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CROSSING POLANSKY: Cross-Genre Writing and Other Misadventured, Piteous Overthrows
"Nobody told me you're supposed to stick to one genre!"
--Cynthia Polansky, novelist
--Cynthia P. Gallagher, nonfiction dog writer
www.cynthiapolansky.com
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True to my cross-genre roots (is that an oxymoron? roots are stationary), Crossing Polansky: the Blog About Everything has retired to that great archive in the cybersky. As mentioned in the last post, I give you Stands With a List: Writer Squaw Make Word Medicine. While blogging about anything my heart desired was rewarding and sometimes cathartic, amassing lists is more fun: Homophones, Girls' Names Song Titles, Bad Wedding Dance Song Choices, and of course Oddball Street Names. Typo of the Week will continue as a regular feature, too.
I hope you'll continue to participate by sending me your additions to existing lists or suggestions for new ones. Here's to happy wordsmithing!
Cynthia Polansky "Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
As I watched Julie and Julia for the third time, I braced myself for the Cinderella ending: when frustrated writer Julie Powell hits the big time with her blog on working her way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Of course, she didn't hit it overnight; it took a year of daily postings, of slogging onward while lamenting, "Who's going to read this, anyway?"
I've felt that way many times about Crossing Polansky. I really wanted to stick to my cross-genre roots and blog about everything, or nothing. And why not? Seinfeld was "a show about nothing." What writer wouldn't love that kind of journalistic freedom? But I noticed that my postings kept coming back to one thing: lists. Serendipity took over when I read the following from publicity expert Steve Harrison's online newsletter, Reporter Connection:
Ever notice how people love lists? When I saw the words "The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time" on the cover of Rolling Stone at the newsstand, I grabbed it. Simply HAD to see if Babe I'm Gonna Leave You was in the top 25 (It wasn't.)
Two college professors received tons of publicity and launched their careers to new heights by releasing the "Beloit College Mindset List" every year. It lists surprising trends and influences on each freshman class. For example, members of the class of 2014 almost never wear wrist watches, hardly ever use snail mail, and believe the U.S. and Russia have always been friendly. Remember to make sure your list is entertaining AND useful, and you'll find the media knocking on your door.
It was a sign. I will become a permanent Lister. I doubt I'll receive tons of publicity and of course "usefulness" is in the eye of the beholder, but I don't see the Beloit College Mindset List as any more useful than Bad Wedding-Dance Choices. In fact, the latter is probably more useful; I might be saving a hapless groom from suggesting that It's Hard to Belong to Someone Else When the Right One Comes Along become "their song."
So Crossing Polansky is changing from "the blog about everything" to "the blog of lists." But I need a catchy new name. I've done the pirate thing ("Avast, ye mateys, we're listing again"); it's time to move on to something more original (no, Polansky's List will not do as an homage to Oskar Schindler). Please send me your ideas for a new blog title, as well as suggestions for future lists.
Useful? We'll see. Entertaining? I guarantee. As my Salvadorian friends say, "Cado con su tema."
Cynthia Polansky "Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
I was a high school junior when the iconic TV show Saturday Night Live debuted. By the time I started college, America was hooked. No matter what we did on Saturday night, come 11:30 p.m. everyone found a TV set to which we glued ourselves for the next 90 minutes (it was actually a great way to meet guys, like impromptu parties in dorm rooms). Not only unbelievably creative comedy, but iconic musical artists made their way to the SNL stage: James Taylor, Rod Stewart, Aerosmith...unlike today when up-and-coming bands and artists play SNL before they hit it big (case in point: Lady Gaga -- appeared last season but probably won't again for some time; she's too hot).
After 35 years on the air, SNL has hit some rough spots with changing production execs, cast life-cycles, and less than hilarious writing. But even during the lean times there were those skits that we continue to rehash by the water cooler. If only we didn't have to wade through the muck to get to the gold!
My bright idea: NBC sets up a website similar to iTunes where you can search out and download your favorite skits to a custom DVD mix. Much better than simply buying an entire season on DVD; why suffer through Chris Kattan's Mango just to get to Dana Carvey's Massive Headwound Harry? My top 20, in no particular order, goes something like this:
- Dan Aykroyd pitching Bass-O-Matic
- Gilda Radner impersonating Patty Smyth
- John Belushi as Samurai Delicatessen
- Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd as the Czechoslovakian Brothers ("we are two wild and crazy guys")
- Bill Murray as the Lounge Lizard (singing cheesy improvised lyrics to the theme from Star Wars)
- Gilda Radner and Bill Murray as Lisa Lupner and Todd
- Gilda Radner as Roseanne Roseannadanna
- Nora Dunn and Jan Hooks as the Singing Sisters Lounge Act (especially when they play a gig at a prison)
- Julia Sweeney as Pat
- Eddie Murphy as Buckwheat pitching his album Buckwheat Sings ("...unce....tice...fee tines a mady...")
- various cast members pitching the album Songs You Don't Know All the Lyrics To ("Penny Lane da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da...")
- Cheri Oteri and Will Ferrell as the Cheerleaders
- Jim Carrey as the Hot Tub Lifeguard
- Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake in the music video Dick in a Box
- Maya Rudolph, Ana Gasteyer, and various guest hosts as the singing trio Gemini's Twin.
- Ana Gasteyer and Molly Shannon as NPR hosts interviewing Alec Baldwin about his Schwedy Balls.
- Joe Piscopo as Frank Sinatra and Eddie Murphy as Stevie Wonder performing a duet of Ebony and Ivory (Wonder: "I am black and you are white), Sinatra: "You are blind as a bat while I have sight")
- Will Ferrell as Alex Trebek in Celebrity Jeopardy! with Darrell Hammond as Sean Connery
- Christopher Walken as the Continental
- Tina Fey pitching Brownie Husband
- (I know I said Top 20 but this must be included) Tina Fey as Sarah Palin
So what are your favorite SNL skits?
