In this hilarious edition to Youtube.com, a Russian cat revels in barking out his window...until his owner catches him on camera.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Vegas Vacation
Apologies for the radio silence. I spent last weekend rocking out in Las Vegas with a friend from Major Metropolitan University and a bunch of her friends from the MBA program she attended afterward.
It was my very first trip to Vegas and officially the furthest West I've ever been. I had a really good time...the trip started out with more of our friends from college, but they dropped out during the planning stages. So it turned out to be just me with a bunch of these young professional, MBA, high stakes kind of people.
Don't get me wrong, all of them were exceptionally nice to me. They asked a number of times where My Husband was and why I didn't bring him (as I said before, when I booked it it was supposed to be a girls-weekend thing) and asking me about myself and my life. In fact, for most of the first day I was without the mutual buffer that is my college friend.
The only real issue we came up against was money. Everyone there had been working for years...and we're talking actual PROFESSIONS...Adidas Corporate, the Arizona Diamondbacks, Bank of America, etc. They've got money. I don't. I never really have.
But they never ever, let me feel left out. Between airfare and food and clubbing and all that, though, I'm still dealing with a trip that cost more than $500 a day. Even if it was an amazing trip (at LAVO, we had our own table with our own security guard. How cool is that?).
On another note, it was pretty illuminating to see my friend from college and how easy she was with this group, almost all of which was men. I've never been able to have long-lasting, affectionate and platonic relationships with men. I've tried. For some reason, it just doesn't work for me.
I'm assuming it's my fault. Until I went to college I thought it was unacceptable to share a bed with a guy when you weren't planning to sleep with him. I hadn't the slightest clue what "cuddling" was. Frankly, all my interactions with straight men had to do with them trying to get my clothes off (and before you sneer at my overconfidence, it was less because of the way I looked and more because I was a well-known virgin and a worthwhile conquest).
I had two major attempts to have male friends in college. The first was from junior to senior year...a guy I worked with at the university's sports arena and I became close enough to hang out together outside the office. We saw movies, we went to parties, we had fun at events. We had a bunch of mutual friends, so that helped. The last Tuesday before graduation, he got drunk at a bar we were at and told me I was the biggest tease he'd ever met and he wondered aloud why I needed everyone to be in love with me. I haven't spoken to him since.
After that, I made friends with the graduate student speaker at our commencement (I was the undergrad speaker). As we were going our separate ways, we stayed in touch via email for months. That is until I sent him an email about my boyfriend (now My Husband) and he simply stopped contacting me. Just like that.
So I haven't tried since. I know guys...most of them are dating female friends of mine or they're friends of the guys dating female friends of mine. But that's it. And I always used to tell myself men and women couldn't be real friends without wanting to hook up with one another or already having hooked up with one another. Seeing the goings on in Las Vegas, that's just not true.
My sisters have had male friends. Like, real male friends they can call and talk to...ones who buy them birthday presents and send them Facebook messages. And they grew up the exact same way I did.
But not me. What's wrong with me?
It was my very first trip to Vegas and officially the furthest West I've ever been. I had a really good time...the trip started out with more of our friends from college, but they dropped out during the planning stages. So it turned out to be just me with a bunch of these young professional, MBA, high stakes kind of people.
Don't get me wrong, all of them were exceptionally nice to me. They asked a number of times where My Husband was and why I didn't bring him (as I said before, when I booked it it was supposed to be a girls-weekend thing) and asking me about myself and my life. In fact, for most of the first day I was without the mutual buffer that is my college friend.
The only real issue we came up against was money. Everyone there had been working for years...and we're talking actual PROFESSIONS...Adidas Corporate, the Arizona Diamondbacks, Bank of America, etc. They've got money. I don't. I never really have.
But they never ever, let me feel left out. Between airfare and food and clubbing and all that, though, I'm still dealing with a trip that cost more than $500 a day. Even if it was an amazing trip (at LAVO, we had our own table with our own security guard. How cool is that?).
On another note, it was pretty illuminating to see my friend from college and how easy she was with this group, almost all of which was men. I've never been able to have long-lasting, affectionate and platonic relationships with men. I've tried. For some reason, it just doesn't work for me.
I'm assuming it's my fault. Until I went to college I thought it was unacceptable to share a bed with a guy when you weren't planning to sleep with him. I hadn't the slightest clue what "cuddling" was. Frankly, all my interactions with straight men had to do with them trying to get my clothes off (and before you sneer at my overconfidence, it was less because of the way I looked and more because I was a well-known virgin and a worthwhile conquest).
