March 30, 2005

Finger Found in Wendy's Chili


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

Well we have all heard about it by now.. that a patron of Wendy's found a fingertip in her chili when she bit into it.

SAN FRANCISCO, California (Reuters) -- A diner at a Wendy's fast food restaurant in San Jose, California, found a human finger in a bowl of chili prepared by the chain, local officials said Wednesday.

"This individual apparently did take a spoonful, did have a finger in their mouth and then, you know, spit it out and recognized it," said Ben Gale, director of the department of environmental health for Santa Clara County. "Then they had some kind of emotional reaction and vomited."

Local officials launched an investigation after the incident Tuesday night and the medical examiner determined Wednesday that the object was a human finger.

Officials are trying to determine whether the finger came in the raw materials Wendy's used to prepare the chili, Gale said.

Wendy's International Inc. corporate office did not immediately return a call for comment. Wendy's is the third-largest hamburger chain.

That reminds me of my own run-in's with filth and disgust at various fast food restaurants. For the most part now I never eat at them. If I am in a desperate situation for food will you find my car heading toward a fast food drive up window.

I remember this incident:
High School....1976

One Saturday our class was having a car wash to raise money for some function?? I cannot recall what. I think it was for the yearbook--yes it was. The day was hot and after a day of standing in the street holding signs and waiving at cars all day were were tired and thirsty. There were about 10 of us at the car wash and one of the nuns was with us all day. We attended a private catholic school. When it was all over we gave our money to the Sister and we all piled into 3 cars to go home.

First there was a stop at the Burger King for the biggest, iciest drinks we could get. We all went in instead of going through the drive-thru. We all ordered Cokes.

One of the guys with us took the top off and drank his non stop without a straw. He drained the cup in one continuous drink. As the cup was in the air and his head tilted back, he noticed something dark under all the ice in the bottom of the cup. He cleared some of the ice out with a spoon and saw a huge, dead roach. We all saw it.

None of the rest of us drank our Cokes.

I remember this incident also:
I remember when my daughter was about 6 or 7 I took her to McDonalds one saturday as a treat. She liked Happy Meals. Her grandparents got her hooked on those. We went thru the drive-in as we had other stops to make. I had to give my order 5 times because the nincompoop on the mike could not get it right. When we got to the window the order was still wrong. She got mad because I told her that it was not right. She took it back most snippily and corrected it. We got out drinks and left. I was about to take a drink of my coke. Most of the time out of habit I just stir the straw. It did not move much. I immediately thought that she gave me all ice to the very top of my cup and very little coke. I tried to stir it again and took a little sip. Just thru the little crack in the hole wher the straw went I saw something white. I pulled over into the next strip mall to take a look. My cup was filled with balled up papertowels. She has sabataged our food. There was not any way for a cup to be filled with paper towels.

I immediately yelled to my child to stop eating immediatey and not to drink anything. My thought was where did she get those towels? The trash can beneath the register? And what was in them? I know it was done on purpose. I swung that car around like I was Richard Petty and back we went. We got out and went in and let me tell you, I caused the biggest scene you would ever want to see. By the time it was all over I had cleared evey single customer who was in line to get food out. They wanted no food from there. I showed the manager what haappened and I told him it was done on purpose. I asked him if he could stand the news media coming becasue they were the next people I was going to call. I pointed out the cashier to him and at first her back was to me as she was still at the window. She yelled back that she did not do anything. Another cashier who must have been in the know said, " yes you did because she bought it back." Her head then whipped around and she looked like a deer in headlights...caught.

We got our money back but we never ate at that restaurant again.

This happened also:
One day we decided to eat at Bojangles. The food was okay whenever we ate there. Grease, grease, grease but at times tasty. We ordered our food and as we were in line we noticed that an female employee came from the bathroom. We got our food and decided to go to the bathroom before we left. We went in and it stunk to high heaven. In teh first stall there was a big pile of human feces on the floor. Not small like a child but huge like an adult. No visible signes of toilet paper anywhere. Now I did not think the employee did it, but she came from there and had to see that. She did not make any mention to anyone that the bathrooms needed to be cleaned. Just hopped on the 2nd register and began to ring. We left the bathroom, full bladders and all and got a refund. We were out of there!

So now I am very skeptical of all fast food places. To be they are very unclean, nasty places. It may look nice but you have to look at the people working there. Are they sanitary? Have any home training and common decency? Are they just low income, uneducated welfare moms with an ax to grind? Just beware! They may put things in your food.


Birthdays


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

Birthdays were always horrible time for me. The torment would start about a month or maybe two from my birthday month. I would hear things on a daily basis like, "you are so bad that you do not deserve anything for your birthday," or " I am not getting you anything for your birthday because you are ungrateful and are a horrible child," or "I wish I never had you," or "I should have aborted you when I had the chance," or " I really cannot recall when your birthday was, was it the __ (fill in any date) of was it the __(fill in any random date), or "we are not celebrating your birthday this year." I would hear this everyday until the date of my actual birthday for at least 2 months before. This all came from my mother of course. And what was I doing that was bad or wrong? Nothing. It was just another form of abuse I had to endure for many years.

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This went on from about 1st grade which is about as far back as I can remember till high school when I finally got nerve enough to put an end to it. Was I remembered on my birthdays when I was a child? No. For most of them nothing was ever done to commemorate it. Sometimes there was a cake and sometimes not. I remember my when I turned 12. I was having my first birthday party ever. My mother had invited some of coworkers daughters who were the same age as me and a few of the neighborhood kids. We had it in the garage that was converted into a den. There was games and a huge cake and we were all dressed up. All the children who came had on their sunday best.

First of all, I thought that the party day would never come. Nothing like this had ever beenplanned for me before and I just knew at the last minute my mother would cancell it. Well the day came and peopel arrived and all was well. I was very emotional...so very happy that I was actully having a birthday party. We played games inside and outside on the front lawn. Finally it was time to have cake in the den. I felt like a princess. When it was time to have cake, everyone was seated at the table with me at the head. The kids began to sing and I became very emotional. I began to cry. I was crying for me for all my past birthdays ruined and I was also crying because this was a very new feeling I was feeling. That my birthday was special and worthy of being remembered. I was crying so hard I could not blow out the candles. I told everyone through the tears that I was crying because I was so happy. A little boy next to me yelled, "Blow out those candles and let's eat cake!"

I felt he was intruding on my moment, but he did not know anything of the extent of what I was feeling. I blew out the candles and we had cake. That was the last and only birthday party I have ever, as a child. When I was 16 I asked for a Sweet 16 Party and was vehemently shot down. I never had one. And still through all these years, the litany that I wrote in the first paragraph of this post continued for the 2 months prior to my birthday. ( As a side note, to be revealed in a later post the same thing extended beyond birthdays. My mother extended this out to include christmas also.)

Well I had decided that Iwas not going to take it anymore. I was now in high school and I could now plan to go out with friends on my birthday. My friends were my salvation. Thank god for them or I would have committed suicide long ago. Really and seriously. When I was 17 it started again. 2 months before my birthday. The endless verbal abuse regarding my birthday. I had some really good church and school friends who decided they were going to take me out for dinner and dancing on my birthday. I had been hearing that noone at home was celebrating my birthday so I made plans to go out. My friends were picking me up at 6:30 for a seafood dinner. One of my girlfriends made a big cake and we were going to tak that to the restaurant and have it there. I was going to have a good birthday that year.

