OFF THE WALL: The Night The Gloves Came Off (a Facebook good-bye to Michael Jackson)

Because I tend to do most things arse-backwards, this post is a retroactive tribute to Michael Jackson, who died sometime last week, or was it the week before? Celebs tend to irritate me, so I don't follow them on the news. But it was impossible not to know that the King of Pop had popped his clogs. Hearing the news while I was at my Jin Shin Jyutsu class in Ireland, I shrugged and said a prayer for his soul. And idly wondered whether his record label had engineered his death to boost sagging record sales. With all the extremes Jacko had put his body through - it being no secret that he was plastic-surgeried, botoxed and over-medicated to hell and back - I often thought he was headed for an early grave.

Common sense tells me that if we don't love ourselves, our bodies respond in kind. This has nothing to do with looking buffed and coiffed, or wearing designer labels, for most of that is vanity, and vanity is not love; it is fear. I'm talking about simply accepting ourselves, respecting ourselves, and being grateful each day for the miracle of our bodies and our minds. I had to make peace with my chins, my gray hair and all my love handles before I could write any of that. It wasn't easy, but it was necessary.

So anyway, there was no escaping the hype around Jacko's death, even without a TV at home. It was all over the bloody web. I tried to ignore the noise made about him on Facebook, although some of it was getting altogether too melodramatic for my taste. I mean, these people don't even make that much fuss when their own grannies croak. From a previous post, you all know about my allergy to gushy people, so it's no surprise that I don't suffer the maudlin ones gladly either. It all came to a head on Monday when I read somewhere that the Rev. Al Sharpton, that slimy opportunist, was calling for nationwide ‘love vigils’ to honor Michael Jackson on Tuesday, the day of his funeral and memorial service. Love vigils?? For that kiddie fondler and inter-galactic wanker? Pass me the bucket, quick.

In typical low-key, diplomatic fashion, I wrote a status post on my Facebook profile the day before Jacko's memorial service. Having vented my annoyance at the tawdry public reaction to Jacko's death, I thought nothing more of it and got up to cook dinner. I did not forsee the Sturm und Drang that would break out on my Facebook Wall later in the day.

The responses to my post were humorous and light-hearted until V.Rago, an old but not close friend from my party animal youth back in the Philippines, jumped in. I still have no idea why she reacted with such splenetic fury to what I or the others had to say. Especially as she claimed she wasn't a big MJ fan. I'm offering the whole nine yards here for your horror and/or amusement. Names have been changed to protect the guilty and the innocent. All comments are unedited.

My Facebook status post on Mon, July 6 at 18:20 was this:

"Megatonlove is fucking fed up with the deification of the sick, over-spending pervert that was Michael Jackson. Can they please incinerate him already, and throw Rev. Al Sharpton in the flames as well. Thanks."

And these are the 31 comments that followed. [The annotations in blue are my opinions alone.]

Non-linear Tippler at 18:29 on 06 July
They have to perform ze alien autopsy first 'no?

Latin Cowboy at 18:44 on 06 July
You're back! :)

Mojito Lizard at 18:48 on 06 July
They're selling tickets to his memorial. Holy mother of crap.

Latin Cowboy at 18:55 on 06 July
How much for a backstage pass?

Auntie Bellum at 18:55 on 06 July
"Fantasy Suttee Couples" - now there's a thought!

Babyface at 19:11 on 06 July
Wow, finally someone I can relate with.

ZeusJoos at 19:12 on 06 July
DAMN GIRL, I LOVE YOUR PASSION & I TOTALLY AGREE!!!

[It began here.]

V.Rago at 21:53 on 06 July
Oh come on, Megatonlove. Have a heart. I was never really a fan but the guy was a genius, a visionary. He changed the video music/concert scene and turned into an experience. Yes, he was a troubled child, and I feel sorry that despite world-wide adulation, he could never get over the verbal abuse of not being good-looking enough to be loved (and his father ought to be crucified for that) which brought him to his sad end. What I can't stand is the dredging up of all the crap. Let the man rest in peace.

[Apologists for sick celebs make my bullshit meter twitch, especially when they throw the "it's not his fault he's weird, he had a rotten childhood" spiel at me. If Jackson found himself inadequate despite global adulation, he wasn't a victim, he was a miserable twat as far as I was concerned. I fired off a reply to V.Rago and left Facebook to study my Jin Shin Jyutsu notes for a few hours before going to bed.]

