THANK YOU, JADE KERRION & FRIENDS! ON TO #ROW80 4TH QTR 2013 - THE DREADED GOALS

I want to thank Jade Kerrion for allowing me to participate in her book launch for the 4th book of her Award-Winning Series, "Double Helix -- Perfection Unleashed!" 

It's easy to do stuff for Jade, because she does all the heavy lifting and besides, she's gorgeous, funny, brilliant and oh, so original. So, she's always welcome here on Nebraska Ave, 33605, 33602, 33604.

Seriously, I just fumble around, do a little HTML code stuff (badly, if you haven't noticed or been blinded by the appearance of my blog) and punch some buttons, and voilà! I'm done. Not that I'm lazy. Much. 

Last year, Jade told me about this little shindig called NaNoWriMo, a festival of finger cramping, where you type 50,000 words during the month of November. I guess you're supposed to have a plot and characters and things. Naturally, I was immediately taken with this concept and got very excited and signed up. I wrote exactly 1737 words in 2012's NaNoWriMo. I hope to best last year's total THIS YEAR; that's all I'm going to say. Life keeps happening. On November 3rd of 2012, my E. T. (Essential Tremor) powered up, or leveled up, for you gamers, or in normal people's jargon, got worse and it was a mess. This not having medical insurance and all back then, was just one disaster after another.

Besides being a first-rate ranter, and an imaginative cuss-word artiste, Andi-roo is one of my first blogging buddies. Truly inspirational as well as ferociously honest and loving, she is my hero! xoxoxo (Andispeak for love and shit)

Andi-roo says calamity now makes for great stories later. She's absolutely right and I have some humdingers. A quick glimpse; I celebrated "Mental Awareness Month" by being committed for most of it, and this wasn't what I had scheduled for March of 2011. Ironically, that St. Patrick's Day in 2011 is one of the few I remember, because throughout my adult life, like all good Scots, I was usually blotto. Let's not even talk about St. Andrew's day (patron saint of Scotland, November 30.) By the way, I quit drinking years and years ago and smoking, too and have the lungs of a coal miner. 

Amazingly, I look pretty good for nigh on 60 and all the self-inflicted damage. There's probably a picture in an attic by now, that is so rotted, it's just a frame. Thanks, Oscar Wilde. 

GINA VALLEY - GLAMEROUS LIFE OF A SOCCER MOM

Gina writes about funny things, or rather, ordinary and sometimes not happy things and makes them. . . hysterical. Posts about trying to find alone time in the bathroom, yet dealing with questions from the "pack;" running the gamut from trivial to existential. Road trips that go on for years, replete with more endless questions from the "pack." Sheer lunacy meets happy impromptu and pointed remarks. I still can't figure out how many 2-legs and 4-legs are in that domicile. But I loved her comment on Facebook, something about it being a long day, as the dog just ran through the door with a couch cushion and jumped into a mud puddle with it. All written with grace, humor and love. Gina is a keeper. I want to thank her for her inspiration and just her presence in my life. I never have a bad day; I just go read something about one of her trips to the E. R. and feel instantly better!

Lynnette Conroy writes with an elegance and a ferocity I haven't read in many a year. And that says a fuck-ton. I am deadly serious.

If you haven't read Lynnette's post, "Open Rant to Congress," please do so immediately. I re-posted in several places, but what I really, really wanted to do was go and throw tea in some harbor, man the ramparts, or fire the "shot heard 'round the world." We need some damn inspiration around here! Where the hell is it? The 60s would have had sit-ins, lie-ins, love-ins, eat-ins, and every other kind of -in you can imagine. Where in the hell is the outrage? We should be outraged. Supposedly, Lenin said that "every society is 3 meals away from anarchy," although it has many attributions. I say, balls. But really, I say, thanks, Lynnette, for getting me fired up again. I just wish it was 1983, so I could go march around the Union in Ann Arbor for Solidarity and give my dad in Los Gatos, California an excuse to call me up and chew me out over the phone, hollering about lists and McCarthy. My mom was the Anarchist in the family.

My own goals for #ROW80 are nebulous. Tenuous, as is the state of my existence in the sense of, I never know what's going on. I can say, "Hey, I think I'm going to write a book. The Title? Fifty Shades of My Little Pony." 