I had two major attempts to have male friends in college. The first was from junior to senior year...a guy I worked with at the university's sports arena and I became close enough to hang out together outside the office. We saw movies, we went to parties, we had fun at events. We had a bunch of mutual friends, so that helped. The last Tuesday before graduation, he got drunk at a bar we were at and told me I was the biggest tease he'd ever met and he wondered aloud why I needed everyone to be in love with me. I haven't spoken to him since.
After that, I made friends with the graduate student speaker at our commencement (I was the undergrad speaker). As we were going our separate ways, we stayed in touch via email for months. That is until I sent him an email about my boyfriend (now My Husband) and he simply stopped contacting me. Just like that.
So I haven't tried since. I know guys...most of them are dating female friends of mine or they're friends of the guys dating female friends of mine. But that's it. And I always used to tell myself men and women couldn't be real friends without wanting to hook up with one another or already having hooked up with one another. Seeing the goings on in Las Vegas, that's just not true.
My sisters have had male friends. Like, real male friends they can call and talk to...ones who buy them birthday presents and send them Facebook messages. And they grew up the exact same way I did.
But not me. What's wrong with me?
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Kids' Summer Reading List
In honor of the long days of summer, I’ve compiled a short list of books (along with a personal opinion of ages they'd appeal to) to help chase away boredom and enrich your kids until school starts again.
10 Books Your Kids Should be Reading But Probably Aren’t:
Beautiful Joe by Marshall Saunders: A charming chapter book where a dog narrates the story of his life in turn-of-the-century Maine. It does have a decidedly Christian feel but it advocates kindness to all creatures. This story is a must-read for animal lovers. SUGGESTED AGE: 7-TWEEN
The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde: In this short story by the famed humorist, an American family rents a haunted English manor and locks horns with its 400-year-old ghost. It’s full of commentary on stuffy British society and rampant American consumerism, but the message is surprisingly sweet. SUGGESTED AGE: 6-TEEN
The Talking Eggs by Robert D. San Souci, Illustrated by Jerry Pinkney: This adaptation of a Creole folktale does a wonderful job of conveying an important lesson on kindness amidst the magic that is rural Louisiana. SUGGESTED AGE: 3-10
The Red Room Riddle by Scott Corbett, Illustrated by Geff Gerlach: If your older child likes a good scare, this clever ghost story is the best. A slightly bloody plot involving the biblical Slaughter of the Innocents, most of the action takes place in a small town in 1920s America. Two boys trespass into a local haunted house on Halloween night and get the scare of their lives. SUGGESTED AGE: 8-TEEN
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: Another great book for a slightly older set or a young advanced reader is this collection of short stories about a girl growing up in a rough Chicago neighborhood. Slightly stream-of-consciousness and gorgeously poetic, this sad yet hopeful book will make your child want to be a writer. SUGGESTED AGE: 8-TEEN
D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths Written & Illustrated by Edgar and Ingri D’Aulaire: I spent many happy hours wandering through the pages of this book, engaged again and again by the colorful illustrations and classic stories. Full of heroes, villains, gods and goddesses, it’s a necessary addition to any child’s bookshelf. SUGGESTED AGE: 6-TWEEN
Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm Written & Illustrated by Martin and Alice Provensen: Based on the authors’ experiences at their upstate New York farm, this book is a delightful respite for any city kid. Including dogs, cats, horses, chickens, cows, sheep and goats as well as some touching commentary on animals that’ve passed on, this picture book feels like an idyllic day in the country. SUGGESTED AGE: 3-10
King of the Wind by Marguerite Henry, Drawings by Wesley Dennis: Marguerite Henry is the quintessential horse-story writer and this tale about the Godolphin Arabian (the ancestor of all champion Thoroughbred racehorses) is both suspenseful and heart-warming. If your child loved Black Beauty, he’ll love the friendship between the stallion Sham and his stable boy Agba. SUGGESTED AGE: 7-TWEEN
The One in the Middle is the Green Kangaroo by Judy Blume: Most people know the coming-of-age tale Are You There, God: It’s Me, Margaret, but Judy Blume has a ton of other stories just as poignant and funny. If you have a middle child, she NEEDS to read about how second-grader Freddy Dissel makes himself stand out when he’s normally overshadowed by his older brother and little sister. SUGGESTED AGE: 3-7
The Egyptian Cinderella by Shirley Climo, Illustrated by Ruth Heller: Every culture has a Cinderella story, and this is one of the best. Based on the true tale of the Greek slave Rhodopis, a contemporary of the famous bard Aesop, its bright colors and lyrical writing pack quite a punch. I loved it because Rhodopis’ pale skin and blonde hair made her an outcast among the dark eyes and caramel-colored skin of her Egyptian peers, a feeling I knew all too well growing up. SUGGESTED AGE: 3-7
Monday, June 20, 2011
A Short Story
And now, a short story:
Generally speaking, Dale James avoided the PX the day after payday. Fighting the crowds, the baby carriages and the wayward carts was a mistake most army wives only made once. But with FRG co-leadership thrust into her hands just days before, Dale had no choice but to brave the post-paycheck multitude to pick up some necessities for the next meeting.