Megatonlove at 22:54 on 06 July
MJ was a great dancer and an okay singer, but the rest of his package was just plain rotten. And he was MORE than just a troubled child, he was a repulsive pedophile who got away with everything because he could buy his way out of trouble. I wish people would stop making excuses for him, or glorifying him as some kind of godhead. What Jacko modelled to his fans - that happiness could be obtained through the point of a scalpel, a bowl of pills and powders, or the flick of a credit card - was just sick bollocks. Too bad he died so young, but he had it coming.

[During my absence from Facebook, other comments arrived.]

Latin Cowboy at 23:19 on 06 July
I'd have to agree with you Megatonlove, he was over rated. If he had grown up with a semi-ordinary kind of life he might have grown in to something much better, but like Elvis before him his early promise was corrupted in to a mockery of himself and then raised to godhead by by crazed masses. They both were more than willing to believe the hype about themselves.

[The temperature began to rise right around here.]

V.Rago at 23:29 on 06 July
I don't quite agree with the pedophile thing-- a lot of those boys' parents were after his money. (Have YOU caught him in bed molesting a child? Do you believe all the scandal sheets?) I know some people who have been sued-- all lies -- just because they have money and a name to protect. I believe MJ was just trying to get in touch with the childhood he missed out on. Call me naive, but I'd rather be non-judgmental. And I don't think people are glorifying him as some godhead-- just paying him the accolades (albeit delayed, because everyone seemed to prefer to trash him) he justly deserves for his accomplishments. No one is perfect. Even Mother Teresa farted. But let's just agree to disagree on this one, shall we? I honestly don't know where your need to vilify him is coming from. What's he done to you? Pills? Addiction to the scalpel? He didn't start that. Might as well spray your vitriol at all the people in Hollywood--- or closer to home. Peace.

[Another reasonable person chimed in.]

ZeusJoos at 23:52 on 06 July
I agree with Meg & watch now if people don't come forward & tell the truth about MJ's pedophilia; especially the victims themselves. He ADMITTED THAT HE LIKED SLEEPING WITH YOUNG CHILDREN, that's pretty damned telling, don't 'cha think? This circus of an all-day wake tomorrow on tuesday is total bollocks.

[Uh-oh, getting irate now.]

V.Rago at 23:58 on 06 July
I like sleeping with children-- mine! I just hope you guys don't get as badly trashed as you do others. Who the hell are you to judge? What gives you the right? Enough said.

[Nothing cracks me up more than judgmental people ordering others not to judge.]  

V.Rago at 00:04 on 07 July
And NO! ZeusJoos! That isn't pretty damn telling-- unless you have a sick mind.

[Guess she didn't really mean it when she said "Enough said."]

V.Rago at 00:37 on 07 July
And Latin Cowboy, Just what the hell do you preach? Hatred? Get off your damn pulpit! Or admit you're a hypocrite.

[Hatred? Pulpit? Hypocrite? Yo, V.Rago, you're peeing against the wrong tree here. Latin Cowboy is one of the most peaceable people I know.]

ZeusJoos at 00:44 on 07 July
V.Rago,
I work with men & women who have been sexually molested as children & let me tell you the baggage is HORRIFIC. The damage is unspeakable & seems to have physiological ramifications, not to mention the emotional damage.

Auntie Bellum at 00:49 on 07 July
Abused kids (as he allegedly was) very often become abusers (though it has not yet been proved that he was one - the Daily Mail opinion column is not conclusive enough for me - ), and from way over here I've always thought the parents who encouraged their kids to hang out with an ageing and seriously weird pop star in the evident hope of material benefits seem even more pre-meditatedly wicked than the clearly sick MJ. Really I doubt if there are any nice people in the whole sorry tale.
Re: the wake - seems to me we waste a lot of flowers and candles mourning complete strangers these days. Mass grief is a modern night out. It's just some old gig - though I grant a real live decomposing stiff on stage beats lasers!!! :-)

[Well said, Auntie Bellum!]


V.Rago at 00:56 on 07 July
ZeusJoos, that still doesn't give you the right to abuse the abused. Especially when they can no longer speak for themselves. All this is making me sad. Can't believe there are people like you out there. All I'm saying is, let the poor man be. Why throw shit at him? Are you all clean? I have had enough of this sick discussion. Sad, sad, sad.

