The No Cheating Chip

It's late at night. i slip into the pantry for a little salty snack. i am the only one awake......until i go for the Sun Chips.

This new compostable chip bag, " louder because it is compostable," makes the most gratingly annoying crumply noise i have ever heard.

If you are on a diet, have little or no willpower, yet have asked others (and really meant it) to help you stick to it...let the Sun Chip be your default cheat.
By merely picking the bag up, you will sound off the "I'm breaking my diet" alarm and your saviors will come running.

Selective Attention

When I took this picture a year ago in Waynesville, NC I was taken with the pick up truck and acid green colonial den decorations. Now when i look at this picture, I am distracted by the price of gas and then somewhat irked.

Virginia Revisited

I have met few girls named Virginia. And I have not interviewed a one. However, I have a certain feeling that sometime in the pre-teen/teenage years, girls named "Virginia" are stalked by snickering hormonal name tweakers who alter the spelling in a way that causes embarassment for the Virginias of the world.

VIRGINIA........VAGINA........VIRGIN

Several years ago, I was privy to an unexpected twist on this oh-so-hilarious word play. I was at the gynecologist for my yearly exam, looking swell in a dressing gown and stirrups. The doctor walked in. After a morsel of small talk, he got down to business. Then his cell phone rang.

"Can't talk now," he said. "I'm in Virginia."

Old Ads/New Meanings

I pick and arrange things for a living. I choose words, furnishings, and pictures and put them together in an attractive, inspirational, and sometimes button-pushing kind of way.
Since it is what I love to do, I tend to automatically hone my skills at editing and composing even when I'm not working. Last night, for example, I was thumbing through a few vintage magazines and books, and came upon this ad for the State of Virginia.


By blacking out a few words and letters, I gave an entirely different meaning to the headline.


I have always found yesteryear's advertising lingo to be particularly inspiring for good old-fashioned wordplay. I once ripped out a page from a 1960's Sears catalog. It pictured a teenage boy wearing sports-logoed pajamas. His hair was puffy and his smile overdone. The banner at the top read, "FLAME RETARDANT." I blacked out the "F" and the "ant."

Here's another ad with some room for play. What do you see?

FLICK PICK: "Watermelon Man" -- Racier Than I Thought

Last night I finally made it to the end of "Watermelon Man." This 1970's flick is about a 30-something bigoted obnoxious white guy who wakes up in the middle of the night to discover he is now black. This is by far not one of my favorite movies, but it does has some good socially provokative moments, and I was delighted that it did not have a neatly-tied-with-a-bow Hollywood ending.

Mr. Gerber, played by Godfrey Cambridge, never goes back to being white (which is a relief because he looks totally weird made up to look white and is a much better looking black man).


His initial shock, leads to denial, which leads to dispair, which leads to a sort of acceptance, rebirth and strength. His white family practitioner confirms, "Jeff you are a Negro," and then suggests he consult with a doctor of his own race from here on out. Though Mr. Gerber loses his family, job, and house, he gains humility, dignity, a new community after his neighbors tell him, "We feel your presence can undermine the value of our homes." Mr. Gerber, in fact plays it smart, and drives up a $100,000 buyout that enables him to start over and open up his own business.

Women reacted to his blackness differently. His wife, who once begged for Wednesday night nookie, suddenly stops asking. She offers some sympathy, suggesting that his sunlamp malfunctioned and everything will be alright. When she realizes that he will remain black forever, she withdraws completely. "I'm liberal to a point," she explains, adding, "I never thought marriage was going to be interracial."

A sexy secretary with a German accent, however, has become newly curious about her transformed office mate. She comes onto him, and finally after, getting rejected repeatedly from his wife, Mr. Gerber makes the call. We know what she's thinking even though Mr. Gerber, after looking down his pajama pants, lets the viewer know that "It's just an old wives tale." There is a brief scene with some nudity. The girl is apparently insatiable. When he gets out of bed to go home she gets angry, goes to the open window, and screams "Rape." Nice!

