Rick Santorum: He Distinctly Said To Blave

Contrary to what you might think, Rick Santorum did not say black people, nor did he say blah people, he distinctly said, "To Blave." Thank you Anderson Cooper and Miracle Max for clearing this up.

A New Year

I've been rather slack in keeping this blog updated. Too many social media outlets and not enough time to chronicle life when I am busy living it.

The year ended quite nicely. We hosted our first Thanksgiving. Renovations are finally complete. We hung up a tie rack that I use to hold my Huichol beaded necklaces and bracelets.

I found freelance work. My Aunt from Brooklyn has been visiting though sadly, she leaves today. My Aunt and Uncle from Los Angeles flew into town. We celebrated my parent's 49th Wedding Anniversary. We celebrated my Dad's 77th Birthday.

We wined and dined and dined some more -- and in between managed visits from friends in St. Pete who brought friends from Salt Lake and the six of us participated in the 30th Annual King Mango Strut parody parade in Coconut Grove. We wanted to do this skit/float for the Wynwood Strut but it was logistically impossible. For the Wynwood Strut we were the Toxic Tush - the transgendered guy/gal who illegally performed cosmetic enhancements on people using cement, Fix a Flat, mineral oil and Super Glue.

For the Grove Strut we drove to a storage unit in Hialeah and got our hands on a port o potty - our skit - #Occu-Potty. It was hysterical. Simon was the Jack Ass in a Box playing a Wall Streeter and the door would open and the laughter was priceless. Thank you Peter, Cheryll, Kathy and Bob for coming to town and staying for the Strut.

 

Feel free to watch the whole video or FF ahead to 2:14 for #Occu-Potty

New Year was spent at my folks house with lobster and steak. New Years Day I had my aunts and uncle and parents over for dinner. So far 2012 is pretty OK - though my icey cold nose would beg to differ. Looking forward to more work. Downton Abbey, Dr. Who, heading back to Mexico, heading to NJ for my nephew's Bar Mitzvah, and hoping the Democrats get their act together. Onward Mush!

Public Schools of New York Open Doors

While people are gathering across the country and organizing protests and Occupying against corporate greed, failed leadership and failing schools, I just wanted to comment that the Public Schools of New York actually open doors for people.
                                         Specifically S and myself.
                                                               More specifically, our bedroom door.

Years ago, my Aunt Carol worked at Andries Hudde Junior High School in Brooklyn, NY. In the 70's there were doing massive renovations and everyone went a little 'gut the sucker' happy. Carol gave my folks these doors knobs. They are solid brass - designed by Sargent - and the earliest sold ones we've seen date back to 1893. They were sitting in a bag inside the foyer closet of my parent's house for more than 20 years, before that, in a bag inside a foyer closet in our home in New Jersey and before that, on a door inside the school.

We had already used antique crystal door knobs as curtain ends and wanted something interesting looking to hold back the curtains. 

 The curtain rod, like the interior one behind it, is made of PVC. S capped one end, filled it with boiling water, capped the other end and then bent the PVC into the curve we needed to accommodate the glass block wall.

I was talking to my folks about the curtains and hold backs and dad suggested we use the old brass knobs from Brooklyn. After several visits to the hardware store we gave up on the notion -  the knobs are rather heavy and we were going to need some serious reinforcement and retrofitting to find threaded dowels that would fit the knob and go into the wall. They'd have to go past the drywall and into the concrete blocks. Big pain.

So we decided to use them for the door itself and set out to find a retrofit kit that would work for the knobs. Online the knobs auction for anywhere between $150 to $345 - who says public school education doesn't pay? I found a company in DC called The Brass Knob and S and I spoke with Richard Lock,  talk about a fitting name, about retrofitting and finding backplates that would cover the hole in the door from where the old standard door knob went.

Richard was a tremendous help and put together a package for us with antique brass backplates, the kit, and a new spindle since the one above would not fit the modern kits.

The kit assembled easily but the spindle would not secure in place unless the knob was turned 45 degrees so you couldn't see the words unless you turned your head on an angle to the right. S, had a Eureka moment and using a awl he marked a spot on both sides of the spindle where the set screw touched. He then filed down one side of the spindle where the mark was, so that when the knob was in the proper place the set screw secured against a flat edge and not a corner. It was rather genius.

The result?

New York Public Schools work. Well, at least their knobs do.

In Loving Memory -- The Death of Copywriting.

September 27, 2011 -- After fighting a long battle with terminal Cheapiness, the art of Copywriting succumbed in its sleep, surrounded by its loving family of creative directors, art directors, graphic designers, proof readers and former clients.

Copywriting was rumored to be born in the early 20th century in the home of Claude Hopkins. It lived a long and prosperous life combining research, strategic thinking and irreverent wordsmithing into one clever package. Traveling beyond time and space much like Dr. Who in his bigger-on-the-inside blue TARDIS, Copywriting answered the call of those in need -  solving problems, building and protecting brands from imminent doom, yet never asking for much in return.

