tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89788097460507792412024-02-07T23:04:11.351-05:00SkippyscapeWriting has always been part of my life and now that I've finally given in to its calling, I'm ready to put it all out there for new and old friends to comment on. Storytelling is one of my favorite pass-times so sit back, relax and enjoy. Come back often, I may even bake you one of my famous pies!Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.comBlogger168125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-43214948256834237652010-11-11T23:44:00.007-05:002010-11-12T00:23:58.349-05:00Random Thoughts and Phrases<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWv10FM99aYyZNS4jUPkCst3pbwFirk9mOMcB9O7Cqp3ODEyn5Wo0UWAVi-EYHZ1CD1EKwO6PcDBEUpTvkW1OaEALgwRyqTS2JHXn14sREnuh8mWp4VkhRPsgPTT3B6vzAT7T-r0hs_-A/s1600/blurryrene.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538529682590312098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWv10FM99aYyZNS4jUPkCst3pbwFirk9mOMcB9O7Cqp3ODEyn5Wo0UWAVi-EYHZ1CD1EKwO6PcDBEUpTvkW1OaEALgwRyqTS2JHXn14sREnuh8mWp4VkhRPsgPTT3B6vzAT7T-r0hs_-A/s400/blurryrene.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Stop digging your heels in too deep Ms Thing. That's the best advice I can give to a middle aged woman on the brink of extinction, surviving on a diet of drive-by meanness, back-handed insults, condescension mixed with a little acid, Grey Goose, minus the ass-kissing olives I've banned from premises. "Excuse me young man, I'd also like a nice slice of Brie with that. I need to smooth out all the BS with a double creme fromage aged in a room filled with phonies." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Thank God I took a course in "Whoop-Ass" while I was an undergraduate at a small, inner city junior college back in the 1980's. I never thought my street-wise value system would fair very well in such a conservative, wooden environment but as usual, my instincts proved me wrong. I flipped my iPod on to the "Slapshots" play list only to find myself listening "Vehicle," by The Ides of March. I felt like such a bad-ass when I listened to that song like a Pink Lady of Grease fame or Leather Tuscaderowho was the coolest of cool chicks on Happy Days. I walk through the hallways, wishing I could pull-off a pair of skin-tight black leather pants, plugged in, tuned out, thinking that this is the cross-roads of my life. If I make the wrong decision, it could prove to be a gigantic, foolish misstep or it could be the leap of faith I've needed for almost a decade. I've been comfortable far too long and that is pure, unadulterated poisen to a woman with big dreams who came from meager beginnings. I've lost my edge but from time to time, I have hit my stride thrusting my acerbic diatribes on those that are deserving. Will my life turn out like a dark and dank episode of Twin Peaks or will it be filled with mid-western love. I can only hope for the latter. I heard the "Dust Bowl" is lovely at this time of the year.</div>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-53924801248591806492010-06-16T20:02:00.000-04:002010-06-16T20:03:09.241-04:00Two Party Systems Aren't WorkingThe Democratic National Committee just called my house to talk about a Supreme Court Ruling from months ago. What about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BP</span> oil spill and how I'm no happy about how our president has handled this....and what about the war? I thought we were supposed to pull-out. I've been a liberal my whole life and often identify myself as a Democrat but it's become more clear to me that a two party political system does not work. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">DNC's</span> defense was "Well <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">BP</span> isn't an American company," and my response was "if you invest in a global economy, participate in it and embrace it, does it really matter who caused the problem." It shouldn't take our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">president</span> two months to finally meet with these environmental pirates and try to resolve this with just money. I really wish Hillary had won...I think things would have been a lot...A LOT better.Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-86475654850862199662010-06-06T14:52:00.002-04:002010-06-06T14:55:57.015-04:00BP Oil or How to ruin an ocean in one flip of the switch!I am not a blind follower of any party, although the democratic/liberal forum is primarily where my political ideology lies. If Obama or whomever doesn't have the power to fix this, then who does. If they make something that cannot be fixed or patched, whose standing at the watchtower to stop these environmental bastards<span class="text_exposed_hide"><span class="text_exposed_link"></span></span><span class="text_exposed_show">. Just a few weeks before BP's off-shore drilling rig blew to shreds, Obama was quick to say we are going to drill in the Atlantic. I will fight that tooth and nail. I feel like a lot of people who voted for him are blindly going along with anything he says. In order to be a more powerful people, we must be quick to question the "powers that be" and educate ourselves on what's best for the greater good. I'm sickened by this but moreover, I'm sickened by Americans who don't vote or participate in the process. Where are all those naked hippies who romped in the mud at Woodstock? If they really kept true to their belief systems, their kids wouldn't have grown up to be complacent, spoiled brats who care only of themselves. It's just like the war....most people just accepted it and moved on. Sad isn't it? (exit Soap Box stage left.)</span>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-58640216934760487152010-05-11T15:26:00.000-04:002010-05-11T15:26:28.751-04:00THE HORSE BOY trailer<object style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/cYkT_GndKtE/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cYkT_GndKtE&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cYkT_GndKtE&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-90109276781199901792010-05-08T23:55:00.000-04:002010-05-08T23:55:58.383-04:00frank sinatra stranger in the night<object style="background-image: url("http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/DtXiormP9Cc/hqdefault.jpg");" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DtXiormP9Cc&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DtXiormP9Cc&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-67487773417367085962010-05-08T23:42:00.000-04:002010-05-08T23:42:27.020-04:00Paul Davis-I go Crazy<object style="background-image: url("http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/_L886mjb0O8/hqdefault.jpg");" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_L886mjb0O8&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_L886mjb0O8&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-25909557271867373592010-04-30T12:24:00.003-04:002010-04-30T22:51:10.899-04:00Video Vignettes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OwrgfeNIAxPhjev2nGSrqgqiJX8S6ZTpd3GhoWjkaTkjfx9ct492DF9s5Z1kceQ7JLPvgqK2y6hJOhYPfgp0VPmOwXcdP7Xu_XfdxJ_MZCiXx6Gp6_HNPuiNqyn2DDVjZ0mEuNQhCcM/s1600/me.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OwrgfeNIAxPhjev2nGSrqgqiJX8S6ZTpd3GhoWjkaTkjfx9ct492DF9s5Z1kceQ7JLPvgqK2y6hJOhYPfgp0VPmOwXcdP7Xu_XfdxJ_MZCiXx6Gp6_HNPuiNqyn2DDVjZ0mEuNQhCcM/s400/me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465970273248949858" border="0" /></a><br />I've been a little blocked lately but my radar tells me that a tsunami of words are about to violently wash up on shore. I've started doing video vignettes because my life has always been scripted to an extra special soundtrack, (no, not play list...I'm old school) possibly even a double album of musical ditties that take me back to a moment. I'm very interested right now in moments of time that have profoundly affected my persona. Some are special and wonderful while others are a bit sad, even melancholy. I never said this K-Tel special was going to be the ultimate in musical genres, but however good or bad the song may be, they belong to my moments in time.Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-45463678283589286452010-04-30T12:21:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:21:10.643-04:00Maxi Priest - Close to you<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-G4zRwcmY9o&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-G4zRwcmY9o&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-49776995348627868612010-04-30T12:20:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:20:15.945-04:00The Radiators - Like Dreamers Do<object style="background-image: url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/xhQm48rH8Vw/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xhQm48rH8Vw&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xhQm48rH8Vw&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-23354124285268193222010-04-30T12:19:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:19:11.965-04:00EIGHT SECONDS - kiss you (when it's dangerous)<object