Email them to me and we might have to start another list!
See you this Saturday night, 11:30, my place.
Cynthia Polansky "Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
...there was Safe Living. Whatever happened to that?
Last night I caught the anecdotal TV series I Survived in which people describe life-threatening situations (mostly of a criminal nature) and how they cheated death. I'm fascinated with the human body's and spirit's abilities to click into survival mode and see it through. Some of the stories involve accidents and injuries, but most relate crimes against the survivor. Last night's episode featured a young woman who was house-sitting with her two young children when four gunmen came through the door to rob the house. They didn't break in; they didn't have to. They simply rang the doorbell.
Why did she open the door without knowing who was on the other side of it? Whatever happened to "Don't talk to strangers"? Have we become so focused on safe sex, safe investing, and safe websurfing that we forgot the safety rules most of us learned at our mother's knee? As the scope of risks broadens to heretofore unimagined areas of our lives, we can easily forget the basics. Looking both ways before crossing the street pales in comparison to dodging the DC Sniper. Yet the simplest dangers are still out there, preying on future subjects for I Survived. Maybe it's time for a refresher course. June and Ward Cleaver's safety rules may seem antiquated but they are no less sound in our technological age:
- Don't open the door unless you first know who is behind it. That means looking through the peephole, window, sidelight to see who's there. If you don't recognize the person, call out "Who is it?" or "Can I help you?" Although it may seem paranoid or rude, don't open the door to anyone you aren't expecting. Even if the caller is wearing a work uniform or business suit and claims s/he has legitimate business at your address, call out "I can't help you right now; please come back later." Verify the visitor's stated business by phone or internet. Someone can easily muscle his way into your home once the door is open even a crack, unless there is a chain lock. Better to speak through a window or the closed door. If the visitor's business is valid, s/he'll come back or otherwise contact you.
- Don't hitchhike or pick up hitchhikers. Another victim on I Survived was approached for a ride at a convenience store while refueling his car on a long trip. He had misgivings about the shady-looking characters but assented anyway. Needless to say, they robbed him, choked him, ran the car over him, and left him for dead. Similarly, don't ask any strangers for a ride yourself. Cell phones pretty much eliminate the need to ride with strangers but if you're stranded somewhere without a cell phone, ask the Good Samaritan who stops to call the police for you. If it's after dark and you're fairly isolated, stay in your car and speak to anyone who stops through the car window, if possible. I still remember the grisly story of two young men who stopped on the highway to aid a Towson girl whose car broke down on her way home from a party in the wee hours. They raped her, beat her to death with lengths of chain and a tire iron, dismembered her, and set her on fire.
- Keep all doors locked even when you're home. Charlie Manson's cuththroats just walked right into Roman Polanski's house the night they murdered his wife and unborn child. No matter how safe your neighborhood, keep access doors locked, preferably with a dead-bolt, chain, or other device that will prevent an unauthorized keyholder from entering. Yes, I saw this too on I Survived. A woman decided to move into a particular apartment complex because of the added safety of a 24-hour security gu
Just when you thought there wasn't anything mundane left for me to talk about, I proffer, for your consideration, continuity errors.
In film, television, and written fiction, continuity (also called time-scheme) refers to "consistency of the characteristics of persons, plot, objects, places and events seen by the reader or viewer over some period of time" (Wikipedia). Mistakes in continuity occur when a writer changes something that interrupts the consistency. In film, scenes are shot over and over again, often on different days. Scripts are not filmed in chronological order. Every detail must be reproduced exactly or there will be continuity discrepancies. Editors catch most of these errors but there are plenty that slip through the cracks, and it's fun -- in a Where's Waldo? sort of way -- to catch them.
Example: One of my favorite novels, Air Force Wives by Ruth Walker, centers around the lives of four women: Tai, Shelley, Bobby Jo, and Crystal. In one chapter when Shelley receives a wedding invitation from Crystal, the narrative reads "Her first thought was to call Tai and Shelley." I read it over several times, but there it was. "Shelley" should have been "Bobby Jo." Neither the author nor editorial staff caught it. Neither did most of the public, I'm willing to bet. In a world where the slightest error of any type is enough to get a query letter rejected, I found it ironic that such a blatant continuity error made it all the way to the printer.
Another example: In the epic film Braveheart, the Princess of Wales meets with William Wallace to discuss a truce. She wears typical 13th century headgear that includes a swath of gauzy fabric under her chin from ear to ear, resembling a chin strap. Closeup shots of the Princess and Wallace alternate rapidly to capture the emotional subtleties, but they also capture the fact that the Princess' chin strap seems to migrate from under her chin to over it and back again, all within seconds while she is seated in one position.
Or how about Steel Magnolias: Early in the story, Daryl Hannah's character meets a young man who introduces himself as Sandy. Throughout the film, as their romance blossoms and culminates in marriage, various cast members refer to him as Sammy. A single mis-speak is one thing -- Sandy and Sammy sound similar enough -- but after you hear more Sammys than Sandys, you wonder how the production crew could allow the actor to introduce his character by the wrong name.
With so much technology doing most of the work for us, it's easy to see how human attention to detail can falter. Not to worry; there's probably an app for that.
What's your favorite continuity error? Send it to me and we may have a new list to start!
Cynthia Polansky "Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
Success - Free-Press-Release.com
Cynthia Polansky"Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
"Speed-pitching" describes a very brief, face-to-face pitch of your project to agents and/or editors. Often a component of writers conferences, speed-pitching is a golden opportunity that comes with the pressure of dazzling agents/editors with your project in the space of a few minutes. A tall order, to be sure, but with a little preparation, speed-pitching can be the most productive part of your conference experience.