She was poring over printer ink prices when she heard the sharp, hushed tones that signaled the beginnings of a public argument. Turning slightly, she was surprised to see Specialist Forrest, one of her husband’s soldiers. As a lieutenant’s wife, Dale made an effort to learn the faces and names of everyone in Charlie Troop. Forrest’s cart butted up against that of a woman Dale didn’t know, pinning her into the office supply aisle.
The stranger was covered from head to toe in swaths of some kind of silky fabric patterned with red and gold flowers. Her red headscarf was pulled low on her forehead, almost to her eyebrows, so that not a hair peeked under its hem. Her eyes darted from the tired tile floor to Forrest’s face, whose breathless voice was starting to become loud enough to hear from where Dale stood.
“…that you’d even show yourself anywhere on post with that, that thing, on your head! I'm so tired of this shit. How dare you? How dare you come into our store, into our country, looking just like the fuckers that are trying to blow us up?”
Clenching her jaw, Dale pushed her own cart toward the fray and interrupted brightly, “Mr. Forrest, how are you?”
Whirling, Forrest scrutinized the intruder, “Oh, Mrs. James. Hi.”
“Now, I know that wasn’t you I heard using such foul language in a place crawling with kids. It must have been someone in the next aisle.”
Forrest colored slightly at being addressed so by the platoon leader’s wife. “I was just…I was…”
Dale interrupted, “No, of course it wasn’t you. You’ve got two young kids of your own, right? And I know you wouldn’t use words like that in front of someone else’s little ones. Speaking of, I’m sure you need to get right back to them. I’ll see you at the FRG meeting on Friday evening, won’t I?”
With a fierce look to the woman in the headscarf, Forrest mumbled a reply and shoved his cart quickly away. Her mouth set in a firm line, Dale watched the fuming young man disappear behind a display.
“I’m sorry about that.”
The stranger turned to Dale. “It’s the same almost every time we PCS. People call us traitors, call us spies. My son gets pushed down on the playground. My daughter cries about the time she will have to cover her hair. My husband and I were born here. We are Americans. And we are Muslim. It appears we can’t truly be both at once.”
Tilting her head slightly, she continued, “But you apologize for words that were spewed all over me by someone else. Why?”
“Do you hate the people who take your faith in God and twist it into a weapon for their own ends?” Dale replied.
“Yes,” the woman said, “It’s one of the reasons my husband enlisted.”
“I hate those who take my skin color and stretch it like a mask over the face of bigotry, claiming to represent an America that I wouldn’t want my husband defending.”
“What is your name?” the woman asked.
“Dale.”
“I’m Selah.”
“Hello, Selah.”
“Hello, Dale. And so, both of us seek to atone for the sins of strangers. We feel guilty for their thoughts and responsible for their actions. How strange.”
Dale looked into Selah’s eyes and said quietly, “We are women, after all.”
Generally speaking, Dale James avoided the PX the day after payday. Fighting the crowds, the baby carriages and the wayward carts was a mistake most army wives only made once. But with FRG co-leadership thrust into her hands just days before, Dale had no choice but to brave the post-paycheck multitude to pick up some necessities for the next meeting.
She was poring over printer ink prices when she heard the sharp, hushed tones that signaled the beginnings of a public argument. Turning slightly, she was surprised to see Specialist Forrest, one of her husband’s soldiers. As a lieutenant’s wife, Dale made an effort to learn the faces and names of everyone in Charlie Troop. Forrest’s cart butted up against that of a woman Dale didn’t know, pinning her into the office supply aisle.
