le sigh

This makes me sad.

For 100 years the USPS has run a program called Operation Santa. Children from all over the country send their letters to Santa to the North Pole. Post offices collect these letters, sort through them to find the most compelling (usually from needy kids), and for the past 100 years in one form or another have made them available to the public so you could respond to a child's letter if you wished.

This week, without explanation or warning, the USPS suspended the program. People showed up to New York's post offices expecting to sift through the cardboard boxes of kids' letters to find the one they'd play Santa with... only to find no boxes, no letters. Apparently there was some sort of privacy issue (a registered sex offender responded to a child's letter) and now the entire program is gone.

I understand that pedophiles should be kept away from our children, it's obvious that should be the case. However, have we reached the point in our society where we are truly willing to make everyone pay for the crimes of a few? The answer, my friends, is yes. We've been there for a long time now. Look at the precautions we all need to take at airports these days. When is the last time you personally brought liquid explosives on your travels? Oh, you haven't done that? Well, someone did so now you can't take your favorite shampoo with you on that flight to Tahiti.

There are children in my neighborhood who have probably written letters to Santa asking him for a warm coat for Christmas this year because their parents had to choose between a new coat or a week's groceries. Who is going to answer those letters now? This "one bad apple" theory really stinks.

I'm trying not to get too bogged down by this negativity, so instead let me end this post on a light note. I support a wonderful charity called the Pajama Program here in NYC. Did you know that most children in the foster care/shelter system don't have pajamas? They have no bedtime routine that includes snuggly sleepy clothes and comforting fabrics. This year I contributed PJs in teenage girl sizes. Often, the babies and small kids are thought of first and the teenagers are an afterthought. Some girl will receive a great flannel set of PJs and a robe from me this year. I feel really good about it. If you're looking for something charitable to do this season you can contribute pajamas to the Pajama Program.

Inspiration

This is my friend, Marisa. She is amazing. (and adorable, I mean, look at that headshot!)

If you have lost a parent, or you have a friend who has, please take a moment to read this short blog entry (on Glamour.com, yes - she's a superstar) and pass along Sally's Circle to someone who could use a soft spot to land this holiday season.

Next time won't you sing with me?

Amazed. Bewildered. Captivated. Delighted. Excited. Frenzied. Gaga. Hopeful. Intimidated. Jubilant. K. L. Marvelous. Neurotic. Overwhelmed. Piqued. Questioning. Rapturous. Shocked. Terrified. Unbelieving. Victorious. Wondering. X. Y. Z.

My ABCs of pregnancy. Anyone have any suggestions for K, L, X, Y, or Z?

The big day

** I must confess that I've written this in advance to be posted today because I know I'll have so many things to do. **

Today's the day. Today I marry the most amazing person I know. Matthew, my love, my partner, my cool breeze, my sunshine.

Thank you to all of you who have visited me in this space for all these years and wished me well. I appreciate the kinds words in good times and in bad more than you probably know. Sometimes planning this wedding was so stressful and to alleviate some of the strain I'd go back and read a few of the amazing things you've said to me in the past. You've been so supportive, a real community. You've helped me though some rough spots and you've cheered me on through the triumphs.

Today is a big day. My life will never be the same. I'll have an official stamp on the partnership I've been half of for 2 years now. I'll even have a different last name! I couldn't be happier to be Matthew's wife.

I'll probably post all my honeymoon posts when we get back, so if you don't see any movement in this space don't be alarmed. I'll be back in 12 days with stories to tell and photos to share. I'll miss you!

Yoi!

The man who came into this world as Myron Sydney Kopelman 79 years ago died Wednesday. We knew him as Myron Cope. His name is synonymous with my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers. The Terrible Towel? He came up with the idea. Jerome Bettis being called "The Bus"? He gave him the nickname. He was the Steelers color commentary guy for 35 years.