Back by popular demand, One on One: Ten Tips for Optimizing Speed-Pitch Sessions is an article and presentation I developed after compiling a few tricks to obtain the best results from this advantageous albeit nerve-wracking event. My definition of "best results" is not necessarily "to secure a contract," although that is certainly the ideal. Successful speed-pitching means presenting yourself as an informed, talented professional hoping s/he has the right project at the right time for the right person.
ONE ON ONE: 10 Tips for Optimizing Speed-Pitch Sessions
1. Do your homework
Nothing turns off a literary professional faster than an ill-prepared writer. Take time in advance to research the agents/editors participating in the speed pitch. Don't schedule appointments with random professionals based solely on popularity or reputation; they may not handle your genre. The same is true if the speed pitching will be on a first-come-first-served basis. Don't waste precious time waiting in line for an agent who isn't a good match for your work.
2. Prepare your pitch
This crucial two- or three-sentence summary of your book has a dual purpose: to describe the genre and basic premise, and to intrigue the consultant. A well-crafted pitch tantalizes with a hook that sets the project apart from the rest. That's a lot to pack into a couple of sentences, so choose words wisely.
It's not as difficult as it may sound. Read the movie descriptions in your local TV guide, or pick up a successful book in your genre and read the jacket or flyleaf copy. For example, see if you can identify this bestseller:
This is a family saga that begins with a birth in 1750 in an African village and ends seven generations later at the Arkansas funeral of a black professor whose children include a teacher, a Navy architect, and an author.
Or this one:
Set in Depression-era Louisiana, this serialized novel is a prison guard's account of events that challenge his most cherished beliefs in the place of ultimate retribution: death row.
These pitches come from the back-cover copy of Alex Haley's Roots and Stephen King's The Green Mile.
3. Be professional
Even if speed-pitching takes place on the beach, it is still a business meeting for which you should dress accordingly. Neatness counts when making first impressions. Even if the editor/agent seated across from you is sporting two days' worth of stubble and a wrinkled shirt, set the example yourself with a professional appearance. And leave the gum, snacks, and smokes behind.
A professional, confident attitude is just as important. Twinges of self-doubt are normal but speed pitches are no place to seek validation. Remember, you must first believe in your work before you can persuade others to. Exude self-assurance, but not arrogance. Openers like "I'm the next James Patterson" or "Today is your lucky day" will only alienate the consultant. It's okay to be enthusiastic, but temper your zeal with a patina of humility.
4. Break the ice
Speed-pitches can make even veteran writers nervous. If you're really nervous (I once saw a writer so nervous that she upchucked while waiting for h
The question of whether animals have souls never fails to spark debate. Regardless of religious affiliation, biblical evidence exists for both sides; it all comes down to inpretation. I believe that any living creature capable of love has a soul. Eternal life is not an issue because all life is energy, soul or no soul. Energy is everlasting, like the universe. Do I have proof? Nope. But this week's guest blogger does.
Do animals have souls? Emotions? Read on and draw your own conclusion...
Do Animals Have Souls?
By Stacy Mantle
(reprinted with permission)
"Beware how you take away hope from any human being."
- Oliver Wendell Holmes
I was talking with a co-worker the other day and he informed me that animals do not have emotions. This is just after he told me (the day that I put my dog of 17yrs down) that animals do not have souls and therefore will never enjoy the concept of heaven. Now, this co-worker has the disadvantage of being, what I refer to, as a "bible-thumper." He is, in fact, a born-again Christian. Please bear in mind that I have nothing against Christians, nor do I have anything against religion in general. I do, however, have a problem with this co-worker passing along faulty information.
Animals do have emotions and they also have souls, and I'll tell you how I know that.
In over twenty years of working with animals, I have never seen a kitten duct-tape a live human baby to a freeway. I also have never seen a cat find enjoyment from setting a human on fire. I've never gone hiking in the desert to find a child that dogs have left tied to a stake, without food and water, subjecting it to a painful death in the desert heat. I have never seen a chicken force two unwilling humans to fight in a ring with razor blades attached to their feet while the chickens place bets on who will be the first to die. I haven't seen a puppy place eight children in a gunnysack and drown them in a river. Neither have I seen an eagle aim a shotgun at an unarmed human. I have yet to see a bear kill a human simply to place a head on the wall of their cave. And to this day, I have not seen a pigeon drive a car down the road and aim for humans who were walking around the park.
Let me tell you what I have seen. I have seen my own cats sleep next to me so they may keep me a little warmer while I was ill. I've seen my dogs play games with me just to force a smile to my face. I have seen a cat rush into a burning home not once, not twice, but six times to save her kittens, nearly losing her own life in the process. I have seen a ferret pull a frightened kitten out of a deep hole in the ground. I have seen a coyote fetch another dog so that it may get the proper medical care that
I heard it late this morning: that faraway, unmistakable roar of Navy FA-18 jet engines. Ah, the Boys of Summer are back.
Every year about this time I'm reminded why I love this town. It's Commissioning Week at the Naval Academy and the Blue Angels kick off their annual summer performance tour with an air show over the Severn River of Annapolis on Wednesday and a formation flyby at the graduation ceremony on Friday morning. Nothing could be cooler than driving to Sam's Club while four Navy fighter jets screech overhead in a diamond formation.
It's pretty hard not to get caught up in the excitement of Commissioning Week, even if you're not connected to the Navy. Maryland's capital city is rightly proud of the Naval Academy and the newly minted officers whose four-year development since that first, eye-opening plebe year is witnessed by an entire community. The midshipmen are Annapolis' kids, regardless of their hometowns. So we don't mind when our town is inundated with so many visiting families that walking up Main Street becomes a dodge-and-weave exercise. And it's okay if we have to sit in the car an extra five minutes to wait for the pedestrian crosswalk to clear at Market Space; it gives us a chance to smile at the bridal couple on the deck of the yacht chartered for the reception, all aglow in white satin and dress white uniform (or dress blue uniform, if the groom is in the Marine Corps).