The stranger was covered from head to toe in swaths of some kind of silky fabric patterned with red and gold flowers. Her red headscarf was pulled low on her forehead, almost to her eyebrows, so that not a hair peeked under its hem. Her eyes darted from the tired tile floor to Forrest’s face, whose breathless voice was starting to become loud enough to hear from where Dale stood.
“…that you’d even show yourself anywhere on post with that, that thing, on your head! I'm so tired of this shit. How dare you? How dare you come into our store, into our country, looking just like the fuckers that are trying to blow us up?”
Clenching her jaw, Dale pushed her own cart toward the fray and interrupted brightly, “Mr. Forrest, how are you?”
Whirling, Forrest scrutinized the intruder, “Oh, Mrs. James. Hi.”
“Now, I know that wasn’t you I heard using such foul language in a place crawling with kids. It must have been someone in the next aisle.”
Forrest colored slightly at being addressed so by the platoon leader’s wife. “I was just…I was…”
Dale interrupted, “No, of course it wasn’t you. You’ve got two young kids of your own, right? And I know you wouldn’t use words like that in front of someone else’s little ones. Speaking of, I’m sure you need to get right back to them. I’ll see you at the FRG meeting on Friday evening, won’t I?”
With a fierce look to the woman in the headscarf, Forrest mumbled a reply and shoved his cart quickly away. Her mouth set in a firm line, Dale watched the fuming young man disappear behind a display.
“I’m sorry about that.”
The stranger turned to Dale. “It’s the same almost every time we PCS. People call us traitors, call us spies. My son gets pushed down on the playground. My daughter cries about the time she will have to cover her hair. My husband and I were born here. We are Americans. And we are Muslim. It appears we can’t truly be both at once.”
Tilting her head slightly, she continued, “But you apologize for words that were spewed all over me by someone else. Why?”
“Do you hate the people who take your faith in God and twist it into a weapon for their own ends?” Dale replied.
“Yes,” the woman said, “It’s one of the reasons my husband enlisted.”
“I hate those who take my skin color and stretch it like a mask over the face of bigotry, claiming to represent an America that I wouldn’t want my husband defending.”
“What is your name?” the woman asked.
“Dale.”
“I’m Selah.”
“Hello, Selah.”
“Hello, Dale. And so, both of us seek to atone for the sins of strangers. We feel guilty for their thoughts and responsible for their actions. How strange.”
Dale looked into Selah’s eyes and said quietly, “We are women, after all.”
Friday, June 17, 2011
Childhood Celebrity Crushes and other Random Stuff
I came across the movie Summer Catch on MTV yesterday. It's not a good movie, but it made me remember how much I loved Freddie Prinze Jr. as a teen. She's All That was the first film I saw in theaters with my friends (sans parents) and I had a huge crush on him for a number of years. He has this really attractive kind of earnestness that makes me get all gooey inside.
He's been married to Sarah Michelle Gellar (who's now Sarah Michelle Prinze) since 2002 and they have one daughter, Charlotte Grace. So as of right now they appear to be blessedly normal as well as pretty good actors. That makes me love them even more :) Dear Prinze family: you're awesome! I hope you're all happy and healthy.
I never had a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio, even though he was a favorite among my peers. I actually didn't appreciate him at all until I saw Blood Diamond and his interviews afterward. After that his attractiveness level totally shot up.
My older sister Chloë and I had pretty similar taste in celebrity crushes for a few years. We both liked Prince William (she grew out of that, I never did) and actor Jonathan Brandis who we watched on seaQuest DSV. Then she kind of went alternative/musician-y and I turned left at athlete/actor/accented.
As for younger sister Sarah, she like athlete/funny/goofy. She actually had a big crush on Lance Bass from *NSYNC, which we still tease her about (in case you don't know, Bass is gay).
On another random note that only has a slight connection to my childhood in the 90s:
Is it just me or do the Katy Perry song "Last Friday Night" and the Lady Gaga song "The Edge of Glory" make use 90s sitcom-style theme song trumpets? Every time I hear those tunes I wanna go, "Choo-be-doo-bah-baahh-dah..." (that's from the Full House theme, in case you couldn't decode my phonetics). Take a listen and see if you agree.