style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/cO3bPUCgCAk/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cO3bPUCgCAk&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cO3bPUCgCAk&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-83544248814114931602010-04-30T12:17:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:17:36.168-04:00The Police - Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic<object style="background-image: url(http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/Rxr1s24Frmc/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Rxr1s24Frmc&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Rxr1s24Frmc&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-2338176419263461902010-04-30T12:14:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:14:22.431-04:00Harry Chapin Cats in the Cradle (Soundstage)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-s5r2spPJ8g&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-s5r2spPJ8g&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-9137782575737200042010-04-30T12:12:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:12:16.609-04:00Neil Young Old Man live in '71<object style="background-image: url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/dVC2cszdTao/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dVC2cszdTao&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dVC2cszdTao&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-64447950295234390132010-04-30T12:07:00.000-04:002010-04-30T12:07:14.440-04:0038 Special - Caught Up In You<object style="background-image: url(http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/zg21Rkew874/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zg21Rkew874&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zg21Rkew874&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-75264522799430146402010-04-30T11:59:00.000-04:002010-04-30T11:59:36.716-04:00The Hooters - And We Danced<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zB1Q-PfUvN0&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zB1Q-PfUvN0&hl=en_US&fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-48209024467075295002010-04-28T23:00:00.004-04:002010-04-28T23:22:26.165-04:00New Beginnings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsX5y0NGt2avdtYZNLs5e5J48LoZsmZ-Mp5T_zs2jr4rQyajGQD-9ho305CtgGcYaY3PDyW2e-XVov41sYB5BjGiG4CRMGhWVbnvduFU1JlixVr-bwXPDsvvxv9LE5kBNXup22lTEeFY/s1600/the-carrie-diaries-book-cover.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsX5y0NGt2avdtYZNLs5e5J48LoZsmZ-Mp5T_zs2jr4rQyajGQD-9ho305CtgGcYaY3PDyW2e-XVov41sYB5BjGiG4CRMGhWVbnvduFU1JlixVr-bwXPDsvvxv9LE5kBNXup22lTEeFY/s400/the-carrie-diaries-book-cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465394158377806754" border="0" /></a><br />Tonight, Vic and I made our way to Huntington's Book Review to hear Candace Bushnell read from her new young adult novel, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Carrie Diaries</span>. She wasn't what I expected....nothing at all. I've been a fan of <span style="font-style: italic;">Sex and the City </span>since it premiered on HBO over a decade ago, yet I mistakenly thought that Bushnell had a larger than life role in the writing of the shows scripts. I was wrong. She sold the rights to television producer Darren Starr and worked on the original pilot script as a collaboration. The show is based on her New York Observer's now famed column "Sex and the City," which not only attracted Hollywood producer's but the devout readers who found themselves trying to navigate the often confusing dating scene in New York City. Eventually, the writer gave in and decided on a television show rather than a flash in the pan movie that may have gone nowhere. Bushnell's decision may have been questioned at the time but her move was brilliant and helped create one of the most iconic female characters of the modern century. Am I over exaggerating? Not at all, especially to those hearty women who came out to hear a feisty Bushnell describe the back story of Carrie Bradshaw, a clique-less high school burgeoning fashion plate with her eye on New York City.<br /><br />One thing that Bushnell said tonight, spoke to my heart. She said whatever you are doing, do it well. Good work is always recognized. She also said that writing takes a major commitment and if it isn't there, you won't produce good work. I'm almost there Candace. You may not be Harper Lee, but you created that iconic character, which is what I want to do...what I am destined to do. I can hear her voice, I just need find mine.