Saturday, 25 February 2012

FU Cancer

When I was in grade 11 (1987) a myriad of life altering events occurred. Among them, I met my future husband, I met some of my closest friends to go with the ones I already had. One of them was a hyper, wiry, happy-go-lucky, artsy-fartsy,  young guy by the name of Jeff. To this day - Jeff is one of my dearest friends whom I adore endlessly.

Our group of friends became very close and always were hanging out together. We would call our friends parents Mom and Dad and they would treat us as one of their own children.

My friend Jeff has a younger sister Adrienne (3 years his junior - she's 36/37 currently). She always hung around when we were there, we would always be willing to accept her into our group with whatever we were doing. I love Adrienne. She was a sweet, funny (and very shy) young girl of about 13 when we first met. She developed and grew into a beautiful young woman over the years.

About 3 years ago she was diagnosed with cancer. She had a son and was pregnant with her second child and found out she had cancer. She had the option of aborting and dealing with the cancer then...or dealing with the cancer later after she had the baby. She opted to deal with the cancer after her pregnancy. I don't know if she was misinformed or quite what but I do feel that it was the wrong choice to make, and I thought that when she found out she had cancer. She has since been through 2 rounds of chemo, has lost all her hair and I just found out that the cancer has spread to her legs. I am grief stricken.

When my Mom told me she was originally going in for a "routine" mammogram because she'd not had one before - I knew how it was all going to end even before she went in for it. And now with Adrienne from the moment I was told she had cancer, I knew it was not going to go well. I truly hope I'm wrong, but unfortunately it's a feeling I can't control, cannot shake and I am devastated. She's young, beautiful and has these two little gorgeous babies who she adores...who may not have a mother as they grow up.

It makes me angry though as well if we travel down the theological path. It goes back to the same argument about my Mother. Charlie Manson, Michael Vick, Chris Brown, etc, etc, etc all get to live? Whatever. So I'm trying desperately DESPERATELY to not travel down the theological path of it all. God's will my ass. And with that...I'm in that angry place again.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope everything ends up being fine....please..just this once...let my gut be wrong. Fuck you cancer. FUCK. YOU. For everyone you plague, kill senselessly and ravage... FUCK. YOU.

One Last Glimpse,


Tuesday, 21 February 2012

Julie Anne: A Thank You

I've been aware of, and known the name: Julie Anne Rhodes for more than half of my life. As an impressionable teenager; of course growing up loving Duran Duran; I was more than aware that she was the wife of Nick Rhodes. Honestly, I was a little jealous of Nick! She was stunning (and still is) with amazing fashion sense, glamor and beauty, a model and person in her own right.

I've discussed my views, thoughts and of my admiration before. Truthfully I think she is class personified. Over the last year, I have had the privilege of getting to know her somewhat via this fantastical information super highway we call the internet. I'm inspired and thrilled to realize that she is just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. This woman continues to and repeatedly inspires, amazes, and gives of herself endlessly and selflessly. She has a tremendous spirit and aura about her, and it is a true honor to call her "friend".

Her website ( ) is a fantastic source of culinary inspiration on a daily basis. It also gives me something else that I honestly never thought I'd find there, and it's evolved into more over this past year to me. The PCA (Personal Chef Approach) gives ideas, inspiration and recipes that are a blessing, they are healthy and delicious help for myself and my family. The community involved that have grown together, have also grown to know, respect, care for, support and love one another. We share ideas, support and have a genuine admiration for one another. With much thanks to Julie Anne for creating such a loving, nurturing environment.

The PCA is a Godsend and a huge time save. The recipes are incredible and far better than those regular routine recipes and patterns we tend to sink ourselves into. These are healthy alternatives for a mass range of dietary needs and requirements.

Julie Anne (or Jewels as she is known) is very hands on with the website and her community. Such a relief to know that the woman who inspires you is with you every step of the way and delivers such a vital source of assistance and is actually the one who is helping.