So at about 5pm I began to shower and get dressed to do. I had not told my parents in advance I was going out. I planned to tell them as I was leaving and that I would be back at 9 or 10. 10 was my curfew. My mother noticed I was getting ready to go and was putting on my party clothes and heels. She asked me what was going on. I told her I was going out to celebrate my birthday. She began insane with anger and began to yell and scream. She said that I was not going out as we were celebrting my birthday at home. I told her no. She had been telling me for the past 2 months she was doing nothing for me as usual so I told her that was fine. I was going out with friends for dinner and dancing.

My mother said again that she was gong to celebrate. She said she had gotten a cake. She told me to go look in the fridge. I saw a Pepperidge Farm Chocolate cake which was my favorite at the time. That had no effect on me. I told my mother I had no idea of that based on what she had been telling me so I was going out. People and plans had been made for at least a week in advance. She began to say that I could not go. I told her I was as she had made it perfectly clear they were not celebrating my birthday. She then said she had even bought me a present. She ran to her bathroom and got a box of unopened Calgon Bath Oil Beads and said she had bought that as my present.

To me that was a joke. A $2.00 box of calgon bath oil beads?? That was not a birthday present and furthurmore, Ido not believe she bought them for me. I think she bought them for herself and when she realized I was determined to go out, she decided to see if a present would make me stay home. Those bath beads were hers. She used then all the time already. I told her that no more was she going to ruin my birthdays. I would be spending them with friends.

I continued to get dressed and she got even more angry. My friends called and said they were on the way. My mother then said that they had better not set one foot of a tire in her yard or driveway or she would call the police and have them arrested for tresspassing. I quickly called my friends back and told them not to pull in the driveway. I would be waiting at the front door for then and we would leave instantly. They did not have to get out of the car, I would come out and off we would go. They arrived 10 minutes later. My mother was still screaming like a banshee. I got my purse and opened the front door to leave and stood on the stoop.

My mother had run to my room and pulled out all my drawers of clothes and had them in her arms. She came out on the front porch as I walked to the car and dumped all my clothes on the lawn yelling that I had no home to come back to. I just looked at her. Did she really think I had any sort of home? I never had one. I went out and had a great time with my friends.

When I got home of course she did not want to open the front door. Finally after about 30 minutes of me ringing the bell my father opened the door. It was about 10. I endured about 2 more hours of yelling and abuse but it was okay. I had a mental escape. I just relived my birthday that night over and over again. After that year there was no more talk of not celebrating my birthday. After 17 years it finally stopped. I went out with friends for as long as I lived in that house for my birthday. She never bothered me any more about that.

Finally after 17 years it stopped.

March 28, 2005

What?


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

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March 24, 2005

Caught! J. J. Jameson Leads a Double Life


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.


Chicago Sun Times

In Chicago, J.J. Jameson's voice resonated deeply on poetry stages. He marched for peace and even helped set up chairs at community policing meetings in his Far West Side neighborhood.

But in Massachusetts, Jameson's story is a much darker tale of murder and jail break and a 20-year run from the law.

On Tuesday morning, Massachusetts authorities finally caught up with Jameson -- whose real name is Norman A. Porter Jr. -- and arrested the twice-convicted murderer. Porter was picked up at the West Side church where he worshipped after simply walking into the church office.

Porter, 65, appears to have been in Chicago for at least the past decade and possibly the whole time he's been a fugitive. He made a name for himself as a poet, local handyman and quirky neighbor. He occasionally talked of family and growing up on the East Coast, but neighbors said the anecdotes were short on details.

"This is a huge one,'' said Marc Smith, a Chicago poet. "It will be shocking to everybody and a little disconcerting. That's pretty wild.''

Members of the Massachusetts State Police Fugitive Apprehension Unit arrived in Chicago Sunday to coordinate the arrest with their Illinois counterparts, said Illinois State Police Sgt. Lincoln Hampton. The Boston Herald reported that the Chicago connection was made after the FBI matched Porter's fingerprints to a 1993 arrest here. The paper also reported Porter had been arrested four times between 1989 and 1993 in Illinois and Washington state.

The Illinois and Massachusetts teams set out to visit several addresses Tuesday, Hampton said. While investigators were at Third Unitarian Church, 301 N. Mayfield, Porter just happened to walk in and surrendered, Hampton said.

During a search of his home -- which Porter consented to -- he first signed his name "Jameson'' and then scratched it out and wrote "Porter," sources told the Boston Herald.

"It's a sweet, sweet day,'' said Massachusetts state police Lt. Kevin Horton, whose fugitive unit has been hunting Porter since 1985.

Horton told the Boston Herald that after his arrest, Porter said, "I've had a good 20 years [of freedom].''

Porter was serving two life sentences for murder in 1985 when he escaped from the Norfolk Pre-Release Center, a minimum security and work-release facility 35 miles southwest of Boston, according to the Massachusetts Department of Correction.

Walked away from jail in 1985

He had served 26 years in prison for the 1960 execution-style shooting of a clothing store clerk in Saugus, Mass., and the 1961 shooting death of a jail master at the Middlesex County Jail, where Porter was housed while waiting for his trial on the murder of the store clerk.

Porter attacked the jail employee during the jailbreak while another inmate, who also was breaking out, shot him, according to Massachusetts State Police. Porter was arrested a week later trying to rob a store in New Hampshire.

Once back behind bars, Porter earned an undergraduate degree from Boston University. He published poetry, founded a prison newspaper and by 1975 had his first life sentence commuted and began serving his second life sentence, according to Massachusetts state police.

He was transferred to Norfolk in September 1985, where he did maintenance work on prison grounds. In December, Porter walked away from the facility.

In various alerts issued over the years by Massachusetts, Porter is described as a diversely talented activist and poet. That much seems to have carried over to his life in Chicago, where he sometimes turned up at the city's well-known poetry slam at the Green Mill in Uptown.

"He was a total character,'' said Smith, who runs the slam. "The old anarchist. .. . If you tried to pin him down and be serious, he was going to [mess] with your mind.''

Smith said he loved watching Porter engage with the audience, who often booed him off during the sometimes raucous, loose slam. He said he was also sometimes hard to control. "Underneath the madness, he was also intelligent."

Porter published two books and was named the Poet of the Month by chicagopoetry.com in March 2004. He has been described as an anti-war writer, but others have said he also had a lighter touch, often mocking his love life.

He would turn up at small coffee houses around the city to read in a distinctive style -- slowly, enunciating every word and with impeccable timing.

But his verse betrayed nothing of his past. "You think of violent people, and you don't think of him,'' said friend Maggie Rubin. "He's happy-go-lucky, a pacifist.''

'Here's a guy, when he walked into a room, people cheered'

BY LISA DONOVAN STAFF REPORTER

J.J. Jameson was a popular, contemplative, funny poet.

"Here's a guy, when he walked into a room, people cheered," said his friend C.J. Laity, publisher of chicagopoetry.com. "When he read, people just laughed. They loved him."

