Happy birthday to the REAL king...

Vernon Presley, father, Elvis, Colonel Tom Parker. Google image

...the king of rock and roll with the velvet voice. Elvis Aaron Presley. Not MJ, despite the desperate attempts to link the two...(that makes me 'throw up a little in my mouth'...)

Jet-haired southern poor boy who rocked the music scene with his blend of black sound, blues, rock and roll, and pelvic prestidigitation. Who loved his mama, Gladys. Who loyally stayed with a manager, Colonel Parker, when he should have moved on*. Who made the female hearts of the world reach therapeutic cardio rates. Who captured the heart of a three year old little girl from the West, a baby who held a radio wire and acted as a human antenna for her teenage sisters as they did dishes. (Me, in case I was too cryptic)...

I loved his voice. I loved his lyrics. I loved his messages.

He made me think of life outside our dirty chaos-filled home. I thought of love and promise and happiness. I still have that feeling when I hear his music. Like there is more out there to see, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Happy birthday to you, Elvis. And thanks for the sounds, the dreams, the life-long crush.

*It is a fact that after Elvis' death an official investigation found that "both Colonel Parker and RCA acted in collusion against Presley's best interests. Colonel Parker was guilty of self-dealing and overreaching and had violated his duty to both Elvis and to the estate." --from Elvis Info Net and official estate documents

This is NOT okay!!!!

See what I mean? (post of 1/6/10)...

This is not Sherlock's style. He doesn't get naked, EVEN to bathe. I have read all the Watson tales, listened to all the radio shows, watched all the television shows (except the ones with Leonard Nimoy or Charleton Heston, for obvious reasons). I have read The Seven Per Cent Solution, watched The Young Sherlock Holmes, even read several versions of Conan Doyles's biography. I know that The Man was addicted to opium and cocaine. I know he was a flawed character. I accept that.

But, he was not cute, he was not bumbling, and he was not the sort to be tied naked to a headboard, willie-nillie. Or, willie-pillie, as in this picture, thanks to the strategic pillow.

I would like to see the pillow removed, though...

What? I don't hate Robert, especially naked, just not as SH...

Quote

Something special happens when people laugh together over something genuinely funny, and not hurtful to anyone. It's like a magic rain that showers down feelings of safety and belonging to a group.

--Mary Jane Belfie, from Heart, Humor & Healing

Sherlock

I a nervous about seeing the new Sherlock Holmes movie starring Robert Downey, Jr. I have been a Sherlock fan for years.

I have accepted the fact that he is a tall, thin, geeky guy with a prominent nose and strange tastes, as written by Conan Doyle. I adapted to him as a voice on the radio rather than just within the written word. I have stuck with him as his face went through the transmogrifications of Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett, Peter O'Toole, John Neville, and over a dozen other pretenders. I refused to watch him played by Leonard Nimoy or Charleton Heston, for obvious reasons.

But, Robert Downey, Jr.?! He's way too cute to be The Man himself. And I saw the previews. Sherlock naked, tied to a headboard?! Not in a million years! His clothing is permanently affixed to his body! He was born in a smoking jacket, for God's sake!

How could I witness the modern version and be entertained? For that matter, how could I remain calm? I don't think he would ever find himself in such a condition, not if 'that woman' herself, Irenie Adler, managed to somehow seduce him.

I would need a lot of support to see this movie, maybe even meet with a counselor to debrief after. And then years of support groups. It is just all too much.

A piece of my heart

Today, I got a piece of my heart back, one that I was not fully aware was missing. I rode a horse.

I grew up with horses; rode almost daily. Horses and dogs provided the calm nonjudgemental regard I lacked in my chaotic family life. Horses provided an escape. As long as I was riding, I was not at home where I was a target for shame, ridicule and punishment.

I have not ridden for years. I sold my last horse several years ago. He and I were never a good fit anyway. He wanted to be a big silly pet, willful and distractable. I wanted a calm uncomplicated trustworthy companion.

My niece has been bugging me for the past year or more to come ride with her. She lives about an hour away. I finally did it. I was loaned a big, tall Missouri Foxtrotter named Rain. She was a dream. We rode for miles and miles, up trails that let out onto mountain peaks with breathtaking views. We forded streams and waded through mud.

I felt like I was breathing sweetened air. I seemed to float on that gaited mare. We sometimes flew through the woods, the trees blurring past and my hat threatening to leave my head. I felt exhilarated and giddy. I felt a hole in my soul being mended.

As we ended the ride and I groomed my mount, I could not stop smiling. I had gotten back the horsewoman in me, and I had missed her. She has always been a good friend of mine.

The sunscreen song, from Loving the Simple Things, at http://tolivetolaughtolove.blogspot.com/

The Lyrics:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Women's Collegiate Soccer's Tanya Harding

Have you heard about the female soccer player Elizabeth Lambert of the New Mexico Lobos? I think she is channeling Tanya Harding in her style of play and (lack of) sportsmanship.

She trips, fouls, stomps and, famously, pulls ponytails hard enough to ground the player. She is showing the world that women are as big of assholes as men. Wow, nice work, girl.

For you young folk, Tanya is the pro ice skater who got her husband and his big-ass friend to whack the knees of her closest competition, Nancy Kerrigan. Those trailer park girls should not be fucked with...