[Tee hee, no prizes for guessing who needed to get off the pulpit!]

ZeusJoos at 01:14 on 07 July
People like me? You don't fucking know me, the work I do, my mind-set. "The poor man"? You need to wake up lady. Just another case of blaming the victim.
Well V.Rago, then just exit stage left - you have the right to deify any monster that you choose. I worked in the record business for decades & was privy to private info regarding various intimate details 'bout musicians-wow talk about some troubled folks.... I am no angel, but I do not abuse animals or children, nor do I advocate for their abusers.

[Awwrrright, you tell her, Zeus!]

JoCal at 01:46 on 07 July
easy on each other folks... death is a sad reality no matter whom it strikes...

[At this point it was 2 a.m. here. I thought I'd check my Facebook one last time before heading up to bed.  I was rather shaken to find my Wall had turned into a battlefield in my absence. I wasn't sure what to do, so I blew the referee's whistle. Loudly.]

Megatonlove at 02:26 on 07 July
Sheesh, I leave FB for a few hours and war breaks out. V.Rago, THAT'S ENOUGH from you. What's gotten into you, girl? I don't care how hot and bothered you choose to get about Wacko Jacko, your comments on MY wall are way out of order. It's okay to disagree passionately with others, but there's no need to become abusive towards people you know nothing about. What happened to staying non-judgmental? If you want to have a good old rant, then please do it on your Facebook wall, not mine. This conversation is now closed. Thanks, everyone. Unruffle those feathers please. Good night.

[I hoped that would be the end of that. But V.Rago was clearly not done, even though she'd declared she'd had enough, not once but twice!]

V.Rago at 02:40 on 07 July
I wasn't abusive Megatonlove. You were. Condescending and judgmental. AND DON'T YOU EVER USE THAT TONE WITH ME. You chose to post something offensive and provocative on your wall and expected comments. But don't worry. You won't hear ever hear from me again. Nor do I care to hear from you. We're clearly not on the same page.

[OHO, now the pot was calling the kettle black! Instead of striking fear in my heart, V.Rago induced loud snorts of laughter in me that woke the dog. I prayed that the friends who had left comments on my Wall would somehow see the funny side of it too.]

Megatonlove at 02:57 on 07 July
Aw, shaddup already.

[After that parting shot, I deleted V.Rago from my Friends List and fell into bed. Entertaining though she briefly was, I no longer enjoy hanging out with toxic humans in real life or cyberspace. The comments on my Wall continued into the next day, ending as light-heartedly as they had begun.  Bless you, Facebook friends.]

Calmer Of Calves at 04:40 on 07 July
    I AM WITH YOU ON THAT ONE MEGATONLOVE!!!! THE RICH AND FAMOUS OR THE FAMOUS IN DEBT UP TO THEIR PLASTIC SURGERY SHOULD NOT GET AWAY WITH CHILD MOLESTATION OR RAPE. THOSE CHILDREN WILL BE DEALING WITH THE EFFECTS OF HIS ABUSE FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. A FRIEND OF MINE WAS TOLD ME THAT SEXUAL ABUSE IS THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING.
    MAYBE HE KILLED HIMSELF BECAUSE THE GUILT (IF HE HAD ANY) WAS 'KILLING' HIM PHYSICALLY, EMOTIONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY? THERE WAS A RE-RUN OF A CLIP OF AN INTERVIEW ON TV TODAY WHERE JACKSON WAS CONFRONTED BY THE INTERVIEWER VERY DIRECTLY ABOUT THE 'ALLEGATIONS'. JACKSON LOOKED DOWN (SHAME), THEN PROCEEDED TO LAUGH AND FINALLY PUT HIS HANDS OVER HIS FACE. ZEUS AND I HAVE STUDIED BODY READING ON MANY LEVELS AND HIS REACTIONS WERE ALL INDICATIVE OF SHAME (LOOKING DOWN AND HANDS COVERING HIS FACE), EMBARRASSMENT (THE LAUGHING) AND SOMEONE WHO WAS LYING.
    I WOULD INVITE ANYONE IN DISBELIEF TO STUDY HIS BODY LANGUAGE AROUND THE TIME OF THE ABUSE TRIALS....