But Jameson was really Norman A. Porter Jr., a twice-convicted murderer who escaped from prison.

"I knew the man," said Laity. "I don't think I really knew him, come to think about it."

Porter lived on the Far West Side near the Oak Park border, renting a dirty apartment on the top floor of a four-unit building. He was active in the Third Unitarian Church across the street in the 300 block of North Mayfield.

"I can't believe this," said neighbor Jessie Selvy, 48. "I've seen him at CAPS [community policing] meetings. With the police. That's why I'm so shocked. He was just a regular guy."

Neighbors said Porter was a church volunteer, raking leaves, mowing the grass and bagging and delivering food for the needy.

Selvy, who has lived on Mayfield for 14 years, said Porter lived there at least a decade. Other neighbors say it was shorter, and some said he bounced around a lot, crashing on friends' couches or sleeping in apartments he was helping to renovate.

Porter would talk to Selvy's wife about poetry and other interests. He also chatted with Dale Bennett, a retired journalist, who lived across the hall. She trusted him with the key to her apartment so he could do odd jobs, including relighting her water heater.

Neighbors heard part of his life story, including growing up in Maine and having an ex-wife and children. But Bennett knew she wasn't getting the full story. "I knew there was some drifting and some suffering along the way."

And he was moody, Bennett said. He was a heavy drinker, and sometime mixed his Scotch and beer with painkillers such as Vicodin and codeine.

He had tumors on his face and mouth, including some that had to be removed, friends said. Sometimes he seemed to disappear. His friends would call Bennett looking for him and she couldn't find him.

And one time he borrowed her car and returned it with a caved-in side. When he told her, he was matter-of-fact, unapologetic.

"He wasn't thoughtless, but he just kind of lived in his own world," Bennett said. "I trusted him, but I couldn't rely on him."



March 23, 2005

Russian Exorcism: Really Wierd Stuff!

A sixteen-year-old girl sits in a chair in a Russian Orthodox Church. Her mother is holding her down. Light filters in from high windows and the air is  thick with tension and the smell of holy incense. A priest stands over her reading the rite of exorcism. The girl squirms in her mother’s arms, groaning and growling as if the priest’s words were a torment to her mind and soul. The girl struggles violently, her groans becoming inhuman howls and deep, guttural moans of psychological pain. Then she lashes out at the priest, and in a voice that seems not to be her own, spits words of defiance.

This is not a scene from a Hollywood production. This is a partial description of an actual exorcism that took place in a Russian parish on May 1, 2004.

Listen to exorcism here:  !@~#$!


Love's Little Treasures

I was looking thru my closet last weekend trying to see what I had to wear and I came across an old leather jacket form an old boyfriend.  It was a treasure from a past love.  That got me thinking. What other things did I still have from past loves?  The leather jacket is still good.  I just have not worn it in a while.  It cost about $350 at the time...about 20 years ago.  The style was punk bomber  so it would still look good today Now that spring is just about sprung, I guess it will sit for another few months till winter comes again.  I plan to wear it this years.

I also found a suit from one of my ex husbands.  It is also a classic cut but I have not had that on in 11 years.  It might go to good will.  We shall see.  After really thinking,  I discovered I had quite a few things from old flames.   I found a pearl and diamond ring, a gold leaf on a gold chain.  The leaf is a real leaf that had been dipped in gold.  I also found a piece of hand made batik cloth from the Bahamas, a coffee table book that is even signed and dated, a rice bowl from Suriname, a hand made wicker fan also from Suriname, and a had made ceramic bowl. 

The list does not end there.  I also found 4 oriental alabaster pieces of art.  A Buddha, a pair of oriental dogs, a jade bird and vine figurine and more jewelry.  Some of these things I see everyday as they are decorations in my home, but where they came from is far form my mind.  I bet if I looked some more, I bet I could find even more stuff.     I know that some people get rid of everything that ex flame may have given you , but if it is nice stuff and stuff I really wanted   I did not get rid of it.   

Some of those things I really was due…as bad as the guy may have turned out to be.  At least I got something good out of it.  Some things I just can’t part with as that flame has departed for parts unknown or left our world for heaven all together.  They are good mementoes,   especially of those I felt got away. 

Makes me think.  Someday when I am gone or even now with me still  alive and kicking, are their people out there who are keeping some little part of me as a treasure?  Do they have something I gave them?  I would hope so because I tend to be good to people. I give good  gifts and want good gifts.

What do you have around the house that is a treasure from long ago? Look around and then let me know!

March 20, 2005

My Current Mood Music


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

I was in Barnes and Noble 2 days ago and heard the most wonderful jazz playing. I immediately went to the music department and asked what was playing. It was the new CD Closer by David Sanborn.
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I bought it on the spot. It is a wonderful CD. The 2nd song is my favorite: Senor Blues.

My parents bought the movie Ray and have seen it 3 times. Excellent. I did have the chance to see Ray Charles live about 2 years ago. Thank goodness I was able to see him before he passed away. That concert was great. I loved all the music in the movie so I did buy that cd as well.

I have just recently gotten into Lenny Kravitz in the past 2 years. I just hate the he and Nicole did not make it.
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Jill Scott, well I was first introduced to her by one of my co-workers. I have really loved her music ever since.


All music I am listening to now is available just buy clicking the boxes below. Go on, make a purchase. Get some new music!





Dan Goad: Where is he now?


Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

When I first moved away from home after college art was my big thing. I would spend hours and hours going to art galleries and then going to art stores trying to find real and interesting art for my walls. I found lots of art and bought lots of art as well. And of course I still have it. Some of my wall art is now over 20 years old. Is it getting more valuable? Less? I do not know.

All I do know is that now I am ready for some new art. I used to be into the whole oreintal motiff and use dot have lots of oriental art. When I was in that phase, I got some nature art as well that would blend. Thus the name of my post Dan Goad. Dan Goad had/had great artwork and I fell in love with his work. I bought 2 signed and numbered pieces of his about 20 years ago. Are they now priceless works of art? Is he still living? I looked on the web to see if I could see about any new work of his and did not find much. I could barely find anything on the man himself. I found the following but how old is it? Is he still in north Carolina?

Dan Goad:
Dan Goad is best known for his watercolors of wading birds found along the coast of the Carolinas. Since he is currently spending part of the year in the mountains of North Carolina a few other creatures, like this bear, is creeping into his repertoire.
If anyone has an updated information on Dan Goad, please let me know. The following picture is of the two pieces of his that I bought 20 years ago that are signed and numered. They are in mint condition and have been my living room pictures all this time. I just love them.
I tried to get a good picture but the flash on glass does no do too well at times.

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The print on the left is called 3 baby egrets. Signed and is 105 of 750.
The print on the right is called Snowy Egret and is 579 of 750. It is also signed by Dan Goad himself. They are triple matted and are from the Design Factory in California. I cannot recall at all what I paid for them. I just remember that they were several hundred dollars apiece at the time. They are pretty big pictures.