She is always quick to share a story and a laugh above and beyond that which is "required" of her. She genuinely cares and wants to help, which is amazing. It speaks to her credit, and only adds to the lovely person she is.

Jewels has had input to and with each one of us. Which truthfully I think is part of what makes the environment such a fruitful one. The community, and family she has created is wonderful. So, thank you to you and for you Jewels. From my teen aged self; for your inspiration right from the beginning; into my adult years. Thank you. For everything you have done, continue to do, and are.


Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Weekend in New England

A few days ago, Sunday I think it of the cats (I have four) turned on the television by stepping on the remote which was sitting on the piano (My television sits on the top of my piano, the remotes lay where you'd set the music) but also turned the television OFF of channel "3" so it was "snow" instead of cable. It was on for about 20 minutes or so (it wasn't making any noise so it wasn't bothering my husband or I for it to be on - we made the "Poltergeist" joke of "They're heeeere!" and went on our marry way). Suddenly, it turned off. Neither us (nor the cat) turned it off. 

Shortly after my Mom passed away and we moved some of her stuff in (including her television -- this television is NOT hers it's a new one we bought a few years ago) it would randomly turn off (and on) when it saw fit. We used to laugh and say it was my Mom. I don't know if it was, or if it wasn't Mom...but it seemed awfully funny that our television never did that before until we brought in hers (which was brand new at the time I might add). 

On March 2nd it will be 16 years since my Mom passed. And I'll admit it, I'm missing my Mom right now. I'm not sad per se, I'm just missing her. And honestly it makes me wonder (for those of you who believe in this with me) if perhaps she's thinking of me right now which is what triggered this. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me.

Sometimes I'll have a running conversation with her in my head. Usually when I'm trying to sort things out either with the kids or work or whatever. I can hear her words, hear her advice, her her laugh and sarcasm. She lives and breathes within me and I know that. I am a part of what she once was. I treasure that and I treasure the knowledge that I have passed that on to my own kids.

We've discussed my wants, needs, desires, hopes, and some of the actual dreams I've had (as well as the dreams I have for myself). I've heard her laugh at me and with me as I do at and with myself. She's a source of inspiration even though she's no longer here in the physical existence. It's not a replacement of her by any stretch of the matter. But it's nice to know I can still hear her voice when I think about it. I've heard many people say "I forget what my Mom's voice sounded like" after they've passed away. It's not like that for me. I guess I'm lucky in that aspect. I remember what it felt like to hug her, the sound of her voice, her laugh and even what she smelled like. I treasure that feeling, that sense more than I can ever tell you.

So Mom, if you're reading this (and I know you are)...Two things you need to know. 1) Did you know that Paula Abdul used to be a LA Laker girl?! And 2) We love you! Love always, Shirley T. Goodness and her sister Anne Mercy - HAHA! 

I'm going to close this one with lyrics from one of the "Jewish Trinity" that I was raised on. My Mother LOOOVED the "Jewish Trinity" (Diamond, Streisand, Manilow). Her favorite song by Barry Manilow was "Weekend in New England". quote another Barry Manilow song, Mom..."This One's For You".

Last night, I waved goodbye
Now it seems years
I'm back in the city
Where nothing is clear
With thoughts of me, holding you, bringing us near

And tell me 
When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?

Time in New England
Took me away
To long rocky beaches
And you by the bay
We started a story, who's end must now wait

And tell me
When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?

I feel a change comin,
I feel the wind blow,
I feel brave and daring,
I feel my blood flow,
With you, I could bring out
All the love that I have,
With you, there's a heaven
So earth ain't so bad.

And tell me

When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will the strong yearning end?

And when...will I hold you again?


One Last Glimpse,


Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Welcome to your VD: Am I on Candid Camera?

I'm currently, at work, as I write this...People for whatever reason (even though gas is currently 1.23.3 per litre) are coming in droves tonight. I don't know if they think it's going up tomorrow or what, but in any's been busy.