HarpSkunk at 08:19 on 07 July
Whew! Personally I am just hoping that the Thriller video is not a foretaste of things to come, 'Chronicle of an un-death foretold'. Maybe he has gone to live with Elvis in that London bus on the dark side of the moon which is signaling to the mothership.

Blond Igorot at 10:19 on 07 July
and I....missed all the fun. Shucks.

Queen Liz III at 10:25 on 07 July
Yes yes yes...he's still ALIVE!!!!!! It's all a money making scam cause he's in debt up to his plastic ears!!!!!....that's why there's no public viewing of the body....madam toussaud's won't release their copy hehehehehe.....spread the word...he's ALIVE!!!! where did you see him?...
oopppsss sorry Megatonlove...now you're wall's gonna go ape!!!!!!

Blond Igorot at 10:38 on 07 July
Blasphemy....

Megatonlove at 13:48 on 07 July
I believe Wacko Jacko was embalmed pre-mortem. But even people made entirely of silicone and plastic have an expiry date. His brains were also pickled ages ago.

Celtic Banjo at 16:56 on 07 July
Megatonlove, nice one! he can`t buy his way out this one paper burns where he is going he he..."whos BAD" dun dun dun dun dun...dun dun dun dun dun dun...shamone eeee heeeee.

The Ironing Broad at 23:27 on 07 July
Agree w Blond Igorot... Queen Liz III is blasphemous!

"Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods." 

Albert Einstein

The Snark Returns: Introducing Chlamydia Burana (warning: expletives undeleted)

First-time visitors to Megatonlove could be forgiven for thinking this is a gardening blog. It isn't. Only, with spring at full gallop, there's so much beauty outside that it would be churlish not to share some of its beauty with you. Mother's Day morning brought glorious sunshine, love notes and quirky hand-made presents from Legs & Noodle, and the discovery that the Papaver orientalis had started to open. I look forward to these Oriental poppies all winter long. They are the brazen hussies of the garden, their papery scarlet-orange skirts calling to mind the pleated costumes of Issey Miyake. They burst open with devil-may-care abandon, their flower heads unnaturally heavy for their stems, the ruffles and ridges of their mysterious centers coated in inky purple dust. In a few days they're gone, leaving large seed pods in their wake, victorious fists clenched to salute such fleeting splendor. As I photographed them in the early morning sun, I was filled with gladness for the mother that sustains us all. Mother Earth.

I compiled my new flower photos into an album and posted them on Facebook. Everything was grand until yesterday when I noticed that someone on my friends list had posted my photo album onto her Facebook Wall. Without my permission! It irritated me. Especially because this same person had committed the same transgression only the week before with one of my other photo albums. She'd blithely helped herself to my family pictures and posted them on her Wall without as much as a by-your-leave. I wrote her this message:

I would appreciate it if you would kindly take my album "Life in Belgium" off your FB wall as soon as possible. My family's privacy is very important to me and I would rather that my photo albums be visible only to people on my friends list. I hope you understand.

To give her credit, she complied promptly. She explained she only wanted to share them with her sister and friends - none of whom I know, by the way. I enjoy sharing my photographs with my family and friends on Facebook. It's a great way for me to stay in touch because I live so far away from my tribe. However, I remain extremely cautious about sharing my personal details on the web, and I've gone to certain lengths to protect the identities of my loved ones on this blog.

Being a thoughtful person, I'd like to respect my offender's anonymity, so I'll call her Chlamydia Burana. (Take a bow, Chlamydia, dear. This may be your moment of fame.) Chlamydia Burana is close enough to her real name, and it accurately defines someone "with an ability to establish long-term associations with host cells." Gee, thanks, Wikipedia, that scares the shit out of me. An easily-transmitted infection, terrific. Some of my Facebook friends reading this may know who I'm talking about because Chlamydia has wormed her way into their friends lists as well. When I was new to Facebook last year, Chlamydia sent me a friend request. She claimed to be my mother's cousin and, fool that I was, I accepted. I had never met her in person, she lives a safe distance away in Vafancouver, and I had no intention of ever interacting with her. I did wonder at the time why, if she was as close to my mother as she claimed to be, Mama had never mentioned Chlamydia to us while she was alive. Dear Chlammy lost no time friending more family members, and was soon busy busy busy leaving her syrupy pawprints everywhere. Secretly I began to regard her as the Dolores Umbridge of Facebook. The first comment she ever left me, on a photo album titled "What's Cooking in Megatonlove's Kitchen" annoyed me, and I knew it was more than just her appalling punctuation:

hi M, Chlamydia here, 2nd cousin of your very beautiful mommy, Daisy. your aunt P is my contemporary and i am more than happy to have found her on B's album. also, it would be much appreciated if you could post a family photo with your mommy and dad, when you can. apparently, you inherited your mom's cooking prowess. i love all of your creations but, as a vegetarian,this is my favorite! your pup eats better than i do...home cooking!! thanks for your friendship and, like what i wrote to your sister-in-law, J, i am so blessed and humbled to have touched base with family members of my most adored cousin. take care and much love...