<br /><br />Off to bed to read more about Carrie Bradshaw and get a master class on how to build a character.Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-71015217314470219812010-04-16T15:15:00.004-04:002010-04-16T16:14:16.088-04:00Transitions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSe8kW9vQdI46g1d_4oLr6XLPXi3P1HDyCma0hRkTEKqQswzZN-HOMIgiZpIr3_0V7-EfucphCD0plqihW1Dy1RA6n3MXTujGsyqb-PMAFMvpwm0342V4E0Z8hU1mQinHOvLXtKejN0Q/s1600/midlife-crisis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSe8kW9vQdI46g1d_4oLr6XLPXi3P1HDyCma0hRkTEKqQswzZN-HOMIgiZpIr3_0V7-EfucphCD0plqihW1Dy1RA6n3MXTujGsyqb-PMAFMvpwm0342V4E0Z8hU1mQinHOvLXtKejN0Q/s400/midlife-crisis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460831198125544946" border="0" /></a><br />I suppose we all head down this road at some point in our lives, yet we are sorely unprepared for the dreaded mid-life crisis. I choke on my own spit to admit that I am a very young 43 and haven't fallen into the multitude of monetary trappings that engulf most Gen X'ers. I'm still searching for something but I'm not quite sure what that "something" really is or if it even exits. I think I must have been born under an odd, out of place star, that guides me into strange and often confusing places and events. My life has never been boring although I have fallen into ruts and secretly embrace tiny bouts of depression from time to time. Currently, I'm in a state of flux mostly due to my foolish weight gain as a result of my bereft year and of course career issues. It is not my lot in life to push papers and wear suits. I'm the antithesis of corporate. I despise corporate. I'm the product of a working class family with huge aspirations for myself but none of them included the trappings of following "company policy." I can be pragmatic when needed but for the most part, I'm a dreamer, a writer, a lover and a friend. A few weeks ago, I allowed a stick in a suit to intimidate me and exercise her perfect drawl in the language of condescension. She blocked me from tea, looked me up and down and judged me. So I look like a hippie professor or a funky chick from the city but by no means am I a leper. I was off my game that day. It blind sided me to be honest. I was devastated for a moment but then I realized what kind of person she must be. Insecure, pathetic and a follower would clearly define this woman. It's sad but hey, it's Long Island. People here look through you and once they surmise they've no use for you, they move on to the next victim. I'm better than that. If there is one thing I've learned in 15 years of helping others, it's compassion. It doesn't cost a thing to smile or help a stranger. Everyone is so caught up in their own minutia that they can't see past it. When did the helper become the punisher? Isn't that one conundrum we'd all like to figure out.Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-80484061576083316032010-04-15T00:32:00.003-04:002010-04-15T00:56:33.761-04:00Mixed Bag Rantings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PL0rCnMjq8kac_0RtqQMTnu17o4Bo8mHu_S3s3Obz6U9HcRVV7dnPtt4ya92g8kBsCq0JEMun3pbPL60YGSlInN12xhO4gnaY5dQ6cjSzPLry7RU0f4ZzxajDy8jKTTAyLl2BOlAVxE/s1600/madmen_fullbody.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PL0rCnMjq8kac_0RtqQMTnu17o4Bo8mHu_S3s3Obz6U9HcRVV7dnPtt4ya92g8kBsCq0JEMun3pbPL60YGSlInN12xhO4gnaY5dQ6cjSzPLry7RU0f4ZzxajDy8jKTTAyLl2BOlAVxE/s400/madmen_fullbody.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460223634200060306" border="0" /></a><br />I tried to do the right thing but how come they didn't? They're the ones who are supposed to know better yet they chose to think about their own asses first rather than what was better for the greater good. Maybe Timothy Leary, in all his infinite acid laced wisdom, had the right idea to drop out. It's hard being part of something you just don't believe in any longer. I read a quote at the end of some ones email today and it said something about not doing things for the money but to save your soul. I used to dream about being a hippie poet on the beach in Malibu, smoking 12o's and waxing about existential thoughts. I spent most of my summer's barefoot in Cape May nursing chapped lips from kissing random guys in bars and further destroying my fragile liver with any libation that rocked my world. Dollar 'Rocks at the King Eddie has been traded up for $10 glasses of Shiraz at the Brown Room. I sip rather than glug. I nibble at the snack treats rather than inhale the stale Pepperidge Farms pretzel mix at the Chalfonte that I used to