I took over for my co-worker at 3pm today, and quite frankly I don't care for her. She's snotty, snide, has said very ignorant things to me in the past, and I just don't like her. She's as phony as the day is long to customers and our boss alike and I just don't have time for her crap. She's the kind of person who if I confronted her with her disdain for me instead of talking about it like adults would slap a smile on her face and say "I don't know what you're talking about dear! What gave you THAT idea? Of COURSE I like you." Instead of saying "No, you get on my nerves but whatever." kinda deal. Mustn't make waves, but apparently it's alright to go to our boss and complain about me. Whatever. My boss knows she's a dumbass and always has my back.

Today has been a day from hell from the get go. A "hot ghetto mess" as my friend Rach calls it. The aforementioned co-worker neglected to tell me of course that she had borked up the printer/fax machine so I get this text message from my boss asking me if the printer was fixed yet from it's paper jam....I'm looking like a moron because I have no idea what the boss is talking about. Seriously? She NEVER says anything when she fucks shit up btw - but she's FIRST to tell Shannon (our boss) if she finds something that you've fucked up. She (the co-worker) always leaves it as little "surprises" for me to find. It's like a scavenger hunt. I told Shannon I'd look at the printer when I had a chance, to try to clear whatever jam there is. I rip the printer apart, get a minor jam out...and fire it back up. No dice. Now it's saying "Address book error". I have NO idea what the hell she's done. And quite frankly I can't do anything about it to fix it. It sounds like she's managed to delete the connection from the computer to the printer but I don't know that for sure. In any event, I currently have a 5000$ paper weight behind me on the counter until the tech guys come in to fix it. Did I mention we print off MULTIPLE reports per day? No can do now until the tech guys come out...whenever that might be. Not to mention the fact that I'm fairly certain she kept hitting send send send trying to figure out why it wouldn't print, so likely she filled the printer buffer too. She's not the most technological savvy person in the world.

Then there was the following customer who makes me hate this job. I'm going to write this next portion as what I WANTED to say to the customer, but of course...didn't. "Sir...let me make this plain and simple for you. If you had actually pressed the "call button six or seven times" like you claim you did, I would have heard it. It sits not 2 feet (or less) from my head, it's loud, it's obnoxious and believe me I would have heard it. So do not come storming into my store to pay for your gas saying you pressed the call button because I have a news flash for you fucktard... Ya didn't. And I can assure you today is not the day to insinuate that I'm a liar. You may just find cupid's arrow stuffed somewhere you hadn't anticipated bucko! " People piss me off, and I'm a pleasant person I think. But seriously??? I got yer customer service right here ya fuckwad.

I had a customer in here this evening who had a comb over that was so severe, so crazy, so drastic and so hysterical I have no idea even now how I didn't burst out laughing. But some how, by some small miracle...I didn't. But I tell you one thing, he'd give Donald Trump a run for his money in the comb over department. It was that drastic. The fact that the rest of his hair was silver/white and this comb over was as black as the ace of spades didn't help matters either.

Then there was another customer who came in who came in wearing a dress shirt, construction boots and then he had on black palazzo pants that had little skull and cross bones on it that were wearing little santa hats printed on them. Dude...what the FUCK? What fashion mental hospital did you escape from? Seriously? This outfit will never be in style and I pray that my retina's recover from the burn that your outfit has just put on them. OH! And did I mention this customer was a MAN?

So that's been my Valentine's Day thus far while here at work. I didn't get any candy or flowers from Alan, and quite frankly I don't really need them. The fact that I have him, we're massively in love is more than enough for me. And I'm thankful for that. More than I can ever say.

One Last Glimpse,


Monday, 13 February 2012

Snow Blind

I had this dream last was a little bizarre and more than a little amusing. I walked into this bistro. Small, quaint, white with a deep mustard yellow accents around the place, floor to ceiling windows. It's MY place. Everyone knows me. There are patrons around but I'm here to see someone specific, and I know exactly where they're sitting.