I also have some photograph prints that are also signed and dated by Douglas Busch.
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I have a print that is signed and dated from 1983. It is not in his current collection at all. It is a Blakc and white picture of a very old, dilapidated house that is falling apart. A shack really. It is beautiful if a house like that could be. I guess that is why it is an object de'art! What was my motivation for buying that? Well I had just gotten my very first BIG job that paid over 30k back in 1987. I got it because it was a reminder that if not for my hard work, parents and education, I could be living in a shack like that one. That is still why I have the picture today. It is no longer in the living room but in the upstairs hallway with my other black and white prints....Ansel Adams. It is a picture that always gets lots of comments from people who see it.

I did get into abstract art for a quick minute and bought a beautiful 3 part work of art. The name and the artist I cannot recall. I no longer have the print. It got damaged in a move and I did not replace it. It was all swilrs and primary colors. All 3 together made the entire picture complete.

I also have a beautiful picture of an orchid called Brazilian Blue. It is also a signed and numbered original. 148 out of 300. The artist name is scribbled and I cannot make it out. Just the first part Lee and the rest is gibberish. So I am not sure who that is at all.

I am ready for some new art. I guess I will have to hop on down to the art stores and see what I can turn up.

March 14, 2005

Free GMAIL!


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.

I still have GMAIL invites to give out. Please leave your name and email address in the comments and I will send you an invitation. I have about 50.

Disney Has New CEO


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.

When I was little my parents did take us for trips in the summer when we were out of school. We neveer made it to Disney. I did not make it to Disney until I was an adult and boy was I surprised at all the things they had. I am a Disney fan and addict. When we were smaller we went to Carowinds, Six Flags, Cedar Point, The Okefenokee Swamp Park, Washington and every building and historical place there was to see, The Smithsonian , Niagra Falls, various places all over Canada and many many more places up and down the east coast of the Unites States. How we missed Disney I will never know. I made up for lost time. I go to Walt Disney World once a year, every year.

Finally Eisner is out! Yeah! Robert Iger is in!
ABC News

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LOS ANGELES Mar 14, 2005 — Michael Eisner, the longtime CEO of The Walt Disney Co., will step down a year earlier than expected, handing over the reins to Robert Iger and ending a tumultuous stint atop the entertainment giant.

Disney shares edged up 9 cents to $27.68 in morning trading Monday in a muted response to Sunday's announcement. Its shares have trdaed in a range of $20.88 and $29.99 over the past 52 weeks.

Iger, 54, the firm's current president and chief operating officer, was named to succeed Eisner as chief executive. He will assume his new role Oct. 1. and will co-lead the company with Eisner during the transition, Disney's board said.

He inherits the company as it continues an earnings recovery, opens a new theme park in Hong Kong, enjoys a ratings boost at its ailing ABC network and builds on success of its dominant ESPN cable network.

"This is not a broken company. If things go right for Bob, it could be a phenomenal performer in the next few years," said Larry Haverty, a portfolio manager at Gabelli Asset Management.

Iger will face many challenges, however, including repairing some of the relationships damaged by Eisner, negotiating broadcast rights with the NFL, expanding Disney into China and India, protecting its content from piracy while embracing new technology, and warding off another shareholder challenge from disgruntled ex-directors Roy E. Disney and Stanley Gold.

Eisner, who said he would step down in 2006, will end his tenure at the company after serving 21 years. Iger will become only the sixth leader of Disney in its history.

Iger is seen as less polarizing that Eisner, a trait that might give Disney another chance to cut a new deal with longtime partner Pixar Animation Studios, the makers of such hits as this year's Oscar-winning "The Incredibles."

"I think probably Bob has better success doing something that could benefit the Disney shareholders," Haverty said.

Pixar CEO Steve Jobs has said he would wait before talking to other studios about distributing his films until after Disney choose Eisner's successor. Pixar has one more film to deliver under its current Disney deal.

Iger, who was named president in 2000, has already won praise from Miramax Films co-chairman Harvey Weinstein.

Eisner has repeatedly clashed with brothers Bob and Harvey Weinstein since Disney bought the independent studio in 1993. Disney is close to ending its 12-year relationship with the Weinsteins in a deal that will see Disney keep the Miramax name and library while the Weinsteins leave to form their own company.

Rest of the story here!

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March 13, 2005

The Puppies


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
4th grade

We had a dog. I cannot recall what type. I think this one was a mutt. She had puppies and soon we had a litte of 8 puppies all very cute. My brother and I wanted to keep the puppies. We named them all. They had names like Cinnamon, Little Bit, Mustard, Lo and Shang. We kept the puppies until they got old enough to eat. We tried to give them to neighbors to keep them close but noone wanted them. They were just litter of cute mutts.

I loved them. That was the problem. I loved them. If I had not then maybe we could have kept them. That was the pattern. If I loved a pet, my mother got rid of it. If anyone else showed an interest, we could keep it. For me it happened that I loved all the pets. They were the only things that ever loved me back. So natually they all went away eventually.

Those puppies grew and grew and my mother began to threaten to get rid of them. I held her off as long as I could. Those puppies loved to play, especially Little bit. He was the runt of the litter. He was the cutest. They loved to eat also. My mother had planted a few vegetables in the back yard. She planted tomatoes, bell pepper and some onions. The puppies ate everything right off the vine. They ate all the puppy food we gave them but they ate all the vegetables. Little Bit would come to me with bell pepper breath. And later it would be onion breathe.

My mother shooed them away all the time but it would not help. They kept on eating the vegetables...bell peppers in particular. One day my mother said that they all had to go to. I began to cry of course. It did no good. My mother said that they would be taken to the SPCA and they would find good homes for them. I was crushed but was lifted up by the fact that they would be adopted. They were all so cute. My mother was always so hell bent on hurting me she failed to realize that I was not the only one who loved those puppies. My brother did also.

She sent me with my father to take the puppies to the SPCA. We loaded them all up in boxes and off we went. At the time my brother was out in the neighborhood playing with his friends so he had no idea the puppies had gone away. My father and I got to the SPCA and left the puppies with a man who did not seem very happy to see all the puppies. He took them and said he would take care of them. We left and we came back home puppy-less. I went to my room to be alone. I was devastated.

My brother came home riding into the back yard on his bike. I watched him from my bedroom window. He looked around for the puppies. He must have come in and asked where the puppies were. My mother must have told him and off he road on his bike, mad and very upset. Little did she realize I was not the only one she was hurting. My brother has always been the favorite one. No matter what. My mother came to my room and told me to go with my father to go get the puppies.

We were going to keep them. I was hurt by the fact that just because my brother was upset that we could now keep the puppies. I wanted the puppies so off I went with my father to pick the puppies up. We arrived and I approached the man we gave the puppies to. I told him we had come back to get the puppies. There was joy in my voice and I said that to him with a smile. He looked annoyed. He then told my father that we could not have the puppies because they had been put to sleep. We lived just a few blocks away from the shelter and they had been there for all of about 45 minutes when we had returned for them.

They were gone. The murdered my puppies as soon as they arrived. I was in disbelief and asked again about the puppies. He again said they had been put to sleep. I asked him about finding homes for dogs and why that was not done. He said they were mutts and noone would want them so they were out to sleep immediately.

We went home and told my mother. She was only upset that my brother was upset. It all just reaffirmed that I was an invisible child. Noone could see me but me.