Actually, I have and have had enough material to polish and publish a book about my experiences in music and in the computer industry, as well as the interesting and very broadening experience of losing a house, becoming homeless and sick and ending up here in this chair. Or, I could just end with this:

 Source: Huffington Post                                 

A Silver Lining, of a Very Dark Cloud

Maybe I'm just a one-liner, lookin' for a stage.

After further reflection, I have started a "goals page" as a way of keeping track of what I hope to accomplish during Round 4. I feel good and I am ready to take on some new things and re-establish some great old habits! 

Based on Raising Happiness, a New Theory of Elite Performance, it's actually part of a very old practice that I inculcated during my days in music school and repeated when I took 4 years of college Calculus, Trig and Computer Science in 2. I am gifted in music. I am not gifted in Maths by any means, but I had a 4.0. Unreal. I still wonder who was driving. Anyway, this is where you can read about my goals: DELIBERATE GOALS OF VIOLA FURY

Good luck everyone! It's going to be great and we shall sing the song of our peoples togethers, (sic) as they once did in old country!   

                        ♯ ♫ ♪ ♭ ♩ ♬                   

#ROW80 SUNDAY CHECK IN – WHAT DAY IS IT? A LITTLE VIOLA ACTION, HOW NOT TO DO THE DISHES, AND QUICK HEALTH UP-DATE, AND SOME KAFKAESQUE MASQUED BALLE FROM THE HEALTH CARE-INDUSTRIAL-MILITARY COMPLEX.

This title is more along the lines of the sort of titles I created when I posted about all of my real homeless adventures. As this is a mixed bag of my confuse-a-what™ style, which I must admit are some of my favorite things to write about. A mixed bag of random whatever. Since I spend most of my life being amused to random whatever and the attendant stupidities I, and my fellow humans commit with abandon, all to avoid the existential dread of shuffling off this mortal coil, since I don't think a cure for death is right around the corner, which would really put a strain on the “sandwich generation.”


I have noticed lately that there are several different interpretations of where we all are on the whole time line thing. I'm not talking about the differences between the Russian Orthodox Calendar, which is 12 days ahead, or 25 days behind the Western calendar. I'm talking about what moment in time we are all currently existing in. We don't seem to be able to agree on the most basic of measurements, such as, minutes, hours, and the ever important, day. Forget the Hebrew calender. There is a misapprehension there, that he who has the most years, wins, or something. Last time I looked, they were up in the 5000 + and counting.

Maybe in the Tip.it universe; I'm pretty sure Saturday was July 27th, 2013. Glad to see I'm not alone.

JC is most definitely south'rn and when he starts out “the other day, that guy, you remember, honey?...” we could be talking about 3 months ago, some teenager cashier-girl at the Checkers, and, I don't remember anything that happened this morning, so I have my own peculiar concepts of time and people, and just specificities, in general. I spend the better part of every day talking to people, who may be engaged in the most heated of discussions, but not a damned one of them is specific about time. They're a little more correct regarding participants and as to actual events? If I didn't see it, it didn't happen. I just nod and go along. Again, I feel like James Thurber, when I start hearing about Carl, from JC's buddy, Jack, who was locked in the cellar, when his maw went to feed the pigs and she dropped his cell phone, which was hooved to death and Carl nearly starved. I am not sure if Carl is someone's cousin, friend, or someone who was a friend of a cousin, or just a gruesome article on page 4 of the weekly Plant City paper; a rag that still exists. But, I digress.


The kind of time I'm talking about are the clocks or calenders in my own head, and in the heads of my friends, too. This is probably some kind of new disorder and I am sure that clinical trials are being conducted and there will be a pill for it. It will be added to the DSM V, along with “alphabet song” disorder. They have pills for laughing at morbid and mordantly funny stuff and crying at nothing; I thought that was just bad taste, and Drama Queen behavior. My shrink and I howled over that, because ain't nobody gonna take away my fun!

Karma's a bitch; it bit me in the ankle, 'cause I recycled material for a Wednesday check in.

Anyway, the time thing. Being as how I'm lazy and am not anywhere near Facebook, I'll just say this. I thought I was doing my Wednesday Check in, but it was Thursday, but it wasn't . It actually was Friday. Hell's Bells. At least, a fellow ROWer, Lynnette Conroy comforted me and said she had a similar problem. Maybe part of the confusion lies with this new drug I'm on. It tends to slow my thought process a bit, but it sure has slowed down the tremors, so I'm cool with it for now. However, it makes me no less out of it, than before. JC wanted a Dr. Pepper and I was on my way to the kitchen for something, and said I would bring him one.