Not an auspicious start, but knowing how prickly and saccharine-intolerant I am on a good day, I tried to ignore it and dismissed her as Gushy. Give me Cranky, give me Snooty, give me Bossy or Smelly or any of the other 27 dwarves. Just. Don't. Give. Me. Gushy. Because I'll puke all over her. And Chlamydia was world class Gushy. Upper case SMARMY too.

And so Chlamydia simpered on:

Beautiful children you have.

Legs looks like Little Daisy...

Each time she left a comment, my Bullshit Meter would ricochet. Yesterday, when I saw that she had filched another of my photo albums and posted it on her Wall, after already having been cautioned once, it was a bit much. I sent her another message, more business-like this time:

Once again, Chlamydia, may I ask you to please not post any of my photos on your wall without asking me first? I really find this most intrusive and a complete disregard of my privacy. Although we might be related, I have never actually met you and I do not appreciate the liberties you are taking. You could at least have asked me first. It might be just pictures of my garden, but still. Kindly POST YOUR OWN STUFF on your wall. Thank you, etc.

To which she messaged back:

So sorry again, my niece...

My initial sigh of relief at her reply disintegrated into snorts of exasperation when I saw that my photos were still up on her wall. What the fuck, ya great galoot?! Pathetically, I checked her Wall every half hour. No change. By then, my knickers were dancing the proverbial twist.

This time, for variety, I brazenly wrote on her Wall:

Chlamydia, this is my THIRD and final request: will you PLEASE take MY photo album off your Wall? My photos are my property, and they are not yours to do with as you please. Surely this is not too much to ask? I would not dream of posting anyone's pictures on my wall without asking their permission first. Thanks.

Adrenalin provoked un derangement in me. I decided some extra spleen might not come amiss. Going for broke, I replied to her message:

I will not accept your apology until you take my photos off your wall. For god's sake, Chlamydia, I've had enough of your games. Do you ask permission from the other people whose stuff you put on your wall? Or do you think that because this is Facebook you can help yourself to whatever you want?

Silence. My blasted photos remained on her Wall. Was she suffering an attack of sudden illiteracy? Had her computer crashed? Or was she just being an utter fuckwit? All of the above? I gave it one last huzzah:

Chlamydia, I am now very angry that after asking you 3 times, you still haven't seen fit to remove my photos from your wall. What part of my request didn't you understand? I saw that you removed my comment, but my album is still there. And please don't patronize me by referring to me as "your niece" if you cannot respect my privacy on Facebook.

Nada. I had to admit defeat. I knew what my next step would have to be. Reader, I DELETED her.

Lessons learned, in no particular order:

1. I can't seem to count beyond 3 when I'm angry.
   
2. C'est la folie to ignore mon Bullshit Meter, parce que, mon dew, il est toujours spot-on.
   
3. Facebook's Privacy settings are a JOKE. There is no way to remove the Share option from my photos to stop others from posting them to their profile. And not only that, even after deleting Chlamydia from my friends list, my photos remain on her wall. Well, Facebook, as far as I'm concerned, you are now officially Fuckbook.
   
4. Some relatives can be downright shits. Bet y'all already knew that.
   
5. It feels great to let go of snakes masquerading as friends .
   

Before I go, I want to leave you with an imaginary message I wrote but will of course never send to her. Unless she tracks me down and reads it here:

Dear Chlamydia, what'll you do now that I've dumped you? I know I was one of the most colorful characters on your Friends List, and you will miss my saucy posts. How dreary your life will be without me. Never mind. Every cloud has a silver lining. Now that Bernard Madoff faces spending the rest of his life in prison, there may be a vacancy for you at Weasels Sans Frontieres.