March 12, 2005

Brownie


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.

Middle School
Brownie was a stray dog. One day he just showed up with a bad, bad cough, a low slung head, skiddish ways and a fast wagging tail. He would not come near me at first. He would just cough and wag his tail. Fiannly after several weeks of me coxing him to get closer he licked my hand for the first time. My mom said he was a stray and not to let him to that. Plus we had no idea where he came from and if he was a nice dog.

By the looks of him, he looked like a dog that had been beaten. The way he held his head down, like he was being very submissive and the way his tail wagged. He did not really lift his tail up to wag. It also was down...almost between his legs when he wagged. I think that where ever he came from he escaped. Escaped most likely with his life and a cough to boot. After a while , we began to put food out and he began to eat. The cough persisted but we still could not get close enough to really pet him. He was so very skiddish.

He knew that his new home was with us. He was a watch dog. If anyone got near our house he would bark. He was a loud barker and did his best to watchover us. Finally after several months he would come to me and I could pet him for a little bit. I think all in all we had him for about 2 years. He was a yard dog. We were never able to really tame him or keep him on a leash or get him into the house. He was a yard dog who lived in our back yard. Kind of like squatters rights. He set up home in the back yard and it was his new home.

The one bad thing he liked to do was chase cars. There was no stopping him from that. He would be two streets over and I could hear him barking. Well one summer day after about 3 years of his coming to us, there was a knock at the door. The neighborhood kids came to tell us that Brownie had been hit by a car. He was still alive. I was distraught and wanted to go to him. My mother refused. She sent my father instead.

My father came back with Brownie. His back --lower back-- had been broken. He had no use from the waste down but could still crawl around with his two front legs. I immediately began to scream and cry that we needed to take him to the vet. He was a yard dog, stray, but he was our dog. My parents refused saying that it might cost a lot to help him. That did not matter to me. I thought he was in pain and needed help. Plus the site of him was killing me inside. His back legs were useless, he lay on his side and tried to push up on his front legs to move aorund. He licked my hand. I refused to leave his side. Eveyday, all day, evey hour, every minute I begged my parents to take him to the vet. I even told them that with his legs not working he may be put to sleep but even so, he would be out of any pain he might be feeling. My parents refused. I continued to cry.

I stayed with Brownie. My parents did let him come into the garage because he kept crawling away. I cleaned up his urine. I cleaned up his feces. I still begged my parents to take him to the vet. The continued to refuse. After a week of begging I awoved anew that I was not going to give up. That poor dog needed medical attention. I continued to beg. I stayed by Brownies side. I did what I could. I began to think that my parents were evil and that very mean. They were and since that time they have proven that fact over and over and over again. They were--are-- very cruel, evil people.

I had lifted Brownie out of the garage and took him to the back yard just to get a little air and to pray over him. Once on the grass he began to crawl around. He was moving very slow so I did not think he could go very far. I went inside for about 30 minutes and then it began to rain. I ran outside to bring Brownie in the garage. He was no where to be found. I began to panic. I ran the entire back yard, the front yard and on both sides of the house. No Brownie. It began to pour. I was drenched. My mother called for me to come in. No way could I do that. Brownie was missing and I was the only one who cared.

We had a big back yard and the behind our house was a large drainage ditch about 6 feet across. My parents had put in a line of poplar trees along the ditch to act as a sheild. When it rained that ditch filled up very quickly and was very very deep....about 6 feet deep of swirling , muddy water. I ran to the ditch calling Bronwnies name. I ran the lenght of the line of the poplar trees and when I got to about the middle of the yard, I saw Brownie. He was down in the ditch. The sides were not level so he was actually just above the swirling water on a muddy outcropping on his side. He looked at me with the kindest eyes. I do not know if he wanted to drown in that ditch or not but he was not...not on my watch. I know that hurt animals will crawl away to die and I felt like that was what he was doing. I just could not leave him with the water rising in that ditch.

I stooped down and put my foot down on the side of the ditch, wedged it in and scooped down and picked up Brownie. I brougth him back to the garage. I dried him off and sat with him for the remainder of the evening. He looked at me with sad eyes and licked my hand. I still begged and begged to take him to the vet. My mother still refused. My mother went out to the mall and was gone for several hours. My father was home alone. I called the vet and told him the situation with Brownie..about his injuries. The vet said that most likely he will have to be put to sleep. I told this to my father and I begged him to take me and Brownie to the vet now while mom was not there. He was like a spineless jellyfish all the years of my life. Whatever evil thing my mother wanted, he went along with. If I could get him alone, I could change things just a little.

He agreed. Brownie and I sat in the back seat. I talked to him and told him I loved him. I petted his head and he licked my hand. I prayed him a good journey to doggie heaven. When we arrived at the vets office my father would not let me go in. I had to sit in the car. Maybe because I had already done so much crying for the past week, he did not want me to cause a scene. Maybe and this is what I think it is. Maybe he would be able to tell the vet this just happened today and not a week ago. I did not tell the vet when it happened. I just called to see if there was any way he could be saved given his condition.

I knew that was the last time I would see Brownie. My father put him in a cardboard box and I waited in the car. He was in there for about 30 minutes. He came back alone. He said Brownie had been put to sleep because his back was broken. I cried anew. I cried all the tears of anger and hate I had for my parents for the past week. I cried for the awful cruelty they placed on Brownie and on me--just a small child begging with a broken heart for her dog that was in need of critical care. (and of course my mom was mad when she found out what happened)

I have never forgiven them for what they did to Brownie. I was to see this again and again. Pets were very short lived in our household and they were expendable in a heartbeat. I always think of Brownie fondly. I was even lucky enough to have taken some pictures of him with the Kodak 110 Instamatic camera I used to have long ago. I do not need a picture to see him. Brownie's image is forever burned into my mind's eye.

Scottish Writer Aids Revival of British Crime Fiction


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
Reuters

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - If Edinburgh were all about men in kilts playing bagpipes, its medieval castle and the world's top arts festival, then British crime writing might have drifted into a stately old age.

Now enter Ian Rankin, a child of the 1960s whose bestselling detectives listen to pop group Prefab Sprout, drink cappuccino and spend their working lives coping with a seamy side of Scotland's ancient capital that tourists never get to see.

"Suddenly there was this idea that Scotland was an interesting place to write about, that Edinburgh was an interesting and complex city, and it is, which is why there are so many crime writers there now," Rankin told Reuters during a recent stop on a reading tour in the United States

Inspired by "Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde," fellow Scot Robert Louis Stevenson's classic tale of dual personality, Rankin first portrayed Edinburgh's underbelly as seen by Detective Inspector John Rebus in his 1987 novel "Knots and Crosses."

Then in 1996, Edinburgh's prim, sedate image was dented forever by "Trainspotting," a film of native son Irvine Welsh's book about alienated, drug-taking youths from housing projects on the city's fringes.

Success for Scottish writers means Rankin is now proud to have as near-neighbors in Edinburgh fellow crime writer Alexander McCall Smith and mega-bestseller J.K. Rowling.

"So, I know where the competition is," he quipped before a public reading from "Fleshmarket Alley," his 15th novel featuring Rebus and titled "Fleshmarket Close" in Britain after a real street in Edinburgh's Old Town.