Whenever I think it's too tough to contemplate a career change I should think about Myron. He started with the Steelers at age 40. He & a young rookie named Terry Bradshaw started on the same day back in 1970. He was a sports writer, but he'd never been on the radio. He had no announcing experience. He didn't even have a good radio voice. He had personality, and that's why people loved him. He got on the air at 40 and went straight seasons until he was 75. Amazing.

He died in a town next to the one where I went to high school. His voice was one I heard all my life. Really - all my life. I listened to this man talk all my life! Can you believe that? How many people are staples in your whole life besides your family? Myron Cope was part of my life and he's gone now. Never met him, I didn't need to meet him to adore him. He'll be missed. He's the only commentator good enough to make me mute the TV just so I could listen to him on the radio instead.

Okel dokel, Myron.

Thump, thump

Happy Valentine's Day! My valentine and I are headed to see a friend's band tonight. No heart shaped boxes of candy, no flowers and dinner at a crowded restaurant. Just us hanging out with friends we love, watching our badass friend bang on her drums. A pretty perfect evening if you ask me.

As Sandra reminded me - tommorrow is 1/2 off valentine candy day! Now that's something to really celebrate.

I hope that no matter who you're with, where you are, who you love, who loves you back, ... I hope this Valentine's Day that you love yourself. This is the first year I can confidently say beyond a shadow of a doubt I love me. It's the best V-Day gift I could get. Better than a heart shaped box of anything.

Hearing the voices

Ever have one of those days when you can't get a song out of your mind? As much as you try it won't budge. You listen to other music, you turn on the TV, you have a phone call, you go to a meeting, you walk your dog. Still, the song stays with you. It haunts you. It won't leave, it's a stubborn little bugger.

Today my haunting personal soundtrack is Hallelujah. Jeff Buckley's version. All respect to Leonard Cohen, but Buckley's take on the song is so heart breakingly beautiful it blows me away every time I hear it. The video doesn't have any visuals other than pretty colors, SonyBMG doesn't like to have Buckley's video for this song embedded anywhere, so you won't see the magical Jeff himself unless you go directly to YouTube. But the song is amazing and if you've never heard it you would do youself a great service by giving it a listen. Pay close attention to the first seconds - that's his inward breath. Even more meaningful since his death.

These are the bits that kill me:

I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya?

Remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah?

Maybe there's a god above
But all I've ever learned from love
Is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.

And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

Success!

Duke is still an only child/dog. Matthew and I went to the shelter this morning to photograph the dogs and we managed to come home without a sibling for the Dukester.

There were about 10 people who were there volunteering to walk the dogs. It was great to see such a turnout. All those people were there just to give those pooches some human contact and some exercise. The people were all super cool and lots were dog walking regulars. Pretty fantastic. There is a dog park not too far away, so some of the dogs get to go there and others get nice long walks around the neighborhood. There were about 10 dogs who needed their photos taken and high energy shelter dogs are not too keen about portrait sitting, so you can imagine it was a lengthy process. While we waited for the last 2 who needed photos to come back I walked 3 dogs.

A 10 year old chihuahua named Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. I'd never walked a dog that small before, so it was strange to hold a leash that felt like it wasn't attached to anything. Duke is hefty and you know you're attached to a beast when you walk him. Mr. Ramirez is so tiny that I couldn't even feel him fluttering about next to me. He's old, he's blind in one eye, he shakes a lot, he doesn't like other dogs because he lived at the city shelter for as long as he could before coming to BARC and he picks fights. If he were a human he'd be the old guy on the porch yelling at the kids to get off his lawn. He's not cute, he's not nice, he's not cuddly. But you know what? Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. Who in the world is going to adopt an old, tiny dog with a bad attitude, a slight neurological issue, and one eyed blindness? I hope someone does. If he wouldn't antagonize Duke all damn day I would have taken him home this morning. Te amo, Sr. Ramirez.

And then this happens...