Imelda Staunton as Professor Dolores Umbridge in "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix"

N.B. Megatonlove wishes to thank a certain lizard for helping her find the right name.

Calming The Snark: When IS ain't necessarily so.

Gotta hand it to Facebook. Or specifically to the little window at the top of my profile page that prompts me to share what's on my mind. Unbeknownst to me, these little status posts have worked like literary WD-40 on the corroded parts of my brain where my writing used to live. Updating my status posts regularly feels a bit like hitting a tennis ball against a wall and observing my wonky swing grow steadier over time. It tells my friends what's going on with me and helps me stay in the now.

However. I get this frisson of irritation when I log on to Facebook to see what my friends are up to, and read the following status post yet again:

Joe Blow is.

Is what? Yo, Joe Blow, in your IS-ness, have you truly achieved the Zen-like state of being that continues to elude me? Or are you just a bloody bore with neither the imagination nor the gumption to come up with something more interesting to say about yourself? What's the point of friending (I fucking hate that verb) me on FB and then not interacting with me at all? When I agree to, ahem, friend someone on Facebook it's because I'm genuinely interested in what they've been up to since I last saw them in 1981, and I enjoy reading their status posts and seeing pictures of their family. Why have cyberspace friendships gotten so superficial that the only way some people can show others they're thinking of them is to throw sheep, race virtual cars, take idiotic quizzes, pat virtual pets, send virtual Ferraris plants drinks mandalas pizzas Prada handbags snowballs Christmas ornaments Valentine hearts Easter eggs and mysterious chocolate objects that look remarkably like dog turds? That's just lame. And it feels like being stalked. In a friendly way of course, but it's still stalking to me.

But what do I know? Perhaps they're busy with other stuff like falling in (or out of) love, texting, watching TV, driving their kids or being driven mad by them, digging a garden, playing golf, studying for exams, hanging on to a job or looking for one, trying to make ends meet, going to therapy, shopping, taking a loved one to chemo, trying to stay sober, blogging, eBaying, wrangling laundry, gaming, cooking, meditating, writing code, having plastic surgery, learning to belly dance, looking at porn, going to the gym, painting, going on holiday, saving coral reefs, getting Brazilian waxed, making music, making whoopie or whatever it is that takes up people's time these days.

Below are some of my status posts since joining FB in July last year to the most recent. Snapshots of The Snark.