LATE CONVERT TO CRIME NOVELS

Long-established as Britain's top-selling crime writer, Rankin made his mark in the United States when he won the Mystery Writers of America's Edgar Award for best novel with Rebus' 13th outing, "Resurrection Men."

Although he is now one of the most successful crime writers around, Rankin admits he was "horrified" when his first Rebus novel was classified as detective fiction.

March 10, 2005

First Concert

Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
First Concert:

Do you remember your first concert? Who did you see? What did you wear? Who did you go with?

I remember my first concert. I went to see Rick James.

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Rick James was coming to town. I did not really keep up with celebrity or stars and really would not have gone on my own. My friend Monica who lived across the street from me was going and asked me to go with her. My mother said I could go and well...I was going to my first real concert. I remember being overwhelmed by the crowd of people. Her father dropped us off and we walked into the auditorium. It was a sea of people.

I remember we got their early so we were able to get good seats right up front. We had a fantastic view and I remember him performing Super Freak. I was in love.

Superfreak

She's a very kinky girl
The kind you don't take home to mother
She will never let your spirits down
Once you get her off the street, ow girl

She likes the boys in the band
She says that I'm her all-time favorite
When I make my move to her room it's the right time
She's never hard to please

{Refrain}
That girl is pretty wild now
The girl's a super freak
The kind of girl you read about
In new-wave magazine
That girl is pretty kinky
The girl's a super freak
I really love to taste her
Every time we meet
She's all right, she's all right
That girl's all right with me, yeah
She's a super freak, super freak
She's super-freaky, yow

Super freak, super freak

She's a very special girl
The kind of girl you want to know
>From her head down to her toenails
Down to her feet, yeah
And she'll wait for me at backstage with her girlfriends
In a limousine
Going back in Chinatown

Three's not a crowd to her, she says
"Room 714, I'll be waiting"
When I get there she's got incense, wine and candles
It's such a freaky scene

{Refrain}

{Bridge}

Temptations sing!
Ohhhhh
Super freak, super freak
That girl's a super freak
Ohhhhh

She's a very kinky girl
The kind you don't take home to mother
She will never let your spirits down
Once you get her off the street, ow girl

Blow, Danny!





Now I had heard the news that he passed away this past year in August.
A great legend was lost but he had a good career and was actually
putting out a new cd. That CD has been released on March 1, 2005.

Now I remember standing up in the chairs in the auditorium so that Monica and I could see. Once the concert began, the people in the rows ahead of us stood up in their chairs. Why I am not sure. We were up front and could see. Once they stood up we could not see so we had to stand in our chairs as well . We danced in the aisles and had a great time. After it was over, I remember being hot, with all the curls that were in my hair having fallen out from the heat and dancing. Monica's father picked us up and whisked us home. I could hardly sleep that night from all the excitement.


LOS ANGELES -- Funk legend Rick James, the flashy Motown Records artist best known for his 1981 hit "Super Freak," died Friday. He was 56.

Mr. James died in his sleep at his residence near Universal City, apparently of natural causes, said his publicist, Sujata Murthy. Mr. James, who was unmarried and lived alone, was found dead by his personal assistant, who notified police, she said.

With long hair elaborately styled in braids or Jheri curls, Mr. James was one of the biggest R&B stars of the 1980s, using danceable rhythms and passionate ballads to gain a wide following. Aside from "Super Freak" -- which MC Hammer used a decade later as the backing track for his monster hit "U Can't Touch This" -- Mr. James' hits included "Mary Jane," "Ebony Eyes" and "Fire and Desire."

In what has endured as one of pop music's quirkiest trivia tidbits, Mr. James formed a band in the mid-1960s with eventual rock legend Neil Young. The Mynah Birds landed a deal with Motown Records and cut 16 songs for the Detroit label before Mr. James was fingered for being AWOL from the U.S. Navy. Their material was never released, and the band broke up in 1966.

Mr. James was the nephew of Temptations vocalist Melvin Franklin, and he signed as a solo artist with the Motown label in 1977, dubbing his rock-inflected sound "punk-funk." While at Motown, he served as mentor and producer for a variety of acts, including Teena Marie and even actor Eddie Murphy.

"He was really fantastic. He was a creator," singer Little Richard told MSNBC.

After "Super Freak," Mr. James' fame began to fade as he became embroiled in drugs, legal problems and health issues.

He was convicted in 1993 of assaulting two women. The first attack occurred in 1991, when prosecutors said Mr. James and his girlfriend tied a woman to a chair, burned her with a hot crack pipe and forced her to perform sex acts during a cocaine binge at his West Hollywood home. He was free on bail when the second assault occurred in 1992 in his hotel room.

He served more than two years in Folsom Prison.

In 1997, he released a new album, but a year later he suffered a stroke while performing at Mammoth Events Center in Denver, derailing a comeback tour.

Mr. James was born James A. Johnson Jr. in Buffalo, N.Y. He had long been reported to have been born in 1952, but according to his Web site and police he was born on Feb. 1, 1948.

He is survived by a daughter Ty, sons Rick Jr. and Tazman, and granddaughters Jasmine and Charisma.

Funeral arrangements were being planned.

New Rick James CD: Rick James Gold
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March 07, 2005

Ode to the Ford Falcon


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
4 years of college

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Imagine this car in a light blue color. This was the car I had in college. It was our 3rd car...my mom had her car...new, my father had his , also new and I had the 3rd car. The ford falcon. It was a very old car as I was in college from 1979-1983. That little car could go and go and GO! It never broke down. I would pile friends in it on the weekends and off to the clubs we would go.

You would think that I would be ashamed to drive it , but I was not. I did not have to buy my own car. My parents just let me drive this one. That was good enough for me. My last year in college it began to give a little trouble. I was not sure what. If I had any car problems at all, I would simply call my father and he would take care of it for me. At the time I did not realize it was a vintage car complete with a club, conventions and everything else.

THE FORD FALCON STORY...

The Ford Motor Company produced the Falcon family of vehicles from 1960 through the 1970 model years. Everything from sedans to vans to innovative small trucks could be ordered with the Falcon emblem. Originally envisioned as a compact economy car, Falcons evolved through four distinct body style phases. Of these, model years 1963-1965 are considered to be the most collectible. In the first five years of its existence, the Falcon marque transitioned from bare bones econo-boxes to an array of small cars offering sporty convertibles, as well as exciting V-8 powered cars.

The Falcon truck, called the Ranchero, began its life in 1957 as part of the Fairlane lineup. In 1960, the design was drastically restyled to align itself with the Falcon design family. It continued to be a highly successful part of the Falcon line until 1966, when Ford began to market it separately from the rest of the Falcons. In 1967, this divorce was formalized when the Ranchero rejoined the Fairlanes. It enjoyed great sales success for many years afterwards in that role.