In the very back, on the right hand side of the bistro is a half wall. Behind the half wall is a small seating area. There's two Louis XIV chairs sat opposite each other and a settee in between with a glass top table. Along the back wall (facing the seating area) is a large dark oak and marble fireplace (there is ALWAYS a fire in the fireplace whenever I dream about this place), the wood is very detailed, very ornate (and very out of place for the rest of the bistro!). Sitting in his usual John. He's kind of slouched in the chair, right foot up on the table, right index finger on his temple, in his left hand is his Blackberry and he's reading something (I have no idea what - Twitter? News? Who knows).

I flop down on the chair opposite him and wait for him to look up. He smirks as I sit so I know he's aware that I've arrived and that I'm sitting there. I notice he's in his boots, a pair of blue jeans, and a tshirt (Punk Masters? - I'm not sure...likely). Finger still to his temple, still not looking at me, I kind of sigh and say to him "Alright Taylor...I'm here...What did you want?".

The next thing I know I'm outside. There is snow EVERYWHERE, I should be cold in what I'm wearing...but I'm not. Considering I get cold very easily, this is an interesting concept. The snow is at least two feet deep, and while we're standing in a cleared area, it's still a lot of snow. And it's VERY bright.

John is now standing about 10 feet from me and he's grinning. The kind of grin that's big, toothy and you know he's up to no good, he then proceeds to pelt me with a snowball. I go on this lengthy diatribe about how I'm not here for this and that I have better things to do and would he please kindly tell me exactly what the HELL I was there to see him for...I remember I said to him "Do you have anything you'd like to say to me???" as he just kept standing there with a big shit eating grin. His response? With the biggest, toothiest, mischievous grin ever: "Ya...throw...or duck" as he hits me with another snowball. IT. WAS. ON.

One Last Glimpse,


Sunday, 12 February 2012

NYFW 2012, Skaist-Taylor: My thoughts: You might agree; then again; you might not.

The following is an opinion piece. Just as many of my blog entries are. I'm CERTAIN I'm not going to be popular with some of you after this piece however again like I's just my opinion and I hope you respect that, just as I respect your right to have yours if it differs from my own. I'm not looking for confrontation or a fight. PLEASE keep that in mind.

It's Fashion Week in New York. I am not a 'fashionista' by any stretch, but I do know what I do and don't like. I know what I find attractive and what I find looks like random pieces of fabric slammed together to form what is supposed to be a 'garment'. I'm not big into haute couture fashion, although I do enjoy some of the costume/pageantry of it, although some of it I just don't get and leaves little to be desired.

 Let me say this from the get go (and you can either choose to continue reading or walk away from this blog entry now)...I am NOT opposed to fur being used on garments or as garments (I don't mind if its REAL fur or synthetic -- but to me it doesn't matter). There's been a lot of talk about this lately and I just want to put my 2cents worth out there. Fur always HAS been used and probably always WILL be used. It's the way things are, and likely the way things always will be. Do I feel badly for the little seal or mink that had to give it's life? Sure, but I'm not going to sob wildly and throw a bucket of paint at someone if I saw them wearing a fur coat. Know what I mean? I wear leather shoes, I wear a leather coat...I'd wear my fur coat if it still fit (yes I have one). It doesn' I don't. It's the way things are. Do I think they should beat the shit out of the poor animals? No. If you're going to use fur...kill the poor animal and use it. Whatever. Like I said some of you are probably going to hate me for that statement, but it is what it is...and it's just my opinion on it all.

Today; among others; was the Skaist-Taylor line debut show at the Lincoln Centre in the garage/carpark. A different venue to be certain -- but it worked brilliantly from what I watched online. It really looked no more "industrial" than any other warehouse they could have used. With the exception of the fact that there was parking lines and arrows spray painted on the floor you'd never have known it was a garage in my opinion. From what I've read it was quite the success, and to be honest, I quite liked what I saw. The garments were not over the top, they were items people would actually wear and didn't look like they were thrown together at the last minute. I liked them a lot. I was hesitant; to be honest; because I wasn't fussy on the Juicy Couture line. I felt the Juicy Couture line was pretentious crap. If I wanted a velvet track suit, I would have time traveled back ton the 1970's and stitched the word "Juicy" to my arse. NOT my cup of tea. But this line seems...I'm not sure what the word is that I'm looking for quite frankly. The only word that's coming to mind is 'earthy'....I guess is the only way I can think to put it. I quite liked it. It's different than Juicy was, and that's a good thing.

