Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

It's Christine's Day!

It's Rebecca's Day!

Moogle

While Robert Moog began developing the technology back in the 60s, it wasn't until I was in middle school that I first heard the words "Moog synthesizer."

It wasn't long before I started paying attention and hearing the sounds, the magic, it could add to a songs of my formative years - especially the 80s. 

Herbie Hancock led the charge, with other artists like Thomas Dolby imbedding bass lines in our head in songs like Blinded Me With Science.  (Admit it, the turntable in your head just came on.)

Today, Google honors Robert Moog with an interactive graphic on their home page.

So today when you Google, stop a moment before you search for "fuschia hotpants," "men who love monkeys eating bananas," or "best brownie recipe EVER" and Moogle up a tune.

It's Kari's Day!

Another Spirit Having Flown

I was born in 1966.  That made me roughly 11-12 when disco raised its mirrored ball over the world, draped every young (and not so young) adult in polyester, and introduced a generation to line dancing long before anything on Billy Ray was achy or breaky..

When you're 11/12 years old, you have precious little freedom.  You eat what is put in front of you.  You go where the car is pointed.  And when you are told to jump, you respond "How high?" 

You also have precious little you can call your own.  Especially when you have three siblings.

Sure, I had my clothes, none of which I had to share because I only had one sister who, as opposed to me, was lithe and lanky vs my vertically challenged form that wore clothing ending in "X".

I had my Lemon Twist, a bicycle, some books, and a few knick knacks. 

I well remember when I got my own bedroom.  It was during this 11-12 year old period.  We had moved to Pennsylvania and the house had four bedrooms.  Up to that point in life, I had shared with my sister.  Her being an older sister, "shared" meant "never put one toe over the imaginary line into Kimberliestan.

This "bedroom" I got to myself was in actuality more of a glorified closet, the previous owners having used it for storage.  But it had a window, a tiny makeshift closet, some shelves, and four walls.  It barely fit my bed, but it was my space.  My dad and a friend spent a Saturday laying down pink carpet (some remnant they found for $10 - again, NOT a huge space to cover), and then I shut the door to the world.

Because I had one other thing I could call my own.  A radio.

I spent countless hours drifting away on the tunes of the 70s, staring out my window, fantasizing about the day my clothing would lose the "X" and I would find some boy to Dance The Night Away with, feeling alive, Stayin' Alive.

During this time period, I became a radio contest maven.  If they were giving it away, I wanted to win it.  I won money, fair tickets, movie tickets, Kennywood Park tickets.  But the coveted jewel in my contest crown was the day I was the 10th caller and won 25 albums from a Pittsburgh radio station.

25 albums.  When you're 12 years old, that is HUGE.

I still remember taking the bus downtown with my grandmother, finding the station, and picking up my haul.  Back at her duplex, I spread them out on the floor, and there it was.  Among the Yvonne Elliman, Fleetwood Mac, Meat Loaf, and Judas Priest was the iconic cover...

Yes, I had heard those amazing songs over and over during my self imposed isolation in my bedroom, but now I had them in my possession, and they were mine to listen to whenever I wanted.

(OK, ok, whenever my sister wasn't using the stereo to play Barbra and my parents weren't cranking John Denver.)

The Bee Gees were, quite simply, a huge part of my musical formative years.  Yes, music had played a part in my even younger days (Monkees, Bobby Sherman, etc), but I was in middle school now and music was beginning to be a part of how we identified ourselves.

Listening to their insane harmonies, soaring falsettos, and magical lyrics - life was great.  I may have been way too young to enter Studio 54, but it didn't stop me from perfecting The Bus Stop in my living room.  And I obsessed over pictures of the Bee Gees - all of them - Barry, with his lion's mane of hair (surely the inspiration for Mufasa in Lion King); Maurice, loved his sexy beard; and Robin, the quiet one with his own Pantene locks and sweet smile.  And let's be honest - all of them wore pants tight enough that you could see their pulses - that was especially titillating to a 12 year old for whom "sex" was still a very mysterious concept.

It wasn't until many, many years later when Saturday Night Fever made its way to HBO that I was finally able to connect the songs they sang and I loved, with the scenes they so perfectly backdropped.

To this day, if I stumble across SNF on cable, I will stop what I am doing and settle in for a trip back in time.