Center for Disease Control (CDC) scientists have pinpointed the fatal virus, Cheapiness, to several freelance bid sites across the information super highway. Said freelance bid sites are permeating the internet with woefully low-paying projects, rendering the craft of Copywriting obsolete. Overpowered by a flood of sales-sheet-writers that present themselves as copywriters, Copywriting found itself so undervalued it had little way to fight back.  It became weaker with each passing day as it pored over poorly written websites and small space print ads cluttered with exclamation points in headlines and body copy. It all but lost its voice when confronted by a new crop of clients solely interested in SEO and iPad apps. Upon witnessing a bidding war for a web project requiring 50 pages of copy, each with 400-500 words, and a payout range between $500- $1,000, it became dizzy and subsequently slid into a coma, its battle for equitable pay swallowed by a sea of projects paying 1/6 the going rate for a senior level copywriter.

CDC advises other industry creatives to exercise caution when using said freelance bid sites and use proper protection.

Copywriting's remains will be interred next to its life-long companion - the Unique Selling Point, known by friend's as USP. In lieu of flowers please make your donations to WriteCause Creative LLC.

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Sammy the Stray

Are you sure that ginormous Lab won't eat me?

Tuesday afternoon S called saying he found a stray at Casola's and didn't know what to do with the dog. It looked like a Shepherd/Sheltie mix, was very small, starving, hardly moving and he couldn't bear to leave him/her. I grabbed a towel, Chapy's collar and leash (and then put the collar and leash down on the counter when I searched for food), a can opener and can of his dog food that we tried many times over to give away to rescue groups but no one ever responded.

When I got there this tiny ball of dull fur was crouched in the corner of the entrance to the pizza place with a styrofoam cup of water nearby. Hardly picked up its head to smell my hand, looked too exhausted to even be frightened. A few minutes passed before even acknowledging the dog food and when she did, she inhaled it - a good sign that she still had an appetite.

Realizing I left the leash at home, S spoke to someone behind the counter at the pizza place. A sweetheart named Edwin. He ran home and got a leash. Didn't help though. She wouldn't budge. S used the towel, scooped her up and we took her over to Dr Marmesh.

She weighed in at 27.5 lbs and should probably weigh in the mid 30s. He couldn't determine her age anywhere between 6 and 11 or older. He guessed that from the cataracts she has - in both eyes - the left worse than the right - it's cloudy and he couldn't see any blood vessels. She tested negative for heartworm, has no murmur, or audible heart problems, was treated for hookworm, given eye drops for red eyes, and Trifexis which prevents fleas and worms. Whoever owned her never cared for her teeth - she looks like a character from "Deliverance." She's missing many teeth - she grinds them and vet thinks she simply wore them out. The day we found her she was grinding as if she were eating kibble. Vet wasn't sure if it was anxiety.

We brought her home, gave her a bath - actually three baths - she was filllllllllllthy! Took her out for a walk and ran into John who runs Coconut Grove Dog Rescue. He said to send all the info we had on her. We did, but all his foster homes are full. When we came home from the walk we were all doing our thing when we heard KABOOM -  a loud explosion. Not the kind where a dog runs into a cabinet and dishes drop - that doesn't cut our power. This was a loud explosion. From outside. Way down the street. In the manhole that contains the ancient transformer that delivers electricity to our home and 45 others.

Power out. Stray dog. Awesome.

S called it in to FPL, crews were on the way. They estimated power would be back on at 10:30pm. It was blowing a lot outside so S decides to retract the awning in the back then we'd take Sammy for another walk. She follows out back and splash in the pool she falls. S fishes her out, grabs a towel to dry her off and splash in the pool she goes again. Not sure if she wanted to swim or just couldn't see the pool well in dim light.

Dried off, we walked over to the FPL repair site with Sammy - named after Sammy Davis Jr. - she might be blind in the cloudy eye and since she's so skinny she walks with a Candyman Can like swagger. FPL said they were trying to determine the problem. From the sounds of it, power wasn't coming back soon, so at about 7:30pm, Sammy, S and I drove over to Home Depot to buy some flashlights - the ones we had were useless.

First chance I get, I am going to jump out.

Home Depot was interesting with Sammy since we were so used to going with Chapy who was a prince and never tried to escape from the cart. Sammy however, tried to make a break for it early on and nearly broke her skull in the process. She didn't try jumping out again. With halogen and LED lanterns in our possession we headed home and again walked over to see the 11 or so FPL workers standing about, sleeping in trucks, scratching their heads, waiting. They said they needed to drain the transformer of oil (it's underground) and  after that would be able to test to see what was happening. They had to wait for Environmental to come and drain the sucker.

