athletes duke it out on Superstars, and shallow people "Date in the Dark." Thanks J, I'll be getting a new tv next week.

OK, here's my Analysis:

GrtSkate: This group rocks, great song, great synchronicity and costumes. I'd vote for them and they'd make a perfect Vegas show. I'm so jealous of their skating. I've been skating for years and all I can do is stop and go backwards.

Thia Megia-- Lea Salonga, Miley Cyrus, and every Broadway Diva called they wants their sound back. I jest, but I don't see pop star. If she develops her acting ability she'd have a great career in Musical Theatre.

The Platt Brothers--They rocked. And I agree with the judges-not focused. Plus they made the Hoff look constipated.

Diva Girls...Guys--Go to the East Village for a lip syncing, mobility challenged Tranny in 5 inch Stilletos. Nuff Said. Actually I can go 4 blocks away at Suite

Manuela Horn- WTF?

Grandma Lee--I want to take her home, put her in a rocking chair and listen to her all day. LOVE HER! Voted for her.

Mosaic-- Yea.. well.. Rockapella and the Groove Society do it better. Way better.

Acrodunk-- It's like the Harlem Globetrotters on Flubber. Everyone loved it, but I thought it lacked something. Could they put together an interesting hour and a half show in Vegas?

Arcadian-- Bite me Piers, a virtuoso pianist plus amazing dancer would make a great act. And he had a theme. This boy was born for Vegas, and L.A, and Broadway, and London's West End. Awesome, Awesome.! Love him.

Drew Thomas Magic--Kinda cool. And he's kinda cute. Vegas has tons of magicians though.

Kevin Skinner--Stop crying! Go to Nashville.

Lake Houston Dance--Prepubescent girls who can pirouette in unison. Yippee. To quote my roommate, "they were on speed." Is David on Crack?

Overall, a few gems. And most of them have some talent.

Arcadian and the Granny for the final.

The 1000 dollar Cockroach Killer

Meet Giles. Giles has Feline Immunodeficiency Virus. Giles is allergic to something that makes him scratch and lick himself to scabby bald mess. Giles nudges my face at 4 in the morning. Giles is a pain in the ass. But he stalks and kills an insect like the Orkin Man. Good Kitty, now get off my head.

Last summer my pre-war-the first one-railroad apartment became infested with rats and mice.

I learned alot about rodents that summer from Juan, my butt crack displaying exterminator. Like rats and mice don't get along and one will trump the other...usually. However, my abode is long and narrow with two separate piping systems. Lucky me! After phone calls and letter to the management office plus three visits from Juan. I was instructed on how to fix the problem. I called in sick to work and with the help of Abbey, my neighbor afflicted with back problems, I moved all my furniture and found every crevice in the baseboards. My phillips head screwdriver served me well that day as I shoved steel wool into every opening.

Later that night, Jon, a cat rescuer, carted three felines in from Brooklyn. Imagine sitting next to that guy on the subway. There was a slim orange short haired cat who wanted nothing to do with me and hissed at the Sebastian, a tiny tiger who paced at the window and Biggie, a white and grey long-haired who climbed in my lap. Biggie also displayed calm when nose to nose with a Basset Hound back at the rescue. How the heck is this this sloth going to kill a rat. Since the new cat's major criterion was getting along with a shepherd mix, Biggie got the nod. You can see how that relationship worked out.

Giles had Giardia when he first came to me and he suffered a massive diarrhea attack. That's 200 dollars at the vet for fluids and medicine. Then Sebastian had to be put on anti-parasite when I cause him snacking on the litter box. It took a month for our home to be parasite free. Then came the hair loss and open sores. The cat had to be put on a special low allergen diet: Dick Van Patten's Natural Balance Duck and Green Pea. I'll have the spinach, Sebastian will have the by-products, and the cat will have the duck. No, not the pheasant, the duck. And a glass of your finest Merlot, please.

Three months later he's better but still chewing, and licking, and gnawing. At night, he sounds like he's sanding grandmother's old hope chest. We went to a DERMATOLOGIST. Yes, the cat has a dermatologist. He's infected, he's itchy. If this round of antibiotic doesn't work out, he will most likely need allergy testing and shots which can cost a 1000 dollars.

With all the antibiotics and food allergies he has earned the nickname, Sir Shits Alot.

But I keep him, because I've fallen in love with him and because he can kill a cockroach in 5 seconds.

Good Kitty, now stop kneading my stomach, I'm not pizza dough.

Peeing with the door open

I have a confession to make: I pee with the door ajar. If in someone's house who I just met I'll maintain some modesty. But overall, after knowing someone for over a month, in the name of chronometric economy, I'll skip the crucial step of shutting the door. Unless there's a party and the living room is just off the hall. . My parents made me this way. They also encouraged belching at the table. My father burped the alphabet.