We indulge all the inconveniences of living in a tourist spot because it represents something important: intelligent, talented young men and women who shine as brightly as the polished buttons on their chokers (dress uniforms). After they are commissioned as ensigns and second lieutenants, the class of 2010 will go their separate ways to serve our country. Some will go to war and not come back. But for this week, the harsher realities of military life are put aside as they celebrate what they've accomplished in the past four years.
And believe me, they accomplish a lot.
Cynthia Polansky "Expect the Unexpected" http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/ http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
On my desk sits a favorite photo of me and seven year old Marisol against the beautiful backdrop of the Alps in Bezau, Austria. We met in the swimming pool of the hotel: she on vacation with her parents, and I on a hiking tour with my grown daughter. Marisol is one of those delightful blends of culture; her mother, a Peruvian, and her father, a German. All three of them lived in America, where her father worked. The family was at least bilingual; if not trilingual, and it was Marisol's repeated Achtung! whenever she took to the diving board that drew my attention. I had thought achtung was a word used primarily by German soldiers. At least, that's they way it looked on Hogan's Heroes. I was surprised to learn that it's the German equivalent of "excuse me" or, in the case of Marisol's cannonballs, "incoming!"
I don't remember how this outgoing, obviously bright child and I embarked on a conversation but converse we did, easily and warmly, with my asking about her exotic background and she urging me to buy swim goggles like hers so that I could perform all the underwater acrobatics that I was so obviously sacrificing without them. When her mother came to collect her for lunch, I introduced myself (lest Marisol's parents think that any adult keeping company with a child must have bad intentions). Her mother laughed and called Marisol her "chatterbox daughter."
Marisol was reluctant to leave. Was I going to be at the pool the next day? I was. And indeed the next afternoon, after our morning hike, I was already in the pool when Marisol came splashing over to me. We spent a companionable couple of hours together, watching her jumps and tricks, answering her questions, asking some of my own. I have no idea why I had clicked with this child, or why she enjoyed spending time with me instead of the other children staying at the hotel. Was I going swimming again the next day? Alas, we were leaving first thing in the morning. Marisol looked crestfallen, and I was a little choked up myself. Why didn't she find me in the dining room tonight to say goodbye? She nodded and ran off in answer to her mother's call. Our tour guide caught up with me by the elevator and commented on the strange but obvious attachment Marisol and I had. I confessed I couldn't explain why, but we definitely connected on some deep level.
Our hiking group had its own section of the dining room, which lent a party atmosphere to the evening meal. Amid the laughter and toasts with many a weizen bier, someone alerted me to the little girl hesitating shyly by the door. I turned, and Marisol came quickly over to my table. Her bathing suit and swim goggles had been exchanged for a colorful long sun dress, her enviously straight and thick brown hair combed and spreading over her shoulders. For a while she sat on my lap, quietly taking in all the merriment. My eyes got a little misty as I thought that I wouldn't see my new friend in the pool tomorrow...or ever again, most likely. When her father came looking for her, I asked him to snap a picture of Marisol and me together. Then I hugged her with all the feeling that our brief encounter had generated. I really hated to say goodbye.
That was in 2001. We had exchanged addresses and actually wrote to each other a couple of times. Not surprisingly, though, the connection waned as we went about our lives. The next year, I sent a Christmas card to Marisol's California address. It came back "addressee unknown." Although I had always known that an ongoing correspondence with a child would ultimately fade into oblivion, I felt the sadness of our Austrian parting all over again.
I think of Marisol every day, since the photo of us in A
Mother's Day is fast approaching and it's going to be a tough one. In this year of firsts, this will be the first Mother's Day without my mother to honor. Then I remembered that I honor her every day. Not in the trite traditions of saying please and thank you, or eating what's on your plate even if you don't like it; I'm talking about the million little rules to live by that she thought so important and consequently imbued me with that same sense of imminent disaster if any of these rules were broken. While some lessons I still practice, some I came to learn were not so earth-shattering. Nevertheless, all were indelibly planted in my brain to guide me through the gauntlet of life, and for that I owe Mom unswerving gratitude...even if I dared cheat death by willfully disregarding a few.
Some of her teachings were common-sense and/or commonplace:
- never sit in the car with the motor running in a closed garage. She may have overestimated the time it takes to die of carbon monoxide poisoning...
- never try on bathing suits without your underwear. Even when those protective "strips" appeared in bathing suit crotches, I'd be tempting fate if I took off my underwear. Likewise, washing a new bathing suit before wearing it for the first time was a must.
- never go swimming right after eating. Probably the most ubiquitous old wives' tale of the twentieth century.
- never shave any part of your body but your legs -- the hair will grow back thicker. Shoot, if that were true I'd shave my head!
Many of Mom's hard and fast rules were health related. She made it clear that, unless I wanted to risk life and limb, I should
never:
- go outside in winter with wet hair. "You'll catch your death of cold." In Massachusetts winters, that wasn't too far fetched.
- exercise too soon after recovery from illness. "You may overheat and, in your weakened state, catch your death of cold." I never really understood this one, but it got me out of gym class so I didn't question it.
- wash my hair too soon after recovery from illness. "You may get chilled and relapse." Which meant that if I was recovering from illness in winter, I refused to go to school until I could finally wash my hair, sometime in mid-April.
- use anyone else's hairbrush, toothbrush, towel, razor, cosmetics, or eating utensils. "You could catch (lice, psoriasis, thrushmouth, strep throat, impetigo, acne, or any manner of germs that will make me catch my death of cold...or worse)."
- never eat or drink from anyone else's utensils or cup, and never bite into anyone else's sandwich or lick someone's ice cream cone. Nor vice versa. See above.
- never touch your mouth to the spigot when drinking from a public water fountain. "You don't know who's used it before. You could catch herpes."