He's been married to Sarah Michelle Gellar (who's now Sarah Michelle Prinze) since 2002 and they have one daughter, Charlotte Grace. So as of right now they appear to be blessedly normal as well as pretty good actors. That makes me love them even more :) Dear Prinze family: you're awesome! I hope you're all happy and healthy.
I never had a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio, even though he was a favorite among my peers. I actually didn't appreciate him at all until I saw Blood Diamond and his interviews afterward. After that his attractiveness level totally shot up.
My older sister Chloë and I had pretty similar taste in celebrity crushes for a few years. We both liked Prince William (she grew out of that, I never did) and actor Jonathan Brandis who we watched on seaQuest DSV. Then she kind of went alternative/musician-y and I turned left at athlete/actor/accented.
As for younger sister Sarah, she like athlete/funny/goofy. She actually had a big crush on Lance Bass from *NSYNC, which we still tease her about (in case you don't know, Bass is gay).
On another random note that only has a slight connection to my childhood in the 90s:
Is it just me or do the Katy Perry song "Last Friday Night" and the Lady Gaga song "The Edge of Glory" make use 90s sitcom-style theme song trumpets? Every time I hear those tunes I wanna go, "Choo-be-doo-bah-baahh-dah..." (that's from the Full House theme, in case you couldn't decode my phonetics). Take a listen and see if you agree.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sex, Lies & Politicos
All this talk about Anthony Weiner (a democratic state representative from New York) has made me really start to consider the following question: “Can a bad person be a good politician?”
Now, before you insert your dirty politician joke here, I’m being serious. I think it’s obvious a bad person can be good at many jobs…mean plumbers, rude fashion designers, ungracious stockbrokers. But can a bad person…an adulterer, a liar, a cheat…be a good politician?
Let’s talk this out.
(Disclaimer: I’m going to use the pronoun “he” for this post. Please excuse my misandry for the sake of grammar).
First off: sex has nothing to do with most aspects of politicking. If a state rep or a senator has kinkaliscious, leather bound, spiked collar coitus every day and then goes out to debate the aspects of a series of budget cuts, who cares? As long as he gets the job done. That’s why sexual orientation has no bearing on political prowess. Sex is one thing. Lying is another.
I am a child of the Clinton/Lewinsky* scandal. Imagine little Lark, age 12, desperately trying to explain to her much more sexually experienced classmates that the president was being impeached for perjury, not for adultery. I was unsuccessful and had to endure constant: “You prude! Gonna impeach a guy for gettin’ some?!”
If a politician is willing to not only lie, but to break the law in order to keep his behavior secret, isn’t that a hallmark of someone you don’t want running the country?
In addition, we live in a time when most of us can choose our marriage partner. Hypothetically, a politician who is married loves his wife. If he can lie to his wife and children, whom he cares deeply about, what is to stop him from lying to his constituents who are no more than faces in a crowd?
Then you’ve got people like Eliot Spitzer, who built his career on prosecuting corruption and white collar crime. But as a client of a high-end prostitute, he was in fact contributing to fraud the whole time (since prostitution isn’t always easy to prove, the upper-crust girls most often get fingered for tax evasion and breaking other financial laws). So not only was he a cheater; Spitzer was a hypocrite.
Following the money, corruption can also be linked to a political sex scandal. Spitzer was under investigation for using campaign funds to pay for liaisons with ladies of the night at the Mayflower Hotel. I’m sure some enterprising reporter in poring over Arnold Schwarzenegger’s financials to see if he used California state funds to offset the cost of his mistress’ breast implants.
In the military, a soldier can be prosecuted for adultery in a military court. It’s considered “unbecoming,” and a “detriment to the armed forces,” according to Article 134. Basically if a soldier is willing to ignore the sanctity of his/her wedding vows, he could theoretically be willing to ignore orders from a higher-up. Ignoring orders would destroy our military.
But then you have droves of successful, beloved politicians who were unfaithful. I’ve yet to see a dutiful Catholic household in the United States or Ireland without a framed photo of John F. Kennedy placed prominently on display. FDR had extra-marital affairs before and after his presidency; probably during as well. And Bill Clinton, for that matter, is considered one of the most productive presidents in recent history.
Personally, I have a serious problem with adultery and cannot abide any person, private or public, cheating on their spouse. Most of the population isn’t forced into an arranged marriage. It seems simple enough to me to get a divorce (or never get married in the first place) and spare your spouse and your conscience months or years of infidelity.