If you haven't seen this strange, comedic, sometimes painful cringe-worthy fictional depiction of racial issues, and like to glimpse sets staged with mediocre vintage suburban decor, then you might like "Watermelon Man." Not for the kids however. Besides a super close up of bare buttocks and a few minutes of boobs (i think they were fake), there are too many politically and socially incorrect slurs that you don't want your kids repeating.

The Newspaper

I get the paper everyday. I read it about once a week. It piles up on the chair and eventually I weed through it. The Sports section gets tossed, as do most of the advertisements, and am left with the headlines, the local features, the special weekly sections, and the entertainment.

I used to get the Sun Sentinel. I used to write for them too. Hmmmm. Now I subscribe to the Miami Herald. Not because I have a grudge. Simply because they offered me a $11/month deal.

When I read it, I remember how much I like it. Reading the actual paper is a luxury. The information is a mental treat. I get inspired, pissed, and educated. I am moved, and I take notes and clip articles.

Sammi, who is 9, has been upset lately over the underwhelming response to the Chilean earthquake. She said it wasn't fair. She was saddened by the Haiti disaster, assisted in a shoe collection drive, and witnessed the world and familiar faces from her world -- Justin Bieber, Nick Jonas, and Lady Gaga -- coming together to help. She asked, "Why are we ignoring Chile?"

I didn't answer her question, but just kind of put on a pouty face that let her know I felt a little sad about it too. But then I read Tuesday's paper, and I found out why the world wasn't all over Chile like we were Haiti. I was empowered, and I was excited to educate her with fact rather than just pure feeling.

Keeping it simple for both of our benefits, I told her that though the Chilean quake was stronger, so is Chile. And since the damage occurred outside of the big city, Santiago, fewer lives were lost. I told her that the roads and buildings were built stronger and that the government had saved enough money to fix them back up. And that Chile can make money again by selling things like wine, copper, steel, and paper.

She asked me several times if Florida would have an earthquake. I said, "probably not." My response is close to the answer she wanted to hear which was "No, never ever ever," and i hope not that far from the truth. I didn't find that answer in the newspaper. It was just in my heart.

Pleasing Mom

I am 46 and still worry about pleasing my mother. I know deep inside that she loves me unconditionally, and wants to be a help, but yet, her motherly advice and remarks often come off as criticism, and sometimes I just don't feel like dealing.

Today my mother and I were at the mall. We made a date so that she could hand deliver my official license plate. Four weeks ago, my parents bought me a Santa Fe Hyundai. They insited that I stop driving my 12 year old Jeep Cherokee and get a safe, reliable car. My mother and I had lunch followed by a little shopping.

After walking around for a while, I thought she might be tired. It has been 2 1/2 months since hip replacement surgery and this was her first time gallavanting around town without my dad. I offered to pick her up at the mall entrance and drive her to her car. She accepted the ride.

As I approached the black SUV, I noticed a small white spot on the passenger side door. I rubbed it with a little bit of saliva. It did not go away. I rubbed it again. Hmmmm. I noticed another spot. I wasn't happy. I hadn't noticed these dings before.

The car was almost a month old. My parents bought it for me. This Santa Fe was my first brand new car. I practically ran my blazing red '98 Jeep Cherokee into the ground. I owned it for seven years.

As a first time new car owner, I was doing my best to take care of it without being obsessive. But now, noticing these dings, I felt a nervous rush of "Oh Shit" wash over me. My mom would be upset. I did not want to hear the disappointment in her voice as she might say: "Oh honey, you've got to park it far away from all the other cars" or "Lord, you're gonna ruin this car before its paid for" or "YOU really have to be more careful. If you keep going at this rate..."

I walked around to the driver's side. I kept pressing on the key switch. The locks did not make a sound. I looked in the window and saw a McDonald's cup and stack of library books on the seat...PHEWWWWWW, this was not my car. I had mistaken a Lexus for my car.

I laughed out loud. I got this image of me practically licking the car to avoid a confrontation, and it was quite ridiculous. When I got to my car just a bit further down the lane, I was happy to see that besides a little bit of dirt, there were no dings.

I picked my mother up, and she told me how delighted she was to see how nice I was keeping the car. She turned to me, "Do you like your seat that far back? You might want to put your seat more upright. I find it's less stressful on the back."