A few crucial rules pertained to bathrooms, especially public ones:
- never touch a public toilet seat with your bare hands. "You'll catch terrible germs." If the toilet seat was in the upright position, I was to use tissue to put it down so I could not sit on it (see next item).
- never sit on a public restroom toilet seat without covering it with toilet paper or paper seat cover. "You don't know who sat there before you...you could catch some loathsome disease." We all know what she meant.
- never use your hands to flush a public toilet; use your foot. "You don't know who's touched it before you..
As anyone in the northeast corridor knows, it's been a looooonnnnggg winter. Here it is practically St. Patrick's Day and there are still patches of blackened, crusty snow -- a far cry from the winter wonderland of last month. I'm a diehard snow lover but even I am ready to ditch the coats and open the windows. The earlier arrival of Daylight Savings Time says it won't be long now...
Guess I'm not the only one. with spring fever. Last week I walked into the Naval Academy library and was greeted with tangible evidence of the midshipmen's state of mind:
Look out, Cancun!
I'll be spending my spring break traveling to Boston to collect any remaining belongings from my mother's house before it is sold. I am not looking forward to it. Although it's been three months since her passing, I suspect this first foray back there will be more bitter than sweet. What will it be like to walk into the house that, for the first time in 56 years, does not have my mother in it?
The first year in the death of a mother one is a year of firsts: the first birthday you can't call her to say "happy birthday;" the first birthday she can't call you to say "happy birthday;" the first holiday without her at the table with all of us, shocking my ultra-liberal niece with her generationally-acceptable, now politically-incorrect epithets; the first Mother's Day that will seem meaningless because she's not here. I've gotten through the first two; this weekend's trip will be the next hurdle. If I had a dollar (it hasn't been "a nickel" for some time now...inflation, you know) every time I've thought, "I have to call Mum and tell her about _________" . . .
There is one first in this first year that is coming soon; I can feel it: the first time I
don't cathartically blog about my mother. You can share only so much pain before you start annoying people. As the last of the crusty, blackened snow piles melts into the soft earth, so do my dirges. When I leave, for the last time, my own "house at the corner of bitter and sweet," I will spring ahead and hope not to fall back. Plenty of time for that in November.
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
To all of you who read this blog's title and thought, "How could a writer make such a grammatical mistake?" my congratulations.
To all of you who read this blog's title and thought "Where's what at?"
my condolences.
Once upon a time, nothing drove me crazier than "irregardless." It's so wrong but so commonly used that it's listed in the dictionary, albeit with the disclaimer "nonstandard" (that's Webster-speak for "incorrect"). Then along came those who think that "you and I" is correct under any circumstances, regardless (or should I say "irregardless") of its position in the sentence. To these hyper-correctors I sing the last line of humorist Dave Barry's song I'm In Love With a Proofreading Woman: "...she never says 'between you and I.'" I'v3 even made peace with double negatives because it seems that English is one of the few languages in which they are not correct.
But the one that tops them all is "where's it at?"
This annoyingly wrong usage probably stems from: 1) our ignorance of grammatical contractions, and 2) our neurotic need as Americans to speak in three syllables. I know that using the contraction correctly doesn't sound right. "Where's it?" practically begs the addition of a third syllable to maintain the same comfort level we've always had with the three-syllable "where is it?" It sounds affected and outdated. But who says correct grammar has to be comfortable? We tend to forget that the correct use of "at" refers to location or situation (at the movies, at 350 degrees, at one with the universe) in the answer, not the question! Exceptions are properly constructed questions like "At what time is the movie?" or "At which bookstore is the author speaking?" We leave the verbosity to Jane Austen and casually ask "When is the movie?"
I'm not really a grammar snob. I colloquialize with the best of them, often ending sentences with a preposition. I purposely use incorrect grammar in fiction writing to make dialogue sound authentic. But somewhere along the line I had been taught correct grammar from incorrect, something that isn't a priority in contemporary education. One look at television crawlers and captions proves the point. I shudder to think that if a well-known Wendy's commercial from the 1970s were reproduced today, the feisty little old lady would be asking, "Where's the beef at?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
I'm glad to be back in the stream of life after a very long drought while my mother was in hospice care. Losing her on December 9, 2009 was no doubt the hardest of life's challenges and will continue to hurt for some time to come. My lifeline has been cut, my biggest champion gone, my softest falling place turned to concrete. I know I am supposed to remember the good times and be grateful for the many years of love I had from her, but such platitudes do not mitigate the inexplicable depth of this loss. Everyone in favor of mothers living forever, raise your hand!
Meanwhile, I am celebrating my return to blogging with a fun tribute to Presidents' Day: a brief list of Presidential trivia. Caution: this sampling could turn into a full-fledged list...
1. the only bachelor president: James Buchanan
2. the last president born in England: William Henry Harrison
3. the first president born in the USA: Martin Van Buren (even though he was of Dutch heritage and spoke Dutch with his wife at home)
4. the first president not from Virginia or Massachusetts: Andrew Jackson (born in South Carolina)
5. the only Quaker president: Richard Nixon
6. the oldest elected president: Ronald Reagan (aged 69)
7. the youngest elected president: John F. Kennedy (43)
8. the shortest term in office: William Henry Harrison (died from pneumonia about a month after his inauguration)
9. the longest term in office: Franklin D. Roosevelt (the only president to have served four terms)
10. the only divorced president: Ronald Reagan
11. the longest inauguration speech: William Henry Harrison (he spoke for 1 hour and 45 minutes)
12. the only elected president to serve nonsequential terms: Grover Cleveland
13. the president with the most children: John Tyler (15)
14. the first president to die in office: William Henry Harrison (from pneumonia that developed from the cold he contracted after that long inaugural speech in the freezing rain without coat or hat)
Hail to the chief!