I walked into the bathroom, shut the door and just stood there for about 3 minutes, wondering why on earth, I was there. I walked back out, went to the living room and sat down to eat. JC said, “What happened to my Dr. Pepper?” Oh. Yeah. Off I go and retrieve it for him. Whatever I wanted or thought I needed must not have been that urgent, because I don't remember coming back with anything else. When you start living your life by “reverse-engineering,” or using some kind of forensics voodoo, it may be times for a keeper. I've spent hours upon hours looking for shit I've misplaced, mostly by “re-enacting the crime scene,” so to speak. I always try to put it back where I know I'll find it, since I can't see it for the most part. As Dr. Phil would say, “How's that workin' for ya.” (I loathe Dr. Phil.)


So, meds are working, even if I'm just as air-headed as ever. I have been able to play my viola, when I'm “on,” and at times, it sounds like the old me. Endurance has to be built, but everything is there just been waiting. Wolf is very happy. This friend of JC's is just perfect. He's never had a private lesson, but know lots about stringed instruments and is a sponge. He damn near made me cry; he said it was an “honor to meet me and agree to help him.” Mind-blowing, but so nice to hear that.

This sounds like a report card. With all the viola-playing and fiddling with computers (I had another sick one to fix for someone) I left Thursday's dinner dishes in the sink, until this evening. I made black beans and rice. JC and I ate all of it (them?) so I left the dishes to soak in the pan, with the lid on. For about 2 1/2 days. We eat simply and fairly healthy and I don't cook that often. So I go to do the dishes and take the lid off this pan, that two bowls, 2 spoons and remnants, mind you, not a half a-serving, just remnants. Or, maybe revenants; undead-dead, because Holy of Holys, Mary, Mother of God, and Christ on a bicycle! When I took the lid off of that pan full of 2 1/2 day-old bean water, it had fermented into something so toxic, I am surprised the sink didn't melt.

Seriously, I half expected the HazMat people to show up, along with SWAT teams and the CDC. Whatever that shit was it would have made splendid tear gas for Riot Control. As a bio-chemical weapon I'm sure it's weapons-grade, because, even after I rinsed the bowls, lid and pot and then washed same, I could still SMELL IT. My ET (essential tremor) leaves me with a very poor sense of smell. But I did find out that my tear ducts and salivary ducts work just swell. So, the lesson here is, “rinse all of your pots, pans, bowls, but DO NOT leave the lid on the pot.”

That was some seriously bad ju-ju there; if I'd dropped the pan, it probably would have exploded.

Before we lurch off to the land of Kafka, I am about halfway through a DOD wipe of another mysterious laptop. I, with my usual derring-don't, of course, snooped all over the thing, before I wiped the drive. Someone's been bad, in a white-collar kind of way, shall we say. Since there are so many different ways to get around Windows laughably stupid “security” devices, it's easy to see what wasn't meant to be seen. Damn, I would so love to do this for reals, as in, a forensics computer analyst. These DOD wipes take hours to do; in essence, the tools erase all data from the hard drive 7 times. There is a complicated matrix used for each wipe. Back in the day, when you “deleted” a file or folder, you could run a global search from a C: prompt, using “?” in place of the first character of the file name. This way you could easily restore Uncle Vinny's recipe for gunpowder, or whatever. The principle is the same, but with additional algorithms to account for any possible loose end.


Once this is done, I'll (we; me and my silent partner) will load Windows 7 (meh) so the customer has a good and safe operating system. I always learn things from stuff like this. So, if I ever earn any illicit money, or want to hatch up a scheme to steal the internet, I know what NOT to do.

This is an actual error. Windows is quite possibly the stupidest operating system, EVER. JAVA and Chrome suck, giant dog balls, too.