think was gourmet! I was a poser of sorts back then trying to balance everyday life with the endless rantings in my head. Is that the life of a writer? Do we hear voices? I remember everything and everyone from my past. I remember distinct conversations that still haunt me. What am I supposed to do with this information? For God's sake, I still remember the damn department codes from Caldor and secretly kept and old wannabee boyfriends name tag. I have it in a box on my dresser. I thought he was the love of my love but all it was...was a whole lot of nothing. Unrequited love sucks. Once you really fall in love, you can tell the difference in a million different ways. After almost 15 years of marriage, I'm just so excited that I get to spend everyday of my life with my best friend and lover. All those other asses that used and abused me, can piss off. Am I still bitter...hmmm...good question. All I know is that you have to go through all the a-holes to get to the good stuff...and boy, I got me some really good stuff! Maybe I'll throw that name tag out. I just don't want it anymore. I think a YaYa Sisterhood ceremony is in order! Any takers?Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-52961209364220432312010-04-13T22:50:00.002-04:002010-04-13T22:53:07.539-04:00Vogue...Beauty's Where You Find It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_utLUv-j_1l4icDa_DC_r2yFiCKPHZKHTRlI3jnVt6eoxlFAcGoV0ib_ESgBX7s5C-a5Df2TUFohc8yyCpvW5Cx5fifh_UpGPVMQcvyUDAbvrqJ9uYcb7AcskR5MtCBuTUJiVODPPKo/s1600/6a00cd96f930ea4cd500d09e6ace6bbe2b-320pi.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_utLUv-j_1l4icDa_DC_r2yFiCKPHZKHTRlI3jnVt6eoxlFAcGoV0ib_ESgBX7s5C-a5Df2TUFohc8yyCpvW5Cx5fifh_UpGPVMQcvyUDAbvrqJ9uYcb7AcskR5MtCBuTUJiVODPPKo/s400/6a00cd96f930ea4cd500d09e6ace6bbe2b-320pi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459820754073010898" border="0" /></a><br />FLASHBACK: (circa 1987) I was at Quintessence in Albany with Michael, drinking "Sex on the Beach" mixers when "Vogue" came on the sound system. I had a few heavily poured cocktails and was dying to dance a little. As I headed towards the 4x4 dance floor, I saw this toolish guy "voguing" to the song as if he was Madonna himself. I walked right up to him, big hair and all, and did a little dance-off myself, letting the liquor do the work, but he wreaked so badly of Drakkar Noir, it forced me to exit stage left...beauty's where find it!Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-14143502423114852172010-03-15T23:32:00.003-04:002010-03-15T23:33:27.135-04:00Twitter TimeJust wanted to let y'all know that I'm now on Twitter, jotting down those little notes, here and there, when the moment strikes! Follow me at www.twitter.com/reneontheworldRene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-83357450206428480662010-02-02T22:27:00.003-05:002010-02-02T22:38:33.772-05:00New Cooking Blog Coming SoonAlthough I am enjoying my occasional blog about life's happenings, I'm finding that my true passion in life is food. I'm an avid cook, cookbook reader (it calms the nerves) and foodie although I'm not really into bizarro Survivor type foods like Eye of Newt and alligator scrotum. The site was supposed to be launched last year but through a series of lazy hazy days, last year became this moment. I'm committed to bringing you the most fabulous recipes that have been tweaked by me. I warn you, my food is not for the flavorless palates that plague many nations. You must be brave, enjoy the pungent taste of garlic and savor the sweet and savory flavors I concoct on a daily basis.<br />The blog will be called <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Boar and Baker </span>and we'll have a ball making everything from quick work night dinners to brilliant roasts, crusty pizza's and a wide variety of confections, cakes, cookies and tarts. Look for <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The Boar and the Baker </span>on Blogspot!Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-33055401133282720182009-10-31T19:07:00.008-04:002009-10-31T21:04:29.251-04:00When the Past Comes Back to Haunt You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCKcJJOvuvpT_GzjXpJrSjer5pgvYmVOV7dtqkdtamGADyR-vrorE5PVTjlcAKpFDybhWcKh_-JGNQ-DAzCdRXMQSYc8OQPWwv7ZqNIGTeMr3JnOOyOh9KwSnmDNkrb-DlVVHKB9XxFY/s1600-h/n18905492_34005168_815.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCKcJJOvuvpT_GzjXpJrSjer5pgvYmVOV7dtqkdtamGADyR-vrorE5PVTjlcAKpFDybhWcKh_-JGNQ-DAzCdRXMQSYc8OQPWwv7ZqNIGTeMr3JnOOyOh9KwSnmDNkrb-DlVVHKB9XxFY/s400/n18905492_34005168_815.