Sometimes my faith in humanity is bolstered by something seemingly insignificant - the smile from a stranger, the kind gesture (holding a door, helping someone pick up their spilled handbag contents, etc.). I feel reassured that we're going down the right path as people and we're doing right by the planet and all the beings we share it with. Despite the war, the hunger, the crime we inflict upon each other on a daily basis, I have hope. But then something terrible happens and I question our entire species and wonder how there can be those among us who are beasts with no regard for life.

My recent posts have been very dog-centric. Unintentional, though it may be.

Yesterday we New Yorkers were alerted to a disturbing discovery up in Yonkers. 2 dogs were found by a gas station's cleaning lady. She opened the lid of the dumpster to throw trash in and, to her horror, found 2 dogs. One looking up at her, just staring, unable to move. The other, dead, frozen stiff, practically on top of the living one. These pups were pitbulls, they had been used either as bait for other dogs who had already been tortured into being fighters, or used as fighters themselves. (this is a photo of them, although you cannot fully see the poor, blonde, dead one)

Dog fighting is a serious crime, it's a felony in every state except Wyoming and Idaho (hellooooo? Get your acts together, WY & ID!), and punishable by 4 yrs in prison and a $25,000 fine in NY. How anyone could take an innocent animal and torture it until it becomes vicious is beyond me. The true vicious beasts are the "humans" who perpetuate this type of backwoods, ghetto, lowbrow, criminal, and depraved "entertainment". There are people who will tell you that certain breeds are innately nasty and mean and are meant to fight. Those people are wrong. No domestic canine is born with bloodlust. Some breeds have more natural aggression, but even those breeds are not born killers.

I am the proud caretaker of what some would consider a vicious breed dog. Duke is a Brazilian Mastiff - a fila brasileiro. Some people use these dogs as guard dogs, to intimidate strangers and protect their homes. In fact, in the UK you are prohibited from owning a fila unless you obtain the court's permission because they are classified as "fighting dogs". Hmm... I wonder how they got that reputation? I can assure you it's from irresponsible and callous humans who, for centuries, have trained dogs like Duke to be killers and fighters.

Ours, however, is nothing but sweet and, ironically, the only time he has ever shown aggression toward a dog or human is when some sick minded guy in our neighborhood jerked the chain (thick chain, not leash - evidence of "toughening up" a dog to make them stronger and meaner than their natural disposition) attached to his pitbull's neck and told Matthew they should see if the dogs would fight each other. Duke didn't take kindly to either the guy or his obviously aggressive dog. He lunged and Matthew crossed the street. Isn't it interesting that the only aggression to come out of my dog was provoked by someone wanting to dogfight? Interesting and telling, I'd say.

What is wrong with some people? Why are some people insistent on violence as a means to make themselves feel more powerful? Are people really that shallow, that immature, that emotionally devastated that they see nothing wrong with beating animals into submission and then throwing them into a ring to see which one can kill the other first? We wage war as nations. We commit crimes as individuals.

Saturday morning Matthew and I are going to a local animal shelter to photograph the new rescued dogs they have available for adoption. The photos will go up on the shelter's website in the hopes that someone will see them and want to make them part of their family. We're going to try not to bring home a brother for Duke. I'll let you know how it goes.

Be the change you want to see in the world. Please.

Secret Identities and such...

Etiquette is a funny thing, isn't it? Do something the right way and people don't generally notice. Do something the wrong way and it sticks out like a sore thumb. For example, blog etiquette. Blog and etiquette are two words that, at first glance, seem rather silly paired up. However, there's quite a bit of structure built into this medium that you wouldn't think of right away.

MT and I were catching up with our friend, Kerri, over at sixuntilme a couple weeks ago and she mentioned that she and her fiance had come to Brooklyn to have dinner with us (just as I did here). Her fiance and MT were friends in high school and had recently gotten back in touch. In her post about it she referred to me and MT, which prompted MT to ask why she called him MT when she had called me by my name. That led to an interesting briefing on blog etiquette since MT doesn't blog, doesn't regularly read mine (out of respect, he wants me to feel free to write whatever I want and doesn't want to unduly influence any of it with his readership) and isn't familiar with the ways of the blogosphere.