“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.” (“Metamorphosis”) Gah! Franz Kafka is undoubtedly one of the most influential writers of the 20^th century when it comes to existentialism. His writings dealt with and helped to shape the archetypes of alienation, parent-child conflict, characters on terrifying quests and labyrinthine bureaucracies. He was an influence for later writers, like Herbert Marcuse, who wrote “The One Dimensional Man,” although Marcuse was arguing more from the politics of such existence and a socialist one, at that, as he criticized both capitalists and communists. Marcuse championed the outsiders, the minorities of his time and his criticisms with bureaucracies are due to the oppositional nature of personal freedoms such bureaucracies inevitable bring. Enough with the socio-political-lit thing. I've been going through my own state of bug-ology recently. Or we could call it “hot potato,” where I'm the potato. It goes like this:

I am also  watching "Breaking Bad" on NetFlix. The 3rd season episode, "Kafkaesque" is one of the finest things I've ever seen, bar none.

I have a prescription that is ongoing prior to my receiving my Medicare, and my shrink, understanding that I suffer from depression, has always signed off on my paper work, so “LILLY CARES” (that's news to me) can continue supplying me with Cymbalta at 257.00 a pop every month. All of my other meds have been generic and I was with a plan through my grocery store's pharmacy that allowed me to pay 4 to 9 dollars for them.



So, with my active prescription in hand, I tried to get my Cymbalta refilled, 2 weeks ago. The pharmacy couldn't fill it, because it hadn't been added to my drug “formulary,” even though they have the prescription, the need the Dr. Auth#.  They faxed my Shrink's office, who in turn, faxed Lilly. I have about 7 pills left and yes, I DO need them. Sad to say, I have been clinically depressed since the age of 15 or 16. More existential dread. Maybe I was channeling the future me having to deal with the following bullshit.

I am so glad and thankful that I am not suicidal. That has never been an issue with me. It was with my mother. I figure I'm just either too damn dumb or stubborn, or gee, maybe I still have something to contribute, or people to pester; pick 'em.

I kept calling, and going back up to the Pharmacy, and calling the shrink's office. He practices in 2 different locations, so it's hard to get to the receptionist. She passes the buck, saying she faxed Lilly. I call the pharmacy and they got nuthin'. I'm running out of pills.

A week ago last Friday, I had to go to the pharmacy to get some of my other meds refilled (I know, such an exciting life!) and they haven't heard from anyone; no shrink's office, no Lilly. Bupkus. I talked to Dr. Jones, our pharmacist and started crying. Great! The one thing I hate, hate, hate, in the whole world! Crying! Fuck! Crying is for weenuses! I get what I came for and stepped away from the counter.

This might make me cry, but I don't know. I was so blissed-out over a tiger roaring 2 feet from me, I didn't see his buddy on the roof, until he jumped down a nano-second later. I'd probably stand there grinning like a loon, whilst being chomped to death.

I call my shrink's office; it's about 4:25. I talk to the receptionist. She's sounding rather hostile and says, “Look, we faxed the stuff to Lilly, to the Pharmacy, blah blah blah.... okay?” I held still for a minute, and then I said, “No, it's not okay.” I was being honest. I wasn't abusive, I was just being honest. I could have said, “No, it's not all right! I've been fucking depressed since I was 16 years old. My life is in the shitter and I have more ability, talent and drive in EVERYTHING, than you will EVER have in ANYTHING, and I FUCKED it all up!” But, I didn't. She says to me, “Well, maybe I can help, hold please...” and puts me back on hold, where I sit until the phones close at 5 pm, and I am mercifully killed off, telephony-wise.

Now, of course, thank God I'm on medication for my tremors because I was shaking so badly from all of that stupid bullshit. I probably needed a time-out and she deals with a lot of people who are waaaay worse off than I. I make it through the weekend, and on Monday, I get an authorization from my insurance company to be treated by my shrink? WTF? Who contacted them? I didn't. I was told that Big Pharma (i.e. Lilly) was on the hot plate for this, by everyone who wasn't Ely Lilly. I didn't ask for this. 

So, I call my supplemental insurance company and talk to someone named Sonia, who sounds like she should be a Hostess at a Supper Club in Vegas. Easy meat. When I question her regarding the authorization for the Cymbalta, she launches into what has to be one of the most hilarious I-haven't-a-fucking-clue-what-my-job-is-here explanations of all time. I ask why was I sent this letter, as I didn't request it, and I was looking for authorization for the drug Cymbalta, and that I needed no authorization to be seen as an outpatient. That had been handled 18 months ago. “Well," she oozed back at me, "we like to send those letters out from time to time, seeing as how your doctor is dealing in narcotics.”