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398934761452827394" border="0" /></a><br />When I opened the office door and set my bags down, out of the blue, I remembered that I had a meeting in 15 minutes and hadn't prepared. Waiting for my computer to boot-up could take forever so I grabbed my scribbled notes from Friday, hoping they would enlighten me and refresh my absent minded self of the meeting agenda. Suddenly, the phone rang and I picked it up with my usual enthusiasm, "Old College," I said in a pseudo sarcastic voice. But, then what to my wondering ears should I hear but a mouth breathing, moaning psycho-path who was obviously in the middle of the task at hand...literally (if you know what I mean). I quickly slammed down the phone, flabbergasted, I tried to collect my thoughts when the phone rang again. It was Vic. I knew his number well since I bothered him throughout the day with nonsense phone calls. "Hi. Thank God it's you. I just got a dirty, porno call from some random guy...at MY JOB!" I bellowed, half laughing, half scowling. "Don't worry about it. It was probably a prank. Maybe it was one of the students," Vic said, not worried about the situation. "RING," "RING," "RING." It was my other line. This time I could see the number. The area code was from South Jersey. 609 to be exact. I didn't get the whole number. "Damn it," I thought, frustrated by the University's bad caller ID system that doesn't store numbers. I put Vic on hold and cautiously answered the other line. "Old College, " I said in a lighter voice. "Ugh, Ooooh, Ahhhh, grunt, grunt" the caller moaned and moaned. I slammed down the line again. There would be no climaxing by anyone in 203 Rumson Hall...not even by an obscene phone caller....HOUSE RULES! I switched back to Vic, told him what happened and he asked if I was able to get the number. "No," I said sadly feeling a bit defeated. "Don't worry NeNe, you'll figure it out," my husband said. "I'm sure it's nothing."<br /><br />"RING." "RING." "RING." I couldn't believe the nerve of this foolish, slobbering caller, with the staying power of a Viagra popping old cooter who had nothing better to do than call a spry 40 something for a little morning delight. Well, he happened to pick on the wrong woman. I'll play along for a little while and then I get mad quickly. On my desk of toys, I scampered for a toy whistle or anything that I could blow in the "handyman's" ear. Nothing...nothing...ahhhhhh something. It wasn't much but I grabbed a wax harmonica someone had given me last Halloween and blew as hard as I could. I hit a nice middle C note but nothing to destroy the ear drum. "Damn it!" I picked the phone up, accidentally hanging up on Vic at the same time. Now I was alone in my office suite, no student aid, no co-worker to save me. I was flying solo. I blew again, this time directly into the phone. I must have looked like a supreme ass at that moment but I didn't care. I wanted to inflict some sort of pain on this obnoxious phone caller who was stressing me out right before I had to be on point. I could feel my face get red, my blood pressure rise and my patience wane. "Blow....whistle.......silence." He even stopped moaning and for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought I'd won, but then he exhaled loudly. Ugh..had he? He had. Oh my God! He caaaaaaaa...No. I can't go there. I won't think about it. I zoned out for a second until I heard him begin to laugh. I was enraged to the point of no return. "Maybe you should get a better whistle Rene'. I really love that black sweater you're wearing this morning. I've been watching you...very closely," he carefully explained. I was paralyzed, frozen with fear. It was the kind of fear that kept you from screaming. Suddenly, I was a mute. I dropped the phone on my desk, never hanging up. I quickly looked out my office window, scanning the parking lot for a sign of anyone who may have been playing a trick on me. Nothing. Then, suddenly, I heard the suite door close abruptly. I ran to my door, slamming it with a fury I'd never experienced. I was panting heavily, my heart was thumping out of my chest. Again, I was mute. Frightened beyond my capability, I reached for the phone. I slammed it down on the receiver and called the main office just a few doors down the hall. I was crying, screaming and pleading with the student aids to help me. My door knob was turning, turning now harder and harder till it shook the entire door frame. "I'm waiting for you Rene'....I'm not going to wait much longer," the sex crazed freaky phone caller said. No need to worry. The students were coming to help me or where they. How long does it take for a college kid to walk down the hall?