I'll be watching with great interest the next week and what comes out of NYC. It's an exciting time, some exciting shows, and some brilliant talent.

Saturday, 11 February 2012


Devotion is an interesting prospect or notion. The more desire or passion one gives to it's object of devotion, the more one gets in return. Or at least that's how it should be. It's not necessarily how it is, bit it's how it should be.

I am devoted to my job, devoted to my husband...devoted to my family and friends and the music that I am passionate about, and of course my writing. Writing this blog, writing my poetry, writing my novel. And then I wondered to myself, how much of it, is actually devoted to me in return? Can something that is inanimate; for example my writing; be devoted in return? I mean yes, family and friends can obviously be devoted and I'd like to think that they are. And those musicians that produce all that beloved music I so enjoy on a daily basis. Are they devoted to me? a sense yes. Otherwise they'd of stopped making music or wouldn't have started to begin with. They're moved, impassioned, inspired and devoted. Just as I am. At first I'm sure they were soul-y devoted to their music but by now I'd like to think they are to me (us) as well.

So if they are devoted to their music, and by proxy me as a fan, then the music must also be devoted to me even though it's technically an inanimate object. But is it really so inanimate? It has a beat, a pulse, a grove and a voice. It invokes an emotional reaction (no matter what it may be - happy, sad, angry, amused) so therefore it must equally be as devoted to me, in that moment as I am to it.

But each entity on each song hosts a different reaction. I certainly don't feel the same when I listen to every song equally. Nor would I want to experience the same emotion. I don't feel the same way when I listen to "Careless Memories" by Duran Duran that I do when I listen to "Choises" by Andy Taylor. Even  though Andy had a hand in writing "Careless Memories" it doesn't trigger the same response. Just as "The Chauffeur" (also by Duran) doesn't trigger the same emotional response as "Immortal" by John Taylor - even again though John had a hand in writing "The Chauffeur". They're different organically. Different entities. Completely. And I think that's what makes music so beautifully diverse.

Writing is the same for the same reasons. It takes you to another place, another time. It speaks in another voice even when that voice may be the same. It's different. It's diverse. It's devoted to it's own path. Whatever it may be.

So are writing and music actual entities that can have devotion to those who read or listen to them? I think so. It was writing with devotion and passion. It exudes it. And if it's gets it in return.

One Last Glimpse,


Friday, 10 February 2012

Fate or circumstance?

Am I just lucky? Am I blessed in some way? Did I do something right? Did I learn from the mistakes I made, or that my parents made with me? How is it that I was so blessed to have 3 kids who never are going through what so many are?

I got a text message on the way to work today stating that my boss's eldest daughter's best friend was "killed" last night only HOURS after being at their home. It wasn't until after that I found out that she had been accidentally shot by her own boyfriend. They're both ONLY 17 years old. Babies.

What the hell is going on in this world? My nephew too who passed away almost 4 months ago due to tragic circumstances as well. When I was 17 I didn't know anyone who owned a GUN. Are you kidding me??? I didn't know anyone who was in a GANG. Gangs were adults...not least not as far as I was aware. Perhaps I was naive. Sheltered. But now that 17 year old boy is going to have to grow up into a man knowing that he shot and killed his first love. Sad.

My kids have never gone out with their friends and gotten shitfaced or high with them. They just aren't and weren't into it. They have always felt stealing or behavior like that was wrong, and yet all of those things my husband or myself did to when we were teenagers. So again I I just lucky? Did I do something right? Did I learn from my own mistakes as a teen and my parents mistakes in raising me? Are my kids smarter than I was? Or is it all just random fate and circumstance?