Maybe I'm not depressed; maybe I just need to stop and look and listen to all the horrendous, stupendously bad bullshit flying around the universe. Because it just makes me cackle like a hyena.

WTF and hold the phone! Really? Seriously?! No shit. Can I get some crystal meth? How about some of that there black tar? Hey, doc, hook me up with some of that ice, I keep hearing about! I almost had a fucking cow on the phone right there. I didn't know whether this was the best kept secret since my PD or not-PD, or just some horribly awry plot line, alá "Breaking Bad." You are damned if you do, double-triple-quadruple any way you look at it. Hilarious. My money is on keep my mouth shut and blog.

Geeze, maybe Gregor Samsa had a good day, after all. Just kidding. I found a coupon for a month's free supply of Cymbalta on Lilly's website and was able to take it and get it filled, since I have a good prescription. I see the head doctor before I runs out, so it's cool and now I can get it fixed with my "authorization letter that lets the doctor give me narcotics." They better be some damn fine narcotics!

HOMELESS CHRONICLES IN TAMPA - THE LIEBSTER AWARD 2013

The Liebster Award is a legitimate award, and until last year, had never heard of it. I was first nominated in 2012 by Aaron Brinker who runs @dadblunders and as I read of the history of the award, I realized this is a serious thing and an honor. It’s an award given by bloggers to other up and coming bloggers as a way to recognize and promote their blog. Liebster is a German word meaning dearest, sweetest and beloved. How wonderful to be nominated, once again! Thank you so very much to Maggie at expat.brazil. I am honored.



The Rules: seem slightly different on various blogs but in general are

1. List 11 facts about yourself.

2. Answer the 11 questions given to you.

3. Ask 11 new questions for the bloggers you nominate for the award.

4. Choose up to 11 up-and-coming blogs to nominate.

5. Go to each blogger’s page and let them know about the award.

6. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to their blog.

So step 1. 11 facts about me

1. I was a professional violist for close to 30 years. I switched from violin at the age of 16-ish. I occasionally played the violin on gigs for money. Only when all the other violinists within the tri-state area had left or died was I called upon to do so. I hate the violin, but then, I hate Mozart. I love Beethoven. I love all good music, in any genre.

2. I was a computer software support engineer at IBM for 3 years and Verizon for 7. I also worked for the Gastonia, NC police department in the same capacity and continued to play at the same time. It's called multi-tasking, or “insanity.” I got into this line of work, when my 2^nd husband a violist, discovered that I didn't magically become a _______ player and got jealous when I got hired to play for the Moody Blues and he didn't.

3. I am legally blind and have been for about 10 years now. I also have Parkinson's Disease, or non-Parkinson's Disease, THAT is the question. It's hard to diagnose.

4. I own a viola that was made 10 years after Beethoven died, in 1837. The viola was made in Bologne, Italy and is of the Bolognese school of fiddle-making. Like all fine instruments, “his” appraiser named him. His name is “Wolf.” He has a hell of a sound and is by my bed.

5. I was homeless for about 11 months and spent that time living in a homeless shelter and was very annoying to my fellow homeless shelter mates. That is how this blog came to be. After I received my Disability, I moved across the street. I still see some of the people I lived with and new homeless people.

6. I've been committed for mental illness. I am bipolar and have Asperger (we used to say, “doesn't play well with others.”) I also cry over stupid stuff and laugh at stuff I probably shouldn't. I have a mordant sense of humor. They have a label and pill for that. I call it questionable taste. Sheesh. There's a pill for everything now.

7. I love cats. Cats and computers just seem natural. We've a wonderful little cat who adopted us. We had her fixed, and I came up with the name of “Butterscotch,” which is not very original. JC fed her so much she got fat, so I started calling her “Butterball” and “Butterfat,” and JC said I hurt her feelings. So, she's Mama.

8. I played in Opera Tampa here for 12 seasons with Maestro Anton Coppola, Nic Cage's, Great Grand-uncle and Francis Ford's Great Uncle. It's a small world, because in Detroit, Carmine Coppola, played flute in the orchestra I played in. Maestro Anton wrote operas and conducted Italian opera with no score. He recently retired at 98. His most memorable quote to us? “Anyone can play German opera, it's just 1, 2, 3, 4, but Italian opera? Rubato, rubato, rubato, it's all goddamned rubato!” He was great to work for. I left the Opera in 2009, due to the fact I couldn't fake it anymore. He retired last year. Apparently, he couldn't fake it anymore, either.