Cindy
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"Expect the Unexpected"
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Please bear with me while Crossing Polansky takes another hiatus due to my wmother's worsening illness. She is in hospice care and bedridden, so I have moved into her house to care for her. Little did I dream, when I chose the title for my blog, that it would perfectly describe exactly what I'm doing: helping ease her journey from this world to the next. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
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....the vampires linger on! This week I welcome Irene Brodsky, author of Poetry Unplugged, as a guest blogger with her own special tribute to Barnabas Collins, starring vampire in the 1960's soap opera, Dark Shadows. The erstwhile TV drama is coming soon as a feature film starring Johnny Depp as Barnabas. Now THAT'S going to be a sexy vampire you can really sink your teeth into (I said as much to Jonathan Frid recently, but he just replied "Bite me.").
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Do you remember “Dark Shadows” starring Jonathan Frid as Barnabas Collins? If you do, you will be thrilled to death to know that the handsome 176-year old vampire is back in town, thanks to Johnny Depp & Tim Burton. So hide your necks and wear garlic every night! I have no shame to say I can hardly wait to see Johnny Depp as Barnabas. I remember Depp from “Cry Baby” & “Edward Scissorhands.” At my age, 63, I should behave myself and not have silly crushes on tall, dark and handsome vampires, so let’s keep this a secret….o.k.? But just in case you want to confess you are just dying to see Barnabas again, drop me a line at [email protected], and we can giggle about it!!! Meanwhile, enjoy these video blasts from the past:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xtoW82jcXw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37neU5D9jj8“DARK SHADOWS”
My personal tribute to Barnabas Collins:
I remember Dark Shadows in the year 1969
A soap opera about Barnabas Collins
A handsome vampire… Creature of the night
Roaming the countryside for the taste of fresh blood.
Oh! To be free of this curse!
He never gave up for a cure to be found.
Oh! To be human once again!
To marry the love of his life.
for she knew not what he was and he dare not say!
Alas the time has arrived!
Barnabas must hurry on his way.
A miraculous potion has been made by a Doctor of shady intentions.
And Barnabas rushed to him with great anticipation
In the dark shadows, under a weeping willow tree
The evil Doctor awaited in the fog.
The magic potion beckoned to Barnabas
and he raised it to his parched lips.
Oh! To be human at last!
Then, the greedy Doctor declared to take all that Barnabas owned
Barnabas agreed to pay, but he had other intentions!
He made his choice to taste fresh blood
one more time!
In the Dark Shadows of the deadly forest
under the weeping willow tree,
the sneaky doctor’s blood flowed
until he was no more.
And Barnabas married the love of his life
The Dark Shadows were far behind them
Hopefully sunny days awaited
up ahead.
But Oh! What I would not give
To turn back the hands of time to 1969
To know if Barnabas and his
I confess I don't really understand the present vampire craze in books and movies. I've said before that, while a romantic version of Count Dracula began with Bela Lugosi in 1932 and continued with Frank Langella in 1980, the original Dracula as written by Bram Stoker was far from a hunk. Personally, I can only assume that matinee idols in the 1930s must have been considerably different from today's. No disrespect to Bela Lugosi intended, but a forty-something Hungarian with slicked- back hair, white pancake make-up and red lipstick is not the stuff of my romantic fantasies. Lugosi resembled my pediatrician (sans make-up) -- not such a good thing when you're getting your back-to-school shots. It just goes to show the impact of the vampire as a romantic figure, transcending youth and conventional good looks almost 90 years ago to spark an erotic fantasy that has not only lasted but burgeoned into the current literary/cinematic phenomenon taking over mortal women everywhere...an interesting paradox when you add the resurgence of Jane Austen's popularity.
Like everyone else who adored Pride and Prejudice , I hungered for more on the Misses Bennet and their dashing suitors. When Mr. Darcy's Daughters was released six years ago, I eagerly hunkered down with Mr. & Mrs. Darcy, still-wild Aunt Lydia Wickham, and the Bingleys. Author Elizabeth Ashton did an admirable job, but she had a tough act to follow and I felt a bit disappointed at the novel's end. I had experienced similar emotions 16-odd years ago when Scarlett, a much-touted sequel to Gone With the Wind came on the book scene. As movie sequels often fail to live up to their smash-hit predecessors, Scarlett did not hold me sway. There's just no substitute for the real thing.
So for years I contented myself with my high school English class paperback of Pride and Prejudice, reading and re-reading yellowed pages that fell apart from the ancient mass-market binding. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy by Sharon Lathan, covered with a beguiling portrait of an early-1800s young lady who might have been Elizabeth Bennet.
I put it down after 50 pages, unable to accept Elizabeth, for all her independence and forward thinking, having constant, steamy, and blatantly graphic sex with Mr. Darcy.
Don't get me wrong; a little well-written erotica is fine. And I always wondered where the Ingalls family went to the bathroom throughout the Little House books (did Pa build an outhouse or did they use chamber pots?). But I really feel there's a lot to be said for leaving certain things to the imagination. Besides, turning Pride and Prejudice into erotica reduces Jane Austen to a level that hardly does her justice. The societal formality of her era and her prose simply does not translate to the gothic romance genre. Elizabeth Bennet would never do those things; or if she did, I certainly don't want to know about it! It's like learning for the first time that your parents have sex: too much information.
Nor would Jane Austen have written about such things. Author of YA novel Funny How Things Change Melissa Wyatt, who shared my exhibit table at a recent NAIBA conference, also shared my opinion about these sequels. Jane Austen wouldn't have even hinted about a male member, much less invent so many euphemisms for it (Melissa said she stopped counting at 14 in Loving Mr. Darcy by Sharon Lathan).
But sex isn't the worst of it. I can understand the marketing strategy of combining hot trends in a single product but I mean, really: Vampire Darcy's Desire??? (check out Amazon, if you're as late to the party as I am and hadn't heard of these books) Forgive me, but even if Mr. Darcy is a vampire, he has servants to get the blood for him, probably presented in a silver goblet. He would never overstep the bounds of genteel society to bite a lady's neck, and he's no Mr. Wickham to have truck with common prostitutes. So the whole idea just doesn't work. Besides, how can we take poor, innocent Jane Austen into the horror genre? She must be turning in her grave...that is, if she hasn't risen from it to walk the earth as a Georgian zombie.