<br /><br />I heard muffled yelling and the outside door abruptly close and then re-open again quickly. "Rene' are you OK? What the hell is going on?" said Aaron, a junior at the college. "Open the door!!!!" As I was about to open it, I head a car ripping through the parking lot, brakes screeching. It was a brown sedan with Pennsylvania plates. I think it was a Chevy Vega. I hadn't seen one of those in years but somehow, it rang a bell. I managed to write down a piece of the plate ABH-7 and then I lost the rest. My eyes aren't what they used to be, neither are my reflexes. My stomach was churning. I could feel the English muffin and peanut butter I ate for breakfast quickly rising up my esophagus. As the bile crept higher and higher, my mind was running. Where had I seen that car? I kept drawing a blank, but somehow, I knew it had to be someone from my Cape May days. That was 20 plus years ago. The summer of '87 to be exact. I had a bit of stalker when I lived at the Maycomber....he used to fuck with me whenever he had a chance. I was warned about him from a rent a cop friend of mine who said this guy was wanted for questioning about a stabbing in PA and that the Cape May cops were watching him. He pinned a dragonfly to my door, crushed my "Whose that Girl" Madonna cd and shredded my Cosmo's in the bathroom. He even stole one of my lipsticks and wrote "Bitch" all over the bathroom mirror. Could it be him? I haven't thought about him since the summer of '90 when he slid up next to me on a slow night at Carney's Other Room, touched my leg and tried to buy me a drink. He was in his 40's and eager to make my acquaintance once again. Thank God my then boyfriend noticed the frightened look on my face and quickly escorted me to the kitchen where I waited silently until he got off his bar tending shift. I never saw him again, but now all signs point to him and almost 60 year old derelict looking to get cozy with me all these years later. What a bloody sicko!<br /><br />I opened my door, only to find a few sheet white students wondering what the hell was going on. We began to speak over each other, eagerly trying to grasp the gist of what just went down. Then, my peripheral vision caught a letter taped on my door. It was hastily written in half block, half cursive writing that said, "Next time, no door will keep me out. I'll be watching you just like I did through the key hole at the Maycomber."<br /><br />HAPPY HALLOWEEN!Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-14161579871450182942009-10-20T22:20:00.008-04:002009-10-25T23:12:41.190-04:00American EXPRESS? Are you kidding me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvsgWubBhI9vA0i5YxDJHhJzvK-p1JSAQ62HSVOIybWuwyrdJUZ0BeiPbYRvqhdIot0PrUtynqCskWNJV9ls1TjhF4A_7qJ6Xy9QikSH3TGiaaAdusKaTKlzjOo1SNP3TDZotMCeaKxc/s1600-h/app_full_proxy.php.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvsgWubBhI9vA0i5YxDJHhJzvK-p1JSAQ62HSVOIybWuwyrdJUZ0BeiPbYRvqhdIot0PrUtynqCskWNJV9ls1TjhF4A_7qJ6Xy9QikSH3TGiaaAdusKaTKlzjOo1SNP3TDZotMCeaKxc/s400/app_full_proxy.php.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396741311461789890" border="0" /></a><br />Along my three mile trek to work this morning (Tuesday), my 2002 VW Passatt decided to conk out as I entered the gates of Hofstra, where I was slated to speak at a guidance counselor gig in the University Club. As I coasted into a spot, I silently cursed the day I ever bought this black lemon. I do vow never to buy another VW as long as I breathe air. My 1990 Jetta just bit the dust a few years ago...my college car that my mom purchased for me, just died. You should be impressed by that but it just goes to show that things are now built to break...not to last. My husband made an executive decision earlier this year and dropped our wonderful Allstate Roadside Assistance Service in place of the "free" American Express Gold Card car service. What a big mistake! There are fundamental differences between the two and unfortunately, he made the wrong decision. I sat in the club's parking lot for two and a half hours waiting for a tow truck to arrive while snippy little girls from Amex kept assuring me that he'd be there momentarily. Well, momentarily came hours later and after much hullabaloo, our tow truck manly man showed up and quickly flat bedded my VW away. If I had known I'd be basking in the Indian summer sun on a mid-October morning, I wouldn't have taken my beach chairs out of the trunk