So what does this mean? I think it means some men can be trusted to separate business and pleasure and some men cannot. The most important facet of this multi-dimensional issue is how the politician acts after he’s been caught. Does he immediately fess up and apologize? Plus one point. Does he reveal details to staunch the inevitable flow of sordid stories from the other women? Plus two points. Does he give his wife the option of not standing mutely by his side as he confesses his sins on a public forum? Plus three points. Does he shut up about it after a few weeks and focus on the reasons he’s an elected official? That’s a win; as much as you can have a win in this sordid situation.
What about the other guy? The one who denies an affair over and over…or blames a resulting pregnancy on one of his staffers? How about the man who repeatedly insults magazines and newspapers printing nothing but the truth? Or the guy who claims he only pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct while trying to solicit sex in an airport bathroom to “make the issue go away” but he’s really innocent? The guy who refuses multiple calls from his own party to resign and then takes personal time to deal with his “issues”? Minus a million points. This guy sucks.
So like many gray-area issues, I think this one can only be judged on a case-by-case basis. After all, seeing how a man deals with adversity is a much better gauge of his character than seeing how he thrives in prosperity. Especially when the adversity is a bed of his own making. With a pro laying in it.
*To tell you the truth, Clinton messed me up. I believed him when he said he was innocent of wrongdoing…I thought this was just another case of a woman looking for her 15 minutes front and center. Then he went and changed the definition of “sex” for me and my peers and everyone to come after us. When Baby Boomer girls were in 5th grade, were they being ignored by boys because they refused to put anyone’s penis in their mouths? I was. “It’s not sex,” they told me. “The President even said so. It’s just like kissing, only better.”
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Idea for a TV Show
I think I have a good idea for a TV show.
I've really benefited from attending regular counselling sessions since I married my soldier...talking to someone helps deal with the realities of his job. I know that, percentage wise, being in the army is not the most dangerous occupation in the United States (even in wartime). It's commercial fishing.
So sometimes I think about how family members of those Alaskan King Crab fishermen they show on the Discovery Channel would benefit from therapy, too.
So my pitch is this: a twenty-something woman has just completed her doctorate in psychology or therapy or whatever. She returns from the big city to the teeny fishing village in the tundra where she grew up to set up a counselling practice. Except no one wants to go see her because A) they feel betrayed she left to go to the city for schooling and B) grief counselling is considered a weakness and people think they'll be ostracized for attending her sessions. I think I'll call her...Simone. Dr. Simone Dylan.
Of course we'll need her family...her rough-and-tumble sea captain dad (who's torn between pride and embarassment about her behavior), an older brother who's his spitting image, a mother who keeps the peace at a great cost to her self and a little sister married to a fisherman who's angry our protagonist has dared to make a different life for herself. Add in an old high school boyfriend who continues to call her by some slightly annoying pet name and maybe a few folks from a film crew that follows the fisherman around for a cable show and I think it's got potential.
So if you work for a cable network and you're skimming the Internet for new material to impress your bosses with...have your people call my people.
I've really benefited from attending regular counselling sessions since I married my soldier...talking to someone helps deal with the realities of his job. I know that, percentage wise, being in the army is not the most dangerous occupation in the United States (even in wartime). It's commercial fishing.
So sometimes I think about how family members of those Alaskan King Crab fishermen they show on the Discovery Channel would benefit from therapy, too.
So my pitch is this: a twenty-something woman has just completed her doctorate in psychology or therapy or whatever. She returns from the big city to the teeny fishing village in the tundra where she grew up to set up a counselling practice. Except no one wants to go see her because A) they feel betrayed she left to go to the city for schooling and B) grief counselling is considered a weakness and people think they'll be ostracized for attending her sessions. I think I'll call her...Simone. Dr. Simone Dylan.
Of course we'll need her family...her rough-and-tumble sea captain dad (who's torn between pride and embarassment about her behavior), an older brother who's his spitting image, a mother who keeps the peace at a great cost to her self and a little sister married to a fisherman who's angry our protagonist has dared to make a different life for herself. Add in an old high school boyfriend who continues to call her by some slightly annoying pet name and maybe a few folks from a film crew that follows the fisherman around for a cable show and I think it's got potential.
So if you work for a cable network and you're skimming the Internet for new material to impress your bosses with...have your people call my people.
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