9. I'm an only child and never had kids. But I taught generations of them on the violin (even while not enjoying playing it, I am very enthusiastic about music; a teacher's role is to inspire. We're all self-taught, according to one of my viola professors.)

10. I was married 3 times and lived with a man who was one of the most irresponsible people I have ever met. Shame on me. I met the man I know I will be with for the rest of my life in the homeless shelter. Think on this if you will. I was homeless, had had a drinking problem, but stopped. The man I met in the shelter had been in prison. What are the odds of something durable working out?

11. JC, the love of my life, has seen me through my committal for mental illness, several hospitalizations for my PD and congestive heart failure and has steadfastly been there for me. He's patient and loving. My 3^rd husband was out looking for a new girlfriend the minute I was hospitalized with congestive heart failure. I had actually sworn off men, but the time I was in the homeless shelter. God had other plans.

So, the 11 random questions I would like to know.

1. Favourite Writer and why? This is like asking me who my favourite composer is. I love so many different writers and genres. Let me compare it as to music; Beethoven is so monumentally joyous and full of life, even as his life was tragic. Mahler was the opposite. Even his so-called happy music had tragic undertones. James Thurber, whom I read at the age of 11 is just flat-out funny. Harlan Ellison is funny, but there is a seething rage beneath his humor that is black indeed. I am currently back on Stephen King, after having read excerpts from his book 11/22/63, I purchased “Under the Dome.” He is still one of the finest technically perfect writers I've ever read and his imagination is without peer. But gee whiz, it is hard to choose. Harlan Ellison is probably the finest short story writer ever, and that has got to be the hardest form to master. Great question, Maggie!

2. Who is your best friend and why? Without a doubt, JC, the best, most honorable and most decent man I've ever known. Ex-con, or not. Which is laughable. The United States justice system has much to answer for. JC lost everything. Had a horrible childhood, loveless marriages and tried and worked so hard to care for his family. He had to quit school to help a shiftless, no-good step-daddy run a pig farm. Shades of John Steinbeck and Tennessee Williams. JC says he's dumb and practically illiterate next to me. So what? Book-learning was an advantage and a gift. I was a prodigy, but I couldn't see into people's hearts. He can and he's taught me much. He's beyond price and I love him unreasonably. He's never known true happiness, until now. I told him my mission in life was to make him happy, or make him miserable trying.

3. The genie has granted you three wishes, what are they? Genie grants everyone the ability to reason, empathize and show compassion.

4. Which historical figures would you love to have dinner with ? Ludwig van Beethoven

5. What couldn’t you live without? My viola, Wolf

6. What do you do for fun? Play Runescape and annoy people in chat rooms.

7. Favourite Quote? “Animals grace us with their presence.”

8. If money was no object where would you live and why? I would roam. I found out recently, that we may not be where we thought we were from. “Wallace” of Sir William Braveheart blah blah fame we can claim, but “Wallace” means “foreign” or “alien” in old Welsh. There is some argument (I don't believe there is much evidence) for our origins prior to Glasgow being from around the Caucausus or the Black Sea. Maybe we were Scythians or Cossacks; maybe even Neptunians. Scythians were known for red hair, fair skin and blue eyes. At any rate, before I lost my site, I rambled all over the place, and it wasn't always work related. Our whole family was like that. You said “car,” and family members were known to get up off of their death beds for a road trip. I miss it.

9. What’s your secret pleasure? *looks around* I have been known to have apoplexy and hysteria over TSG (The Smoking Gun's) “The World's Dumbest ________ “ When the recipe includes grade Z celebs like Tonya Harding, Todd Bridges, Leif Garrett, Danny Bonaduce, Chuck Nice (which really is an appropriate last name for him) et al., and show the bottom of the gene pool video clips doing the stupidest things they can think of, and then comment and re-enact with cheesy cut-outs and even cheesier comments and the cheesiest CGI ever, I'm down with that. You see, I have the Siren-song-of-crap gene! And damned proud of it, too! And if they're not on, I'll laugh at my own stupidness. Like the time I followed myself on my own blog!