My last year of college, my parents bought me a brand new car. My falcon was traded in for a few hundred dollars. All the time we had that car my father was constantly being approached to sell it. Peolple wanted that car. BAD! It was a collectible car. I got my new navy chevy cavalier and the falcon was gone. I hated to see it go. About a week after the sale, my mother heard that a man had bought the falcon and had had a serious wreck in it. She was afraid. I do not know why. She called me up and said that a man ..whoever had bought it from the dealership had a bad wreck and that because of me getting my new car, I had gotten them or would get them into trouble. I told her that was the most ignorant thing I had ever heard. The car was no longer ours. We have traded it to the dealership and the sale and the wreck to whoever got it had nothing to do with us. She was all mad at me and yelling about it.

What did we have to do with the sale of the falcon by the dealerhsip? Nothing. What did we have to do with the wreck? Also nothing. The buyer of any car has the responsibility to check out a new purchase. That was yet another case of me being blamed for things I had nothing to do with or ever would. I could not win that verbal battle with her. I finally just gave up and said my final word on it....that we have nothing to do with the resale of that car by the dealership.

I was thinking to myself thank goodness we sold that car when we did. It could have been me in that very bad wreck.

Now the ford falcon lives on and on and on. They have become a hiphop cars well...you know: Pimp my Ride and all that jazz! Long live the Ford Falcon. At least I had the pleasure of driving one for 4 years. It was not pimped out, but it did the trick as far as transportation. I found this next article about Falcons in the hood!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oakland
Flying with the Falcon Boys

San Francisco Chronicle

With the bass on a Rick James song thumping so loud his white leather seats vibrated, Dave Johnson cruised down MacArthur Boulevard in a chromed-up cloud of cool.

Behind the wheel of his 1968 candy-apple-red Ford Falcon, 38-year-old Johnson is a member of East Oakland's ghetto glitterati -- the Falcon Boys.

Every urban city has its signature car, and in Oakland, the baddest ride around is the Falcon. First popularized in the city in late '80s, the Ford Falcon now is a cultural icon of the hip-hop generation, featured in rapper Too Short's videos and in the lyrics of Vallejo rapper Little Bruce and New York's DMX."Everybody looks at the Falcon," Johnson said as mourners outside a funeral home craned their necks to watch him drive past.

Today, only a couple of dozen late-model '60s Falcons remain in Oakland, lovingly restored and passed down from one Falcon Boy to the next. To own one is to get standing ovations at the liquor store, high fives at the gas station and quite a few phone numbers from the ladies.

"They are old cars, but we turn them into new because new cars cost too much," said Falcon Boy Byron "Bop Bonafied" Jackson, 36. "That TV show 'Pimp My Ride' came out in 2004. But we've been pimpin' our rides forever!"

Before police banned impromptu car shows at the Eastmont Mall in the '90s, Falcon Boys regularly would park in the mall parking lot on weekends, open their doors and show off their handiwork and their sound systems.

Those original parked "sideshows" have transformed, a generation later, into illegal car-spinning street rallies, and although Falcons sometimes make an appearance at the underground ones, they don't flip their cars because they're too precious, said Falcon Boy Kenny McElroy.

About 30 Falcon Boys live in Oakland, most of them making a living as driveway mechanics. Some make music, others have warehouse and service jobs, and some are unemployed. They typically take their cars out for drives on Sunday afternoons in small groups of two and three, or meet for all-day repair sessions. The majority are in their late 30s, family guys who describe themselves as a bit mellowed from their younger, wilder days. Some have rap sheets, some don't.

But the one thing they have in common is that teenage memory of watching the glossy Ford Falcons roll down Birch Street in East Oakland to the delight of everyone in sight.

"It was the car they could afford to buy," said Brian Lilla, an Oakland filmmaker who is making the first-ever documentary about the Falcon Boys. "Nobody else wanted the Falcon."

At the time, in the late '70s, Falcons could be found for about $200. Today, a fixed-up Falcon can fetch up to $20,000. A mystique arose around the car that exists to this day.

"Every time you go out with these guys, it's like you're in a parade," Lilla said.

Cars pull over to make way for the Falcons as they drive like a school of fish down the road, casually making four and five lanes out of two. When the pack needs to turn left, one Falcon Boy breaks away and blocks oncoming traffic to let the rest of the posse pass through.

It's driving by birthright, yet no one complains. The sight of all those gold rims and sparkle paint is a symbol of Oakland pride.

"These cars are special. Their duty is to go into any turf and just represent Oakland," said Falcon Boy Corey "C.B." Blacksher, 31. "You get mad respect anywhere you go."

Mostly the Falcon Boys roll in the Bay Area, but they also make annual pilgrimages to Reno for the weeklong Hot August Nights car festival, where they can display their Falcons before thousands.

Johnson said he'd seen dope fiends break down crying when he drove past, remembering the cars they used to own decades ago before frittering away all their money on their addiction.

"They miss that feeling they had when they used to drive one," he said.

Every year at prom time, he gets requests from teenagers to be their driver. When he pulled up last year with the homecoming king and queen, he drew a crowd so large he was hemmed in.

Each Falcon Boy strives for a unique flair with his car: a rare color, better technology, a bigger engine.

Wood Gaines, 38, chopped the top off his Falcon to turn it into a convertible, then moved the steering wheel to the right side.

"It's European style," he said, "Nobody in the world has a Falcon like mine."

Quan Lubin, 26, has miniature flat-screen televisions on the visors and behind the head rests. He put in a V-8 engine and a triple air-horn.

"We help each other find parts because they don't make Falcon parts new anymore," Lubin said. "We have to look on the Internet, go to junkyards and make parts ourselves sometimes."

Their love for their cars is so strong that sometimes Falcon Boys make decisions between the rent and replacement tires. Cars will often cycle back between cousins and friends when Falcon Boys are forced to sell their cars to pay legal bills or other debts.

Johnson's Falcon at one time has belonged to his cousin Kenny McElroy, a towing yard, a couple in Petaluma and a man in Santa Rosa. In the mid-'90s, McElroy spotted the car on blocks, wrecked, in a Richmond driveway and persuaded the owner to sell it back. Johnson put an engine in but then sold it to his stepson's father when he needed cash. Now, it's Johnson's again -- he traded chrome Cadillac rims for the Falcon.

"These cars mean a lot in the ghetto," said Johnson, a shipping supervisor at Bryant Laboratory in Berkeley. "On the freeway, people in Cadillacs and Escalades will pull up alongside and wave. It makes you feel good that high-class people say we've done good."

In an amazing bit of street serendipity, the license plate randomly assigned to Johnson's car reads 3GET075. He loves that if you look closely, it seems to say "Ghetto." He put a frame around it that reads, "Happiness Is Being Single."

"In the '80s, girls used to run into the street and stop Falcons. They'd go stupid," Johnson said.

Riding shotgun next to your man in a Falcon is still a thrill, said Hayatt Mohammad, who has been dating a Falcon Boy for the last four years. When she goes out for a ride, she dresses in skirts and heels in green and black to match the car's color theme. It's a must to look good because the Falcon is a head-turner, she said.

"It makes you feel expensive, and the nice cars make the guys feel like they have a lot of money or something," she said.

Now that she's an official Falcette, she says, there is a noticeable difference between regular men and Falcon Boys.

"Falcon Boys are more active -- they ride around and take you places like to San Francisco and to car shows," she said. "The other guys I dated were kinda boring. They went to movies, but really didn't want to do too much."