And to this day, the Bee Gees remain in heavy rotation, not on a sterio, but on my iPod.  Jive Talkin' is a perfect workout song.  And I love when I run across something very early of theirs on Sirius 6, like I Started A Joke.- one of the few Bee Gees tunes on which Robin Gibb took the lead.

Today, the music world is quieter for his passing over the weekend, and no one is laughing.

But I, for one, would like to thank him and his brothers for the music that started this young girl living.

Rest in peace, Robin.

Fur Real Friends

I received this email from Lisa and an happy to share it with the DGMS family.  (Apologies to Lisa - as it had been vacationing in my SPAM folder for about a week)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda could you possibly post a reminder to people to please keep in touch with loved ones and neighbors, especially if they are a bit reclusive. This past Friday, we assisted in rescuing 12 dogs and 5 cats from a horrible situation. The owner died and it was weeks before anyone noticed. Most of the man's pets starved, others had to resort to eating the corpse. http://www.ksl.com/?sid=20144978&nid=157 I have already told all of my family, if you can't reach me or my husband for more than two days, you had better get someone to check on us.

About a year ago you helped me with getting letters sent to my father for his Honor Flight. Those letters were truly treasured and they were one of the items left to me when Dad died in December. Dad started getting really ill in June and moved in with me and my husband and the 20+ rescue dogs. Dad loved the dogs! During our six months of being involved with hospice, I was made aware of a huge need in the community. Many homebound seniors, disabled and hospice patients are pet owners. Unfortunately many patients get too sick to care for their pets and many expect their family to take responsibility for the pet. All too often that does not happen.

After Dad passed away I created a new 501c3 non-profit in his honor. It is called Hospets.

Hospets provides volunteer pet care services for referred seniors, disabled and hospice patients who need help caring for their pets', lifting much worry and stress from the patient so they can simply enjoy their pets' unconditional love.


How does Hospets help?

Transporting pets to grooming and veterinary appointments

Assistance with pet food and basic veterinary services if owners are facing financial difficulties

Transporting pets to assisted living facilities for visits (if allowed)

Emergency respite care for the pet should the owner need to be hospitalized

Pre-planning placement - Assisting owner with finding a new, loving home for their pet

Cleaning litter box, walking, general grooming

24/7 Emergency/on call pet caregiver until family can take possession of a pet

We are teamed up with Senior Services, Meals on Wheels and local Hospices. We are serving the Central Ohio area and hope to eventually expand. I was wondering if you could give us a little plug. I am hopeful that people who may not live in my area will at least love the idea and consider starting a program in their own area or volunteer with programs that may already be out there. Our website is www.hospets.org and facebook is http://www.facebook.com/Hospets


Thanks,
Lisa
aka Lisa in OH

Time To Celebrate Angelina!

Because It's All OUR Fault

It is not a stretch to say that what has angered so many women (and clear thinking men) in this country about the GOP onslaught against our reproductive rights, is that these bills and laws are being introduced almost exclusively BY MEN.

Men - who will never have a period, an ovarian cyst, stained underwear (at least not from bleeding each month), an unwanted pregnancy from an act of violence, or a pregnancy that endangers their life.

Men - who somehow believe they must step up and direct the traffic of our vaginas because we women obviously are not capable of making our own decisions about what we do with them and when.

Men - who don't even know what a transvaginal ultrasound is, yet write the requirement for one into a bill that becomes a law.

Men - who seem to forget that they are 50% of the required serving of DNA when a woman turns up pregnant.

Men - who would shit their pants (more than usual) if women began introducing bills that were bullied into laws legislating what they can do with their private parts.  How about a moratorium on masturbation, guys?  After all, you are killing potential life every time you do a dick sneeze into a tube sock or Kleenex.  How about legislation limiting your sexual access ONLY to a women to whom you are legally hitched and then ONLY when she is ovulating.  How about no more insurance coverage for Viagra and Cialis?  After all, if your weiner won't inflate like a Ballpark frank on the grill, perhaps it is God telling you that the game is over and there are no extra innings.

I guess my point is that it is amazing to me that these men truly believe there will be no ramifications come ballot time.  That they exist in some protected good ol' boys vacuum and we mentally addled women won't step up and run their ignorant asses out of office.  Their stupidity is overwhelming, their overreaching into our sex lives offensive, and their grasp of that which they will NEVER EXPERIENCE is NONEXISTENT.

Can they have their opinions?  Of course.  Have as many opinions on women's issues as they want, but stay out of my vagina when it comes to my personal decisionmaking.