10. Who do you admire and why? I thought about this for a long time and I keep coming back to someone who has been on the public stage for most of the time I've spent on this planet. Muhammad Ali. The courage he showed when he stood up to the establishment and stated that he would not fight a war that he had no stake in really shook people up. I believe that for the first time, people really started to question what our government's goals were in Viet Nam. At this point, I was already hearing my father every morning bitch about what an asshole Robert MacNamara was; I was about 9 years old at the time. When the news came out that Ali had his license stripped, my very prescient father, who was a naturalized citizen, out of Glasgow and had fought in WWII and flown B-29s in Korea watching, said, “people are going to start rebelling against this war; it's a bad war.” He was right. As Ali has aged, and he is now dealing with PD himself, his foundations and charities have taken up causes he espoused. Brotherhood for all mankind.

11. What superpower would you like to have? Not invisibility; it didn't work so well for that guy in the X-files episode. I'll settle for that one where you wrinkle your nose and the house cleans itself and your food cooks itself. I know that was a witch power, but all I can come up with are those lame Saturn Lad powers, like the bouncing thing, or stop time, like Clock Boy. Lame

My 11 Random Questions

1. Describe which musical instrument your personality most closely resembles and why.

2. The last time you did anything idiotic in public (assuming you did; not everyone is me) were you embarrassed, or did you just shrug it off? Feel free to provide details. Or not.

3. Name one thing about yourself that would surprise people.

4. Favorite genre of music?

5. Cinnamon or peppermint?

6. What are you reading right now?

7. What was your favorite stuffed toy as a kid? What was his/her name?

8. Who is your favorite author?

9. Who is your muse?

10. If you were to come back to life as an animal, which animal would you be?

   11.  Who is your best friend and why?

Just for fun, I listed my fellow Liebster Nominees; please feel free to visit their blogs and see their responses to the questions I answered. They are probably MUCH more entertaining than I am; remember, I am the Straight Man to the World.

Michael at nouveauscarecrow

DL Shackleford at dlshackleford.com 

Kelly Hartog at kelliforniadreaming

Jen at jeneralinsanity  

Tracy Kuhn at volvodiaries

Bigger on the inside

Liz Blackmore at littleboxofbooks 

lachodrom1

chuckallen

Sonia Rao at soniaraowrites 

sohelpmecats

Vikki at the-view-outside 

Carolyn at carolynpaulbranch

myriteofpassage

Mary A to Z

spudsdailyphoto

Lucy at lucysreality

rsativus

Jo at henderson-jo.blogspot

playwrightchick

haleyscomic

gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com

wanderboomer

And now, for my 11 choices. These are all based on blogs that have changed me in some way, given me new insight into ways we relate with one another, ideals to strive for, inspiration for when I was just so damned low and just plain funny blogs. These are also in no particular order, either. Again, Maggie, thank you so much. You rock!

1. Tim Peacock @ http://www.peacock-panache.com/

2. Andi-Roo @ http://www.theworld4realz.com/

3. Gina Valley @ http://ginavalley.com/

4. Kristen Dyrr @ http://kristenhead.blogspot.com/

5. Aaron Brinker @ http://www.dadblunders.com/

6. Amberr Meadows @ http://www.amberrisme.com/

7. MBOK @ http://mybrainonkids.net/

8. Lynnette Conroy @ http://rantravewrite.com/author/rantravewrite/

9. Lottie Nevin @ http://lottienevin.com/

10. Intricate Knot @ http://intricateknot.wordpress.com/

11. Alberta Ross @ http://www.albertaross.co.uk/

12. YumaBev @ http://parkinsonshumor.blogspot.com/ * Yes, I picked a 12th. I know it's a rule-breaker, but Bev is special to us all. She's a winner at life and after having DBS (deep brain stimulation) for her PD this year, she is TODAY having surgery for breast cancer. Please pray to Zeus or Allah or God or whomever you pray to for her!

I probably chose some people who have more established blogs, and more followers and I didn't get to list as many blogs as I would so much love to be able to do. I don't want to make this post any longer than I already have, but a funny thing happened on my way to disaster and my subsequent U-turn. I learned how to live again, with meaning this time. You all helped and I thank you.