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
Two weeks ago, while recovering from a meniscus tear, I tripped on an uneven sidewalk and went flying forward. To protect my knee, which thankfully was wearing a compression bandage, I took the fall on my hands, breaking my left radius into pieces. Some surgically-installed hardware put me back together, but my forearm is in a splint for the duration, severely limiting my typing skill! So please enjoy archived posts while Crossing Polansky takes a hiatus to restore full usage of my left wrist.
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Please join me in congratulating my assistant, Jennifer, in the arrival of son August Tyler, born August 22 and weighing in at a whopping nine pounds! That's his big brother RoYeon in the photo with him.
Welcome to the world, August!
Enjoy the last weeks of summer!
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
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It's probably fair to say that most engaged couples choose together the song to which they will dance their first dance as man and wife. The first bridal dance takes on many forms these days, from choreographed Arthur Murray 10-lesson routines to a barely rocking embrace while the band croons out "We've Only Just Begun." I once attended a wedding where the bridal couple danced to "(Hunka Hunka) Burning Love" by Elvis Presley. Definitely not your parents' sedate waltz.
My husband's and my song choice, Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, gave us pause for its divergence from traditional lyrics. After all, we weren't 20-somethings; would a classic rock song that talks about getting too wasted to drive home be inappropriate? We just liked it, so to hell with convention. But imagine if your fiance suggested one of the following songs...could he be he trying to tell you something?
Love Hurts by Nazareth
Battle Hymn of Love by Kathy Mattea
Sad to Belong to Someone Else [When the Right One Comes Along] by England Dan and John Ford Coley
Torn Between Two Lovers by Mary MacGregor
[If You Can't Be With the One You Love] Love the One You're With by Crosby, Stills, & Nash
Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson
My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow
Gives You Hell by All American Rejects
What's your pick? What wedding dance song choice would leave you standing alone at the altar?
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
At last, my list of really odd street names has another item! For almost a year now, Lovely Johnson Lane in Annapolis, Maryland has been the sole occupant of this photo-list, despite pleas for submissions of oddly named street signs and their locations. Maybe this will break the stalemate. I give you:
When I picture a boulevard, I see a very broad road with a wide island divider, usually with pretty landscaping and/or decorative. A and Eagle Boulevard is a short street in the Parole district of Annapolis leading to a service-oriented business, (no "A" or "Eagle" in the company name, either) with lots of trucks. No island, no landscaping, no signage, which is probably why I've long overlooked this candidate for the list. Definitely the road less traveled, more of a lane than a boulevard.
In the tradition of street signs, all letters are capitalized. Ergo, "AND" is all caps and disturbing to my grammatical sensibilities. The first letter wouldn't be capitalized, since proper sentences never begin with "and" (those of us who remember Schoolhouse Rock are humming Conjunction Junction, what's your function? right about now). Does "AND" have a different function here, perhaps an adjective, identifying a type of eagle? It's a stretch, yes, but who would have thought that wawa is a species of waterfowl and not just a convenience store?
Why all this analysis of a street sign? Darned if I know. In fact, I just realized what an unusual person I must be to even conduct such an analysis, let alone blog about it for all to see. At least I'm living up to my tagline!
"Expect the Unexpected"
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As soon as I read the pet article's title, How Not to Lose Your Pet in Our Difficult Economy, my blood began to boil. Tips to prevent people strapped for cash from surrendering their pets to shelters, rescue organizations, or simply abandoning them? It is unthinkable to me that such an option exists.
Okay, so I was already a little hot under the collar, so to speak, about a Baltimore "pit bull" who had been doused with gasoline, been forced to swallow gasoline, and ignited (for the outcome of that story, sign up for my newsletter). I was frustrated that convicted felon Michael Vick was released from prison after such a short sentence for his part in animal abuse (animal cruelty laws need to become more stringent, but that's another blog). Personal feelings aside, I realize that perfectly nice people may be under economic pressure to relinquish their pets.
I just don't understand it.
Do these perfectly nice people consider relinquishing one of their children? Of course not. Do they investigate every economic option before taking the easy way out and getting rid of the pet? Doubtful. Before taking on the responsibility of pet ownership, did they even consider the possibility of a crisis, economic or otherwise, putting them in this position? Probably not.
I know I'm a bit militant when it comes to animal welfare, and I'm prepared to accept any recriminations for the following content (I took similar heat when I challenged Katrina victims who abandoned their pets). But why is it acceptable to disavow compassion and responsibility for pets when pockets are light? Why do they deserve a lesser quality of life than the humans who take them into their homes? Why do they deserve a lesser quality of life than humans, period? They are sentient beings who can teach mankind a lot about character, loyalty, and love.
Economic struggles regarding pets usually manifest in the cost of feeding them. We seem to forget that, in domesticating dog, man essentially traded custodial obligations for dog's labors on the battlefield, hunting grounds, farms, sentry duty, etc. If dog didn't eat, man didn't benefit. Our survival no longer depends on dog's assistance, but care of domesticated dog is no less our responsibility.
The article I read suggested cutting pet-care costs by buying the cheapest food possible. Far be it from me to criticize economically-strapped dog owners from bulk-buying Brand X chow if that's the only way they can afford to keep their pets. However, the composition, not the price, of Brand X chow is the problem. The filler, grain, and other inexpensive, processed ingredients do not comprise an optimal diet for carnivorous canines.
In all fairness, most Americans don't feed themselves an optimally-healthy diet; why should I expect anything different for their pets? After all, if the Average Joe family is going to have processed hotdogs for dinner, how cost-prohibitive can it be to buy enough to include the family dog? Americans' tendency toward excess in everything extends to our pets, but we should remember that a lack of excess does not equal insufficiency.