The odd thing to me about all of this is that these same tightassed, overbearing, Bible thumping (I see you, Saint Santorum) men believe that their desired provenance over women is so very different from the way other cultures treat their women.

Um, no, no it's not.

It's oppression, plain and simple.  Oppression with a heaping helping of ignorance on the side.

Which brings me to a politician in Zimbabwe.  Senator Morgan Femai has decided he has the answer to the AIDS problem plaguing his people.  Forget condoms, education, medical aid - meh.

The problem is that the women have hair, a clitoris, they bathe, and they are moist.

He has gone on the record as stating, “What I propose is that the government should come up with a law that compels women to have their heads clean-shaven like what the Apostolic sects do.  They should also not bath because that is what has caused all these problems.”

These problems being defined as men who obviously cannot control themselves around a woman with a head of hair and who doesn't smell of week old roadkill.

That's right, Morgan, lay it all on us.  How dare we walk the streets with our Pantene locks and crust-free, moist vaginas.

The moisture statement refers to his belief that circumcision of females is necessary.  “Women have got more moisture in their organs as compared to men so there is need to research on how to deal with that moisture because it is conducive for bacteria breeding. There should be a way to suck out that moisture.”

Suck out that moisture.

One could easily argue that you could use a glass of moisture yourself, Morgan.  Your brain seems a tad dry.

No man is incapable of keeping himself from raping a woman.  That is a CHOICE he makes.  I don't care how horny a man is, a woman who bathes is not an invitation to grab her and hold her down. 

Lust is not some disease a man cannot control.  It is not some mental illness that circumvents rational thinking.

But two can play at your game, Morgan.  I could argue that if all men in your country had their dicks chopped off, your AIDS problem would immediately begin to plummet.  After all, even the most moist of women cannot pose a problem to a man without a penis, right?

Yes, I believe that wholesale removal of all penises and heck, let's cut off the sacs for good measure, is a much better solution.  Or if that is too extreme for you, how about a hot poker to the eyes of every man, and every boy when they reach puberty?

That way your women can still bathe, fix their hair, look attractive, and walk the streets without you having to fear their loveliness, moisture and AIDS laden genitals just waiting to lure you in.

What's that?  Oh, that's right.  Women are the problem.  Men just have all the answers.

It's Mary Beth's Day!

Heart To Heart

Our health - when everything else boils away:  daily stresses, rude encounters, a stubbed toe, an extra ten pounds - our health is truly what matters most.  We tend to take it for granted - going about our day-to-day business, carpooling, working, cheering on our children, attending science fairs, going to concerts, watching our favorite shows.  It's only when it becomes compromised that it brings into focus how none of what we do each day could be possible without it.

Think about it - and I am just as guilty here - a bad cold pisses off most of us.  It's inconvenient, makes us sluggish, throws off our schedule for a couple days, keeps us from being able to work thus impacting our next paycheck.  We whine about a bad cough, a runny nose, snaste (my personal nemesis), or a flu bug that requires we take up residence on the commode.

Thankfully, all of these are temporary, not terribly expensive to deal with, mostly viral, and able to run their course over the course of a few days and then we are back to our (mostly) normal selves.

Now imagine you are confronted with a health obstacle that cannot be mitigated by purchasing a jug of Nyquil, or cleared up with a copay and some prescription antibiotics.  Something that takes you down, keeps you down, and drains every ounce of financial and emotional fortitude you possess.

It is not hyperbole when you hear experts talk about how most Americans are one medical emergency away from financial ruin.  It is very real, very frightening, and happening to one of our beloved DGMS family members..

Last week, Crystal wrote on Facebook about her current health crisis (and I use the word current because it is following in a long line of medical obstacles she has had to face down in her life).  She is needing a heart cath that may lead to another open heart surgery.

Let that sink in.  Makes the sniffles seem like, well, SNIFFLES, doesn't it?

While her financial situation is the same in many ways as most Americans - mortgage, student loans, the usual day-to-day bills of living - she also works hard to deal with her past hospital bills and the ones she is now facing having added to that mountain. 

She asked if I would share her Chip In page with DGMS.  Please read her story, and if you can possibly help her weather the upcoming storm, you can donate through that page.

I know money is tight for everyone, but even the smallest of donations can add up to help with the expense of travel to and from the hospital (200 miles away), etc.

And if you cannot afford to give from the wallet, that's OK - I know you will be giving everything you have from your heart to hers.

Linda

Crystal's Page