It's a tragic loss for Danielle, her Mom Shannon (my boss), and all the other families involved. Just as it was when Brad died so senselessly. Same fate separated by circumstance. Too young, too soon.

One Last Glimpse,


Wednesday, 8 February 2012


My Mom; if nothing else; was a feisty gal. When she felt you were in the wrong, she let you know it...sometimes in no uncertain terms. She didn't care who it was. It was how she was. She was my Mom...and I loved her.

The first time My Mom went through her cancer treatments (summer of 1992) she would stay at her friend Shirley's house after her treatment as she was too weak right afterward to drive the 45 minutes back to my Grandparent's apartment in the city that they lived in. My Mom was mainly living in Sarnia with my Grandparents but the cancer clinic is here in London.

Before I continue and tell the story I'm going to, I need to explain and give a little background. When I was a child, my Grandparents lived in a large 3 bedroom ranch style home set on a large lot on a quiet street. I loved that house. I still do. Shortly after my Grandmother was diagnosed with emphysema they sold the house (for reasons beyond me - I still don't know why), moved here to London and into an apartment for about a year (I only ever remember going there twice to be honest). They then (as quickly as they had sold the house and moved here to London) quickly left London and moved BACK to Sarnia and into another apartment. This apartment was on the first floor in an end unit of an 8 story apartment building. Their "balcony" was on the ground floor and faced the parking lot. It was not in the best area of the city, although the apartment itself was fine the neighborhood that surrounded it went into rapid decline shortly after they moved in.

One week between treatments, my Mom (who was sleeping on a fold out couch at my Grandparents very small apartment) had been sleeping for crap due to the treatments, the summer heat and the lumpiness that invariably is a mattress on a fold out couch. She finally was getting a decent night's sleep; the heat had finally broke and the patio door was open for a breeze. At about 3am my Mom awoke with a start. She had the distinct impression that she wasn't alone. She focused in the dark and at first thought it was my Grandfather. A side note, like everyone My Mom (once she actually got INTO a good sleep) HATED being woken up -so she was already a little annoyed. She then realized that it was not my Grandfather standing at the end of the bed but a burglar. Very calmly (because she was more pissed off that she'd been woken up than afraid) she said "You've picked the wrong apartment." The burglar must have shit his pants because he did not know my Mother was right there. He (according to her) hotfooted it out of the balcony door whence he'd came in from and into the night.

My Mom didn't tell my Grandfather that story until just before her death in 1996 (Four years later). As she knew he would fear for her safety especially at night. I remember when he was finally told the story he laughed and said that even in her weaken state even he wouldn't have wanted to wake her up!

This story still makes me laugh...

One Last Glimpse,


Monday, 6 February 2012

Remarkable - Poem

You'll never see me coming,
You may think that you know,
Exactly what I'm capable of,
But you ain't seen nothing yet.

I am a Goddess.

You look, and you watch,
You think you're so dammed observant,
And that you know all that you need to,
But watch me rise and soar.

I am an Angel.

High above this world,
Above the treetops,
I'll take you with me,
Into our wildest dreams and fantasies.

I am Unbelievable.

We both have desires,
Lofty, sky high goals.
But we can achieve anything,
If we only let ourselves.

We are unstoppable.

I'm ready to take the leap.
Are you?
One, two, three....jump.

One Last Glimpse,


Sunday, 5 February 2012

Someplace to call home

I was born here in Canada...not 45 minutes from where I'm writing this actually. In Sarnia, Ontario, Canada which boarders with Port Huron, Michigan, USA. Aside from the one year that I lived in Michigan for when I was a kid (7 or 8), and then here in London, Ontario, Canada (where I am currently) where I went to school, then high school...met my husband, got married and left with him for Kingston, Ontario while he was in the Canadian military (among various other locations). I lived in Canada my entire one year.

He has since retired and we have since returned home to London. We've already discussed the fact that the likely hood of this being our "final" place is unlikely. I have yet to speak about this to any of my friends so some of them who may read this...may find it surprising. However truth be told, none of them have plans to stay here either in the long it doesn't matter much. I'm not talking about doing this TOMORROW...and possibly it may never happen. I would love for it to...but I think a lot would have to happen to get it all in place.