of my car. Thankfully, my husband came and waited with me over a couple of bottles of water and a box of chocolate covered Altoids. My stress level was at an all-time high. I ended up speaking with the counselors prior to my long wait, which was good but I was frazzled and fumbled my words a few times. I hate that because I'm a good public speaker and I kept losing my thoughts. Ugh! I sucked yesterday but I have a few more chances to get better at this. I'll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile, the word on my street is ditch AMEX Roadside (I hate to even compare this to service) Service and get something that is more reputable. It didn't take much to convince my husband to switch back to Allstate Road Service, especially since he waited and waited and waited there with me for well over two hours. Funny how things get fixed when ...........Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-79286267004136817502009-10-19T22:32:00.003-04:002009-10-19T22:57:11.296-04:00Life in Motion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0nMFx51k6OcNNSSCX6F-B-pvcaN70HfYvlNgiVmwuntobPyJh-Yp1MlhBhd_fltTi45SZLt0F26GIgqBQcwEg2JdpeS4GybQvrcVKXq86-Vxp6AQ_y6z1ldK0E01HMgXB7TsHP4amD4/s1600-h/thegang.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0nMFx51k6OcNNSSCX6F-B-pvcaN70HfYvlNgiVmwuntobPyJh-Yp1MlhBhd_fltTi45SZLt0F26GIgqBQcwEg2JdpeS4GybQvrcVKXq86-Vxp6AQ_y6z1ldK0E01HMgXB7TsHP4amD4/s400/thegang.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394510735128701794" border="0" /></a><br />I think I have my seasons mixed up. I've been hibernating for months, but I plan on doing daily installments from now until I can't write another word or phrase. I must be out of my mind to let my craft slip away. After my mother's death, I basically threw my hands in the air and said, "whatever will be, will be," (oh that Doris Day influence) and allowed myself to be bad in more ways than one. I ate too much, drank too much and allowed myself to wallow in my misery and bereft state. I marinated so much in that sadness that it began to overtake me and that, my friends, is what shook me to the core. I can't say I simply snapped out of it but what it did was make me look deeper into my feelings, which allowed me to release the anger and depression that had a hold on me. I know what's wrong in my life and unless I make radical, painful changes, I'll be stuck in a life that has little meaning. I wanted so much more for my life and I hate to think about myself as 42 and trapped. My marriage is phenomenal...I couldn't ask for a better man to share my life. It's all the rest. I was driving yesterday and heard Queensryche's "Jet City Woman," and almost cried. That song came out in the summer of '91 and at that point, I was 24 and had my whole life in front of me. I was going to write for Rolling Stone you know. I was going to be the next big thing....big big BIG hopes and dreams, but I let my fragile ego lead me into something that was safe..a sure thing. Don't get me wrong. I met a lot of amazing people along the way and honestly, it radically changed my life. Each person I met along this crazy ride had a hand in shaping me. There's always a time when we have to simply walk away. Carol Burnett did it when she tugged on her ear lobe each Saturday night as she left the stage but how will Rene' find her way back to the pages, the sentences, the periods and quotations..........How, How HOW?Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8978809746050779241.post-3569531360392726622009-07-24T23:24:00.003-04:002009-07-24T23:33:28.511-04:00Thoughts on Cape May<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NMuqLUSCtQ06iWlOjGdYqK510tCS05mK3WGhiBFCJ8BDhfxwWO6uX5W1oKislJWmFhJZhv0F2p0gaAks8txEqBSMkr88JNB37_96Rdln86HmCDeRilW8LzM_UpKLSePaBWuyrxJEzNM/s1600-h/CapeMay10-27shoreviews007-large.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NMuqLUSCtQ06iWlOjGdYqK510tCS05mK3WGhiBFCJ8BDhfxwWO6uX5W1oKislJWmFhJZhv0F2p0gaAks8txEqBSMkr88JNB37_96Rdln86HmCDeRilW8LzM_UpKLSePaBWuyrxJEzNM/s400/CapeMay10-27shoreviews007-large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362235643661517154" border="0" /></a><br />Walking along the shore in Cape May....waves crash heavily along the beach...ocean spray in the air....cool breeze blowing in from the sea....Ipod on random....Journey's "Stone in Love" plays loudly in my ears...staring out at the horizon and for just a moment, it was 1987 all over again and my heart was smiling...I'm home and all is well in Oz.Rene'http://www.blogger.com/profile/15838426134143822505noreply@blogger.com1