As for health care, the economy puts many of us in a position of choosing between medications and food. But again, denying a pet from necessary health care due to financial constraints is not just unfortunate, it's abusive. I'm not talking about major surgery here; many pet owners unable to pay for expensive emergency medical treatments make the difficult decision to euthanize. I'm referring to pet owners who ignore parasite prevention, infectious disease prevention, spaying/neutering, etc. And while parents who neglect to provide routine health care for their children are subject to legal action, such pet owners usually aren't, implying a kind of complaisance. Bottom line: if you can't afford to pay for heart worm prevention and regular veterinary care, don't get a dog. The "Octo-Mom" garnered media attention -- and subsequent financial aid -- for her economic plight as mother to 14 children. The more ubiquitous scenario -- a single mother with four children and a dog -- gets nothing.
Those of you still reading understand what I mean by advocating pet responsibility and forethought. Compassionate, responsible people don't just quit when a situation becomes inconvenient or infeasible. If we as a nation can afford to feed, house, clothe, and occupy imprisoned murderers, rapists, and child molesters for nigh on 50 years, we can set aside a few bucks a week toward our quadriped -- and I daresay more deserving -- community members.
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There is nothing wrong with your [monitor]. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission [of this very disturbing image]...You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits of Crossing Polansky...
Since donning my first pair of eyeglasses at age seven, eye doctors and vision professionals have figured largely in my life. From kindly old Dr. Skirball (whom my brother once called Dr. Eyeball by mistake -- there must be an unwritten rule that a doctor's last name determines their specialty. Cases in point: orthopedist Dr. Shin and hand surgeon Dr. Nalebuff. I'm not kidding.) in the early 1960s to respected
Dr. Maria Scott, who ten years ago changed my life forever in only three minutes with a simple laser beam. Medical and technological improvements in today's eye and vision care range from pleasing (no more "puff" (read: "blast") of air at close range on your eyeball to check for glaucoma) to miraculous (cataract replacement surgery and LASIK vision correction).
I gave my trust over to each and every one of those eye care professionals -- my 20/400 uncorrected vision depended on it. So when optometrist
Nikki Meadows wanted to measure my
tear production, I didn't have a moment's pause, even when she gently hooked the little paper equivalent of a dipstick on my lower eyelid and bade me close my eyes for five minutes. After all, I'd had my eyelids everted, my pupils dilated, my eyeballs "puffed", and my retinas cut. What's the big deal about a little dipstick? I only wished I could have opened my eyes to see how funny it must have looked.
Technology the rescue...Dr. Meadows obligingly took a picture with her cell phone.
Why am I sharing this random, banal anecdote that's immortalized in one of the most hideous photos I've ever taken? For no other reason than to give you the same laugh it gave me, and to add that anyone looking for superlative eye and vision care should visit the
Chesapeake Laser & Eye Care Center in Annapolis, Maryland. Any one of the practitioners in this group is top-notch for eye care, but for the discerning patient who also seeks a medical modeling career, my money's on Dr. Nikki Meadows every time.
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While visiting recently in my mother's kitchen, my brother mentioned that he hadn't received my monthly newsletter in a while.
"Could it be the spam filter?" I asked him "Maybe you need to whitelist the email addy."
I caught a glimpse of my mother's bewildered face. "You have no idea what I just said, do you?" She definitely had the I don't know what you're talking about but I'll be supportive and pretend it's fascinating look.
Trooper that she is, she shook her head and cheerfully said, "No, but that's okay."
Albeit a little late in the game, I understood at that moment what a completely new language technology has spawned, a language that grows with each new fad. It started with "IM-ing" and has evolved into "texting" (now a verb in its own right) abbreviations: BFF, OMG, TTFN, ROTFL, and the ever-important one I thankfully have no reason to remember that warns of parents looking over the kid's shoulder. But abbreviations were just the beginning. Then came Facebook, largely responsible for the metamorphosis of the noun friend into a verb, as in "If you friend my ex-boyfriend after what he did, you are no longer my BFF."
Along came Twitter and its appropriate lingo: tweeting, re-tweeting, tweets, twits, etc. Now there are terms that combine English words with the Twitter diphthong (go look it up in the dictionary, like a big boy or girl). Think of the possibilities, some of which already exist: tweeple, mistweet (mistwake?), tweblog ... we may all start sounding like Elmer Fudd ("When I catch that wascally wabbit, I'll give him such a Tweet...").
Perhaps the not-too-distant future will offer foreign language classes for various tech dialects. Don't laugh; remember COBOL and BASIC? In the early days of computer science, proficiency in these acronymic computer "languages" was important. Today's tech talk isn't nearly that esoteric, but I predict it will flourish like toenail fungus, so prepare yourselves. Your grandchild may graduate college with a double-major in Tweetish and Textese.
p.s. (how many kids know what that abbreviation stands for?) If you need translations of any of the tech terms used, visit Dictionary.com. They're probably already integrated into the vernacular.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Crossing Polansky is taking a bye due to family illness, but hopes to resume next week. Meanwhile, enjoy the archived posts (scroll down for list) and follow me on Twitter.
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I wasn't necessarily a fanor follower of Dark Shadows, but I remember the times. There were a lot of good shows back then. Mostly, I remember 1969 because that was the year I was drafted into the Army. Talk about dark shadows!
Congratulations, Irene. I am a big fan.
Irene: very nice tribute to the show I remember and still love. Dark Shadows RULES! And I can't wait to see what Burton and Depp do with it...!
Special thanks to Dennis S. Martin and Dianne Borsenik for responding to my Tribute to Dark Shadows.
Mr. Martin and Ms. Borsenik are wonderful poets. I am very fortunate to be associated with them!
love
irene brodsky