Recently my husband posed to me this question. Where would I want to live?

The funniest thing about this whole thing is, even if I cut all family and friends out of the equation (including my kids) and just listen to my heart...where I want to go -- is somewhere I have never been (not even to visit). At least...not in this lifetime. My response to Alan was truthful, quick and earnest. And I know you're going to roll your eyes. But it's not the reason why you think.

I would love to live in the UK. I would love to move there and live.  

If my true ultimate goal is to be a writer/novelist...then what better place to be than the birthplace of Shakespeare? 

Have you ever felt when you go somewhere that you're coming home? Even though you've never lived there? I feel that way when I look at photos of the UK, or movies that take place in the UK...or even a British accent (although the same goes for Scottish and Irish as well). I feel...serene, comfortable...I feel...home. Which is an odd statement to make since I've never been there. The ONLY other place I've ever felt that way about even remotely is Toronto, but I don't want to live there. 

I don't know if I will ever move to the UK. I would love to, truly...and my husband is right on board with it. I think he'd be elated if we managed to move to the UK. Perhaps that's a goal we'll have to work toward together. Doing something for us, after all...once the kids move out, and it's just he and I -- shouldn't we do something that makes us happy?


One Last Glimpse,


Saturday, 4 February 2012

Check yer ego at the door

Back in the 80's, I loved Madonna. I did. She helped form fashion and music in the 1980's. But somewhere along the line around 1996 (after Erotica) she seemed to become on a massive downward slide.Some would disagree, some would say she's fantastic. Others would say she was never that great to begin with. But that's the magic of our own opinion. It's "our own opinion" and each person is entitled to it.

I think the things I dislike most about Madonna is her ego and her mouth. Especially as big as it is. For someone who really became irrelevant almost 10 years ago (again in my opinion), she still feels her voice should be above all others. Sorry Madge...that ship has sailed. She attempted to outwit Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globe Awards this year. And even though the network effectively neutered him, it just wasn't possible. In fact, it was painful to watch. She thought she was funny, and she just....wasn't.

I don't feel that she's a good actress, and while I haven't seen W.E, I can't speak on her directing skills However, I question that as well. But in my opinion only about 20% of a movie's believability is in the directing (which she did), the rest is up to the actors OR the costuming. But again...just my thoughts here people.

Andy Taylor and I were discussing it on Twitter this evening (Never thought I'd be saying THAT let me tell you!!). It all started innocently enough as most conversations do. He posted a link to his website with a blog entry entitled "Tone deaf Madonna". Several of us discussed how we couldn't understand how she could justify charging 300$ a ticket for not even front row (nor anywhere close), and yet for 250$ you could get front (2nd) row, PLUS a tshirt, poster and lanyard from Duran....who has ALWAYS sung live (Madonna -- not so much).

He then tweeted the following and our (brief) conversation began.

AT: Ive been absorbed in the studio so out of touch, hows here movie doing, the one about the hussie...

Me: She made a biopic??

AT: So not many Mage fans out tonight/morning whatever it is

Me: I'm not saying she wasn't iconic - she def had a hand in shaping 80s music and fashion. But omFUCK the ego has GOT to go.

AT: I thought she made a proper ass of herself tryin to outwit Ricky Gervais on the globes, thats where ego gets you...A bad joke.

Me: Absolutely! You can't fuck with the master. He's a riot...she...isn't.

I mean really? I dunno maybe this new album will just blow people out of the water. But truthfully, I don't think it will. Maybe I'm wrong. Who knows. Although I will say this much one of the other tweeters said something that resonated "If I want humility I'll go to U2. I don't expect that from her." And yes perhaps that's true, but even U2 has had their moments of "We're bigger than God" and have been taken down a peg or 4 in the past. Madge just doesn't seem to get it.