Although female attention is a nice perk, in truth the lure of the Falcon is the same thing that inspired legions of little boys to collect miniature Hot Wheels cars -- the pride of owning a bitchin' ride.

"Look around at all these guys out here," said Mohammad's boyfriend, Deano Paris, surveying the eight Falcons parked for an impromptu social hour one Sunday afternoon in December in the empty parking lot of the Foothill Square shopping center.

The Falcon Boys had parked in a circle, opened their doors and pumped up the bass, drawing a crowd of nostalgic onlookers eager to check under the hood, compare paint jobs and kick the tires.

"Some say we do it for the girls, but see all the guys? These cars are saying, 'See what I do? See what I'm worth?' " Paris said. "We may not be stockbrokers in ties, but if we sold our Falcs, we're worth at least $30,000!"

On his way home from Foothill Square, Johnson was pulled over by a patrolman. The entire pack of Falcons stopped behind him to wait.

Although it was not yet sundown, the officer gave Johnson a $140 ticket for driving without headlights -- a fine a judge would dismiss later.

"See! See what happens to us! Profiling!" shouted one of the Falcon Boys down the street.

"It was an honest mistake," Johnson said to the officer to no avail.

Still fuming on his way home, he popped an Al Green CD into the stereo -- the music he plays when he has a lady in the car.

Johnson started humming along. Within a few minutes, he hit the Falcon zone.

He just knew everything was going to be all right.




March 06, 2005

Writing Ending with a Check


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.

You didn't hear much about the end of the Kobe Bryant rape case. But then, crying is more interesting than check writing.

Crying brings out the TV cameras and the breathless reporters and the 100-point headlines and the interrupted newscasts. Crying sells, and there was plenty of crying when this saga began--Kobe in tears, next to his wife, lamenting his terrible "mistake." The young woman who accused him, reportedly in tears, not only over having her idol treat her like a hooker, but over the way outsiders ridiculed her, leading her to drop out of college and move from town to town.

Crying gets our interest. Jail time gets our interest. A hero falling from grace, facing prison, all over the jackpot of tongue-wagging news junkies--sex--that gets our interest.

But check writing? Settling out of court? Where's the ratings in that?

Perhaps this explains why last week, buried on the inside pages of newspapers, under no glaring lights, far from a police station or a courtroom or a bed, Kobe Bryant wrote a check to the woman he allegedly raped and she presumably cashed it.

And both swore never to speak of it again.

Now that's a real Hollywood ending.

Something terrible still may have happened here. But don't expect to hear about it. They say you can't buy or sell morality, but you can buy and sell silence. They just did.

And that's the end of the story.

March 05, 2005

Moments of Embarrassment


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
9th Grade--summer

What is your most embarrassing moment? Please post it in the comments. Here is mine.

The summer I was in 9th grade and moving onto the 10th grade, I had a cousin that was getting married. I was attending a private catholic school at the time and I had gone to the prom my freshman year with a senior. That was a big thing as I had to get permission from the head nun to go. Technically freshman were not allowed to go to any proms at all. Somehow I got to go. My mother had bought me a beautiful folral victorian and lace evenign gown. It fit so well it looked like I had been poured in it. I was the belle of the ball in that dress.

Anyhoooo, the wedding came and I decided I would wear that dress to the wedding and reception. It was formal so it was in line. I made it through the wedding just fine. We went to the reception. We had been at the rception about an hour when tragedy struck. I had been dancing with some other cousins and having a great time. I had just stopped dancing and had stopped to rest. I was standing in front of a floor fan...a tall one.

I felt what felt like someone gently had their hands around my waste and was moving me back and forth to the music..like dancing. That was odd as I did not think anyone could fit between me and the fan. I was not that close to the fan. I was standing there so that the fan could blow on me to cool me down from dancing. Well, the tugging at my sides persisted and somehow gre to a jerking on each side.

Harder and harder, the jerking continued. I whipped my head around and saw that the ends of my bow ties had been eaten by the fan. My vitorian lace dress was beind devoured by the fan. I could not get loose. I could not get the fan turned off. The jerking continued. The jerking continued until my too long sashes that made the wonderful victorian bow were jerked right out of the dress.

The side of my dress were split open. Not all the way down. Just the slots big enough were the sashes were attached. I ran to my mother mortified and asked them to take me home. I needed to change. We had drven an hour to get to the wedding so there was not any going home. I was absolutely mortified. For the remaining of the reception I stood stock still arms down next to my side refusing to dance, eat or do anythign that would expose my ripped dress. It was summer so there was nothing anyone had to cover up with like a sweater or shawl.

The fan eventually stopped turning running all together. It was clogged with large bunches of lace and ribbon. My uncle unplugged the fan and untangled the sash. It was covered with black oil from the fan motor so there was no saving the belt. That was the worst public embarrassment I ever had. It seems like it just happened yesterday it is so vivid in my mind.

The dress was repairable. The side seams were just split so 2 minutes on the sewing machine fixed it right up. I was able to wear the dress again on many occassions. I did not ever wear it agian to any weddings.

So...what is your embarrassing moment?

March 04, 2005

Glue is a Part of Science Class!


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
7th grade

We had a very obnoxious science teacher. I cannot rememeber his name and that might be purposely done. I can only vaguely remembered how he looked. I remember a big brownish mustache and that he always wore some sort of plaid jacket and dark pants. Can we say Geek?

I remember he was a very animated man and that when ever he began to speak he loved to wave his arms and pace the room from one end to the other. There was nomally a time after lecturing that he would sit at his desk and we would have to read or do worksheets. This was the time I was dared to do something.

One of my friends dared me to do something crazy! I did not want to get into trouble and I did want to do the dare. Peer Pressure can make you do crazy things!

The dare was to glue the teacher to the chair. How could I do that withou being detected?? I pondered every scenario for 4 days. Then I decided I was ready. One day I got some glue. It was not the white elmers school glue. I do not know what I had. It was not super glue. It wa some sort of fast drying clear glue. He always got to classs right at the bell..not before or a few minuted before. Right at the bell.

So since there was not another class before ours, I slipped in early and coated his chair in glue. I spread it out so that it was a nice thin layer. I slipped out undetected. Class began and he paved and wages his arms. I could hear nothing except the beat of my heartbeat, pounding in my chest.

Midway thru the class he finally sat down. I imagined glue leaking thru his pants and being discovered. I was barely able to look down at the work sheet we had to do. He never moved until the bell rang. That bell rang and I was out of there like a flash! He tried to stand up and he was stuck to the seat. I kept going and did not look back.

I was never found out. The next day in class the hunt began for who ever did this. He had questioned every class before ours. He asekd if anyone knew who had put the glue in his clair.

Silence.

He asked again.

More silence. He never got an answer, so every class had detention that week. We all had to stay after school for an hour and run the bleachers. Up those steps, over and then down , over and up again. I ran my laps and was happy to run them. Laps were better than being expelled!
I ran those laps with the energy of 10 kids. I considered myself one lucky child. It could have been much worst!

March 02, 2005

Phenomenal Woman


Snapshots In My Time, Of My Time.....Hauntings.
One of My favorite Poems
Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.