My best friend came from a home where a slip in gas passage earned parental fury. We met at age 18. Her sphincter activated only in a soundproof, sealed toilet after great rumination. By age twenty we took turns in gas station bathrooms.

At age 24, she shocked me by dropping her pants, sitting on the rim of my car's passenger entry, and peeing on the side of the road. My pride welled as she pulled up her pants without anxiety as cars whizzed by. On I95 in South Florida, She'd done a good clean pee, no dribbles. The student becomes the teacher.

She got married two months ago. A week after her honeymoon she called me. “OMG! We poop with the door open.” She explained that not having a door on the master bathroom gives them two choices: dash into the living room while the other performs their evacuation, or remain blanketed in their warm bed. “I don’t think I’d be this free if it wasn’t for you," she claimed.

"Aww, thanks friend. Glad to have helped free up your martial toileting, but remember I only pee in front of you.” Pooping is a behind the scenes activity.

But what’s the big deal. We can't deny that humans would rather announce their need to void rather than their urge to defecate. No one wants to take a dump at the office. Why is peeing a more socially acceptable activity? Maybe because peeing uses our conventional genitalia and pooping employs our ‘alternative’ or ‘back door’ breach. Is it the odor? The production of solid matter? The grunting? Perhaps those inclined to share sustain the mystique of a number 2 for good reasons; a good poop affords us the peace to read our guilty pleasures, like Road and Track or Consumer Reports.

Michael Jackson

Last night I morned the loss and celebrated the life of Michael Jackson. After discussing his death and music contributions with my roommate, J, I headed to to ITunes and purchased the Fat and Eat It videos. After all, one of Mr. Jackson's greatest contribution to my life, aside from the awesome Black or White, was providing "Weird Al" Yankovic with parody fodder. According to "Weird Al", the parodies thrilled Michael Jackson.

Actually, I liked Michael Jackson and grew up on his music. I remember sitting in my best friends living room glued to MTV waiting for the Thriller video to air. In 1982 we lacked tech wonders like You Tube and media players. We ran home after school plopping ourselves in front of MTV. Clasping our hands together, we'd straighten our backs each time a Bryan Adams video ended chanting "Thriller, Thriller" at the television. The music network back when they aired music ran promos announcing when the 14 min video would air. Often it would play 5 times in prime time. And children everywhere squealed. My father's middle management position did not afford our family a VCR until 1984, so he bought my sister and I the album. I played on Thriller until I had memorized every syllable. Whenever some says, "Darkness Falls," I launch into Vincent Price's rap. "...across the land, the midnight hour..."

At twenty I liked a boy who loved Mr.Jackson and fell under his spell again. Our small college Hillel group drove around Lake Worth Beach with Black or White and Vanilla Ice blaring out the window. I watched the video on You Tube tonight (Is that Tyra Banks?) and remembered the good days when a video told the story of a song. Not like today's artsy and hyper-sexual renderings.

His music played everywhere today: the radio in my cab, the hospital cafeteria,Subwaytm. I never bopped around like that while getting seasoned fries on my lunch break before. I sang under my breath and danced under the counter as I payed for my veggie patty sub. The King of Pop made me do it. It's got a great beat and you can dance to it. Pure music from a thirty-something's age of innocence. The counter man said that his death reminds us that life is short. I said it makes us wonder why we don't appreciate something until it is gone. When he was alive we didn't listen because we focused more on his strangeness. Now we remember how good the music was. And how good it made us feel.

At the end of his trial, our media professor assigned someone to check their internet phone every five minutes. The not guilty made me happy. I felt the poor guy was being run through. I never cared about his persona or his scandals, that's not my business.

I'm glad the music played everywhere today and I relived some great moments.

Thank you Mr. Jackson from my whole singing and dancing heart.

The Pill Shooter

I am jumping for joy tonight. I finally got my cat to take a pill. Some backstory: My cat Giles has a skin allergy which causes him to scratch and lick himself sore. After I exhausted all of my vet's knowledge in fighting it, she sent me to a specialist, Dr. Pikes of Animal Allergy and Dermatology.

The assistants descended on him, taking samples from every part of his body. He has both fungal and bacterial infections on his sore spots. I was nervous about the pills since I tried before. The aftermath of the pilling session looked like I'd plucked a chicken: white hair everywhere and scratches on my arms. Enter the pill shooter, a long narrow tube with a plunger. The E how website has amusing directions on how to use this product here. I really like number three.

"Calmly talk to your cat and explain why he needs a pill, and what you are going to do, and that it will be quick and will not hurt."

Of course he'll understand. Giles, honey, you are scratching the shit out of yourself and frankly I can't hear the sound of your sandpaper touge abrading your bald flesh anymore. So I am going to open your mouth and shove this little bitty pill into it. Okay, If you don't scratch me or bite my fingers it will be over in a second. And I promise, It will hurt me more that you. 'K pumpkin.

I did comfort him and I was quick and it worked. YEA! The crushing and mixing was getting on my nerves.