I’m concluding that is just me- a singular voice screaming louder and well beyond the usual banter, frenzy, and white noise in the aftermath of the demise of Kim and Kris’ dissolution of their sacred covenant. There is a silver lining, a phoenix rising from the smoldering passions of a short-lived union. There seems to be a national penchant for those of attitude, entitlement, and the absurd The GOP should capitalize on the hysteria engulfing most media outlets and consider wooing the political aspirations of the now once again Miss Kardashian. I can see the posters already, A Kardashian, Snooki ticket. Both can campaign on how many they have employed. The millions spent on the wedding and its subsequent broadcasts have certainly lined the accounts of many, with scores employed and should have added to the state coffers through income tax. The VP side of the ticket could proclaim its prowess in international diplomacy, especially Italy
What has happened to the philosophical foundations of the Civil Rights Act-/ was it that long ago that thousands of women protested and campaigned for equal rights and equal pay- to break through the glass ceilings of corporate America. Did Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem work so hard just to have the madame Kardashian pimp all the panache and personal remnants her daughters and son’s lives? Are we that detached, disillusioned, or deprived in this country that ‘anything’ Kardashian should have any significance or monetary value? How much do they charge us to see Miss kardashian’s terse smile and more important- why is there even a market for it? Can’t we develop more stringent criteria for how we bequeath the status of celebrity onto anyone?- A neighbor of mine stopped by and asked what subject I was typing about. When I told her the Kardashian family, she replied. “aren’t they one of those characters out of Star trek?” I thanked her for helping me with my ending
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
IN ANOTHER 5 YEARS
On August 7th, 2005 an oversized group of friends, family, near and distant, and people in general that I just didn’t know came for festivities and pay respects as we all celebrated my father’s 90th birthday. There was music, food and an open bar- all had a great time and time was not in my father’s corner as he had to make an early exit, because of mild exhaustion. Once that was announced the party quickly wound down, my father then attempted to make his exit. As he bade farewell to all remaining, he did remark possibly tongue in cheek at the time, “I’ll see you in another five years”. There was a hint of defiance in his tone- enough to prevail and persevere through the following years and acquire several more great grand children and aide in his son’s stroke recovery.
So much that on August 7th, 2010 a smaller configuration of mostly immediate family gathered to celebrate my father’s 95th birthday. There was an eerie mode to this party quite different from the one five years earlier, sons and daughters, grand and great grandchildren all clamored to get ‘that’ photo and throughout it all I thought my father was mildly upset over the commotion. He accommodated all of the photo opps and after an entire afternoon of music ,food, and less drink, it was time for my father to go home As he slowly made his way to his car aiding his stride with his cane, he stopped and turned to those still there, looked halfway up to the sky and said it again, “I’ll see you in the next five years” In some ways there was a sense of assurance in that statement or we imagined his confidence, but it was helpful to hear this affirmation one more time.
However in less than five weeks, yet alone years, my father, patriarch to nine children, countless grand and great grandchildren, and probably on Planned Parenthood’s top ten most wanted list passed away quietly in the middle of the night in a convalescent home. The cruel irony of his solo departure angers and frightens me simultaneously. I have just one daughter and three grand daughters and would not want to be alone in my final moments.
As I stated in earlier posts, my father was my first guitar mentor, every Sunday morning as my mother went to mass, my father would serve all who were willing to listen our communion with the greats of music of that period. Another sad irony is that there are no recordings of my dad strumming and singing. He attempted to yodel basically an extinct, rarely heard musical expression. But we all hear it in our hearts and I would offer a king’s ransom to listen to a recording of my father singing once again.
I also reported that following my stroke that I decided to return to school to acquire my masters degree. And what I didn’t realize about graduate school is how much writing is required in pursuit of the degree. There were many nights when I became overwhelmed with sentence structure, phrasing, and spelling. I would call my father and ask for the correct spelling or phraseology of a sentence or word. He always responded with, “get a dictionary!”- To which I would retort,“I’m talking to it” this banter mildly upset my father but I thought that there was an understanding between the two of us – that this exercise was acceptable. Following his passing, I found myself calling family and friends to help fill the void left vacant by my father. Most of them were not as tolerant or understanding as my father was. So if it’s late in the evening and you hear from me asking how to spell a word or searching for a better expression, please don’t be too upset or offended, I’m actually asking you to step into and fill some mighty big shoes
So much that on August 7th, 2010 a smaller configuration of mostly immediate family gathered to celebrate my father’s 95th birthday. There was an eerie mode to this party quite different from the one five years earlier, sons and daughters, grand and great grandchildren all clamored to get ‘that’ photo and throughout it all I thought my father was mildly upset over the commotion. He accommodated all of the photo opps and after an entire afternoon of music ,food, and less drink, it was time for my father to go home As he slowly made his way to his car aiding his stride with his cane, he stopped and turned to those still there, looked halfway up to the sky and said it again, “I’ll see you in the next five years” In some ways there was a sense of assurance in that statement or we imagined his confidence, but it was helpful to hear this affirmation one more time.
However in less than five weeks, yet alone years, my father, patriarch to nine children, countless grand and great grandchildren, and probably on Planned Parenthood’s top ten most wanted list passed away quietly in the middle of the night in a convalescent home. The cruel irony of his solo departure angers and frightens me simultaneously. I have just one daughter and three grand daughters and would not want to be alone in my final moments.
As I stated in earlier posts, my father was my first guitar mentor, every Sunday morning as my mother went to mass, my father would serve all who were willing to listen our communion with the greats of music of that period. Another sad irony is that there are no recordings of my dad strumming and singing. He attempted to yodel basically an extinct, rarely heard musical expression. But we all hear it in our hearts and I would offer a king’s ransom to listen to a recording of my father singing once again.
I also reported that following my stroke that I decided to return to school to acquire my masters degree. And what I didn’t realize about graduate school is how much writing is required in pursuit of the degree. There were many nights when I became overwhelmed with sentence structure, phrasing, and spelling. I would call my father and ask for the correct spelling or phraseology of a sentence or word. He always responded with, “get a dictionary!”- To which I would retort,“I’m talking to it” this banter mildly upset my father but I thought that there was an understanding between the two of us – that this exercise was acceptable. Following his passing, I found myself calling family and friends to help fill the void left vacant by my father. Most of them were not as tolerant or understanding as my father was. So if it’s late in the evening and you hear from me asking how to spell a word or searching for a better expression, please don’t be too upset or offended, I’m actually asking you to step into and fill some mighty big shoes
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