Do I plan on watching the Super Bowl on Sunday? Probably. But...unlike others who have performed. I DON'T think she'll sing live (my guess is she'll lip sync), and I certainly won't be watching it for her. This sounds like I have SUCH a hate on for Madonna...I don't. But really, no one should have an ego, or a chip on their shoulder THAT big when really...they're just not that relevant anymore. She NEEDS to learn some humility, or it will end up being her undoing. Although...I hasn't thus far.

One Last Glimpse,


Post Script:

Sunday, February 5th, 2012 - I have just watched the video for Madonna's "Give me all your luvin". I just have to know is there anyway to get that last 3minutes and 45seconds of my life back? Aside from the fact that I think she looked better than she has in YEARS in the video...the song was complete crap in my opinion. It was weak, weak, weak. I really truly went into it with an open heart and quite hopeful, but it just left me...flat and wishing I hadn't bothered.

One Last Glimpse 2.0


Thursday, 2 February 2012

33 1/3 :Defined by Vinyl: The quest for the absolute in LP collections

When I was a kid (5 or so I guess - after my parents divorced) I used to love on weekends when we'd go visit my Dad. Every Saturday morning we'd always start out with a little breakfast either at his place or at this little tiny hole in the wall restaurant around the corner from his apartment called "The Coffee Cup". It was one of those types of places that had maybe 6 actual tables and then a long diner "bar" with stools (10 maybe?). I loved that place. A true greasy spoon ya know?

After breakfast we'd go back to my Dad's grab his car, drive "uptown" (about 5 city blocks if that - literally a 5 or 10 minute walk) park the car and walk to our destination. "Sam the Record Man" on Christina Street. I loved that store. Not because my Dad would buy us something, I just loved the whole "vibe" of the place. We would each go our separate ways (my Dad, my sister and I) and flip through the albums. Sometimes my Dad would buy my sister and I a record (not always), OR alternatively if he didn't really have a specific record in mind he'd take suggestions as to what we'd like him to buy (Abba, Boney M. and The Bee Gees were the "go to" groups although Queen, The Eagles, Neil Diamond, and Barbra Streisand were king too).

It fascinated me how one could hear and be taken away to other times and places by a piece of plastic/vinyl. Moments in time forever trapped on these thin black disks. It still does. Amazing.

I think one of the first records I ever owned (that wasn't a Disney Read Along *CHIMES*) was either Donnie and Marie Osmond or Shawn Cassidy. (Both I actually still have). They were like pure gold to me. To place the needle on the record, hear those couple of clicks and the hiss before the music began was anticipation at it's best.

For those who are too young to remember it; or just can't quite get the appreciation for vinyl in its heyday; it is truly a lost gift. I don't think; even though it's slowly making a resurgence; it will ever be what it once was. And that's a shame. There's just something about it that is unlike any other.

About seven years ago I was in a store and saw that they had record players for sale. As my husband will attest, I went bananas. I was so excited to see one, and made it my goal to get one. Vinyl just truly always has been a passion. I love records. I love the tangibility of them, I love the artistry of them: the covers, the inserts. Some tell a story even before you get to the music itself. Each is different and unique and I like that.

My newest vinyl collection is growing, and what's best about it is that my husband loves collecting albums as much as I do. For the same reasons. We have amassed only 12 albums so far but each one is an equally exciting addition to our ever expanding collection. We each have an unwritten list of MUST HAVE'S that we are aiming to collect. Which is so very exciting. We always get excited for each other when we strike one off the list. It's just fun you know? This is what we have so far (Not of course counting Donnie and Marie or Shawn Cassidy...) in our ever growing collection. If you'll notice some of the "MUST HAVES" for me have been covered. But of course. It's not much...but it's mine...and it's a start.

Duran Duran:
Seven and the Ragged Tiger
All You Need is Now

So Red the Rose

David Bowie:
Let's Dance

Nik Kershaw:
The Riddle

Billy Idol:
Vital Idol

Dead or Alive:

Cheap Trick:
Dream Police


Def Leppard:

Yours in Vinyl,

One Last Glimpse,