Time passed. Slowly. Environmental arrived. They drain it and turns out the transformer is totally fried and needs to be replaced. So one FPL  guys makes the call and orders another one to be delivered. The 10pm estimate now changed to "We Don't Know," which by 11pm, changed to 1am. At 11:30pm S suggests we drive to the beach, walk the dog along the beach path, call and check in at 1am when FPL says power should be up. So we go. Walk around a bit - sorta creepy on Miami Beach that late. Call at 1am. Nope power not up. 1am now changed to 6:30am.

Head home and pass the FPL debacle at the corner. Seems that someone ordered the wrong transformer. (You'd think with all the repairs and service calls made to this one particular transformer that they'd know what kind of transformer was needed.) We drive to Dunkin Donuts to see its one customer sitting outside on the phone - a police officer. Really it was a police officer. S buys coffee and decides he's going to pull an all-nighter. There's no way he can sleep with the roaring of two very loud generators from the neighbors houses. When the power goes out we can't even open our windows for fresh air because all you hear is roaring.  So he stayed up. Playing guitar. S is learning guitar. And he serenaded Sammy. All night.


At 3:30am I head in, put in ear plugs - roar now dull roar, and I sleep until 6am - waking up wondering, "whyyyyy do I still hear generators?" 8am we walk over to the FPL site - three new guys are there - the morning shift. One guy says something like, "Yeah, he ordered the wrong transformer - this one is old school so they have to drive it in from Palm Beach. You guys are  the only place in Dade with this kinda transformer - All the others are new and much bigger." We chat a bit and he tells us it's kinda obvious it's the wrong transformer because of where the manhole is located in the street and this manhole is much smaller - the new ones are so spacious they have a catwalk. This has no room at all for a catwalk. Not even a mouse walk. Again, you'd think FPL would have schematics and know what transformer works where - given how many times they are out repairing this one.

The blue basket is not big, it's just that I am small.

So the new transformer is en-route and S and I take to finding a foster home for Sammy - I'm just too allergic to her. Chapy was one thing, he came with S and this was his house. But if we're going to take in a dog, I can't be allergic to it. It's hard to be productive when you work from home and are doped up on antihistamine all day. Every day.

All this Corning Ware and no food in them, that's just wrong.

In a house that is now getting a bit too warm to be comfortable, we call and email (via iPhone) 30 shelter/rescue groups. One conversation was what I can only call 'odd' as the rescue volunteer challenged S on my allergies. "Really? I've never heard of anyone being allergic to a dog," was repeated three times. You've never heard of allergies to dogs and you work with a dog rescue group????

Power came back at 1:20pm then went out for a minute and was back on at 1:21pm. AC working, Ice-Maker making ice - hooray! S went to the market and bought chopped meat, sweet potato and carrots. This underweight, hookwormed dog will embark on the build up muscle mass Chapy diet.

I smell food. Food. Food. I smell food.

Of the 30 groups - none are able to foster and sadly, I haven't received many responses to all the emails I sent yesterday. There are just too many abandoned dogs and owners that treat dogs like they are shoes - easily returnable and tossed out if they suddenly don't want them anymore Urgent Dogs of Miami has posted her and so has Coconut Grove Dog Rescue. Fingers crossed.

Last night, I opened the kitchen doors to the other rooms and let her wander - I was a bit apprehensive - I don't want dog allergens through the house and I was worried about accidental messes that I'd have to clean up in a hazmat suit. She spent 20 minutes sniffing everything - especially Chapy's favorite chill-out zones.

I really hope we can find her a foster. I can't bear the thought of her in a kennel cage or being put down just because of overcrowding - she really seems to have gone through so much already. Makes me furious to think someone would just abandon her. Today I'm searching again for a rescue group and also checking to see if maybe just maybe there is a lost sign somewhere. Given the state she was in, I kinda doubt it.

I have been given the bed of the very famous Chapy. I am a lucky girl.

Awhile ago S gave her a good brushing using an old, curly brush with bristles. A few seconds into it and tadah - she rolled onto her back wanting her belly rubbed. A very trusting sign.

Belly Belly Belly. Ooh there. Yeah, that's the spot.

We decided to give her another bath, this time with creme rinse - she was a trooper.

Are you done yet?

Then S dried her off (she loved that) and I used the blow dryer to dry up her fur. She even liked that. Her coat is already shiny. She's curled up on the kitchen floor by my feet while I write this. At least I know she feels safe. And the teeth grinding? Barely does it now.

mmmmmmmmmmm. Squirrel!. mmmmmmm

Just amazing what food and love can do in such a short amount of time. If you are interested in fostering Sammy, contact me ASAP.  Meanwhile, updates to my website (www.WriteCauseCreative.com) are taking place - but they get interrupted by very sweet doggy eyes.