I explained that Kerri is a conscientious blogger and she noticed that I refer to him only as MT, so she did the same. He couldn't figure out why I didn't call him by his name. I said I only refer to people by their names if they also refer to themselves the same way. But since MT doesn't blog, I automatically went to my default of using initials. It dawned on me that I never asked him if it was OK to call him by his name. We had a little chat about it and he said he didn't mind at all.

So, his name is Matthew. There you go. MT is Matthew. We're getting married. He's amazing. That's him, with the beard. He has a real name, believe it or not. The other guy is our good friend, IS. We're all a little toasted in this photo, if you couldn't tell. It was taken in the middle of my company holiday party from the most unflattering possible angle. The last company party we'll all be at together since our office is officially closed now. *le sigh* (this is a blatantly stolen phrase from my friend, M - "le sigh" is hers, but I have shamelessly appropriated it for all sorts of uses) So, Matthew has been outed.

Completely unrelated: go see Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Do it. It's grand. We got invited to a pre-release screening through GenArt and it was amazing. By far the bloodiest movie I've ever seen, but really superb. Matthew pretty much detests musicals on principle alone, and even he loved this film. We both want to see it again. He bought me the soundtrack for an early Christmas present and it's been playing non stop all morning. Johhny Depp... yumtastic. So delicious and dark. Sondheim masterfully trimmed the score himself for this movie adaptation and it shows in the best of ways. See this movie!

Woof and meows all around

I haven't had my scan yet, but it's coming up and I'm sure everything will be fine. My headache finally went away.

I'll be working from home starting in a few weeks, so my schedule will have a bit more flex. I'm going to start volunteering at BARC - Brooklyn Animal Rescue Coalition. They're a privately funded animal rescue group that has a shelter and a pet supply & grooming shop. The shelter is run with the proceeds from the shop and donations from the private sector (no government subsidies). I'll be taking photos of the animals to be posted on BARC's own site plus adoption sites like petfinder, plus I'll do a walking shift with the dogs after the photo stuff. Cool, eh? I'm super excited about it. MT & Duke & I aren't quite ready to bring another furry thing into our one bedroom Brooklyn apartment, but we talk about it all the time and sometime soon we'll get Duke a little brother. I have a feeling I'll be bringing home one of the BARC dogs sooner rather than later.

Sometimes I might even take the Dukester with me. He'd love it. Lots of butts to sniff. Yum.

What now?

What do you do when someone you love dies? How do you get to the next step and once you get there how will you know? It all feels surreal right now. I'm tired, even when I've gotten some sleep. I'm sad, even when I'm laughing. At least I can laugh, MT and I are keeping each other laughing as much as we can. We're both past the shock stage, the denial stage, the numb stage. Now it seems like we're both smack dab in the middle of the depression stage. This just sucks.

I can hear Jimmy's voice so clearly in my mind. I hear him picking on me for wearing my favorite red Doc Marten's boots all winter with my jean skirt... he called me "Amy Pohler in a punk sketch". Ever since last winter he always called me Amy. What a nut. We spent last Sunday at the Brooklyn Museum checking out the contemporary Caribbean art exhibit. He was really impressed with a few pieces in particular. I think I want to go back and see them again.

I hate feeling aimless, but I don't know what to do now.

Jimmy Rosina

Our friend, Jimmy Boppapoleze, died last night. Well, that wasn't really his name, it was Mike Rosina, but that's a whole other story. Jimmy had been sick for a very long time and had been in bad shape. He didn't wake up this morning at home in his own bed. We loved him, still do. Jimmy was part of the hectic weekend last week as one of our out of town guests. I'm so glad he came. It's hard to plan our wedding without Jimmy playing a role. I'm at a real loss for words right now.