• M is wondering if summer will ever come to Belgium (my first FB post on 17 July 2008)
• M and Skunk are off to Ireland for a week: to Norrie in Carrickmacross for Jin Shin Jyutsu, and to Galway, Connemara and the Aran Islands for regeneration.
• M is enjoying the dog days of summer. They, too, shall pass.
• M thinks iceberg lettuce is the polyester of all vegetables.
• M is trying to keep her cool against an onslaught of teenage hormones.
• M makes plans, Life makes others.
• M is trying to get her taichi groove back. Everything aches! Serves me right for slacking all summer.
• M is listening to Mission Control at CERN as the first beams are injected into the Large Hadron Collider. What a moment!
• M feels humbled to witness the birth of a new era of understanding about the origins and evolution of the universe. Now where'd that Higgs boson go?
• M is disgusted by all her shoes. Is there a 12-Step program for shoe addiction?
• M misses the good old days when Skunk used to dance like the guys in this Duffy video.
• M has been over-doing it and will now sit still and have a cuppa and listen to John Coltrane.
• M is having a Saturday morning wake-up booty shake to The BPA featuring Dizzee Rascal & David Byrne – ‘Toe Jam (Stanton Warriors Remix)’. Woohooo!!!
• M's lunchtime guests have just waddled off into a dark, rainy night, leaving half their possessions (cell phones, jewelry...) behind. Food coma in progress.
• M is celebrating 20 years of two-getherness with Skunk today.
• M is getting a bit nervous about cooking for a real-life chef on Sunday
• M is still half asleep and is making Belgian waffles for breakfast.
• M has just made a killer curry, saffron rice and a pile of triple chocolate chip cookies and hopes everyone's hungry.
• M is still buzzzzing from last night's unforgettable performance by the Dave Holland Quintet, and is now looking forward to Seun Kuti & Fela's Egypt 80 tonight.
• M is lost in the magic of Juan Luna's Revolver by Luisa A. Igloria.
• M is ready for change and prays that Obama wins!
• M's still thrilled about Tuesday and glad to see that woman (Palin) back in Alaska where she can think paranoid thoughts about socialists.
• M would love to see a rescue pit bull as the new First Puppy at the White House. They could call it Sarah! Arf!!!
• M is vampire-proof. (garlic-related, natch)
• M is off to a monastery in the Flemish countryside to study more Jin Shin Jyutsu.
• M is still tingling from the pleasure of discovering Bob Brozman's music last night.
• M is ignoring the messy house and making fish curry with Persian steamed crusty rice pilaf for Jaki tonight.
• M is grateful she's not rich - no sleepless nights obsessing about the state of the economy.
• M has just woken up to heavy snow. Beautiful. Now I gotta drive in this shit.
• M is having even more fun now the snow has melted and turned to black ice on the roads. Oh, the joys of winter!
• M is dreaming of siopao. Does anyone out there have a siopao recipe they can share with me please?
• M's head is still spinning from Cirque du Soleil's Quidam. Amaaaayzing!
• M is tired after baking 9 Christmas cakes.
• M is thoroughly flummoxed!
• M & Skunk are taking the kids to an all night dubstep/triphop/drum'n'bass/hiphop/crunk/ragga/electro-funk/techno meltdown at the AB on Saturday. Must be mad.
• M thinks Christmas can be one great big pain in the arse. There. I've finally said it.
• M is having a Christmas bypass.
• M is wearing a silly red hat (thanks, Legs) that makes her look like a demented cupcake. (on Christmas morning)
• M has a date with some dead bodies.
• M's just been to Gunther von Hagen's Bodyworlds exhibition and is both awed and humbled by the majesty of the human body.
• M is getting ready to end the year dancing and wishes everyone a Happy New NEW.
• M is paying a heavy price for last night's excesses and is trying to ignore the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed were-gerbil she lives with. (first real hangover in 15 years)
• M has proof that older does not always mean wiser.
• M hopes that the global economic downturn will motivate more people to go back to the garden.
• M is laughing at Mia doing zoomies in the snow. It's minus 12 Celsius and flipping c-c-cold outside.
• M is grateful for the warmth of Aran sweaters, insulated boots and ALL her body fat.
• M wishes L and B a big, phat, insanely joyful Filipino wedding and wishes she could be there too.
• M is DELIGHTED that a Filipina chef will be doing the cooking for the Obamas. Next step: plant an organic garden to supply the White House kitchen!
• M thinks it's FANTASTIC that the next US president is black and has Hussein as his middle name. And if some FB friends don't like my opinions, well, tough.
• M is glad that Obama can say "nuclear" correctly, and won't be mangling the English language like his predecessor or that Alaskan moose murderer. Also, he's hot!
• M has the house to herself and is listening to Marvin Gaye while eating dark Belgian chocolate with Malabar cardamom. Bliss.
• M is grateful to Barack Obama for making smart the new cool.
• M is bowing her head in prayer, watching Barach Obama claim his place in history. (posted the exact moment he was being sworn-in, 21 January 2009. Can't cry and spell at the same time.)
• M is feeling very wobbly after seeing a dream come true and thinks some champagne might steady her. BARACK the WORLD!!!!!! (And good riddance, Dubya!)
• M wants to know if teenagers have a sell-by date. Because her patience is nearing its expiry date.
• M has surrendered to dark chocolate and a bag of Cheetos. Too many late nights and frozen brain cells can result in bizarre food pairings.
• M has orange fingers and hiccups.
• M is lovin' her handles. (that would be love handles)
• M has evil designs on a friend's neighbour's Aston Martin.
• M has just come down to breakfast to find six bottles of red wine from her love. (on Valentine's Day, because he knows cut flowers make me sad)
• M curses Mondays. And bugger the dirty laundry too.
• M is listening to the birds trilling the earth awake.
• M is going to make dark chocolate brownies marbled with dulce de leche, just to avoid having to wash her car. (photo doesn't show how filthy my car really was)
  

• M is keeping it locked to breakbeats on Annie Nightingale on the Beeb. Oh lordy, my chi is UP!
• M is staring at hillocks of dirty laundry. The thilly theathon ith over. For now.
• M wouldn't mind roughing it in a hot smelly tent in Darfur if George Clooney would be my roommate. Seriously.
• M is now vacuuming books, for crying out loud.
• M is convinced that only a 10 year old boy would think that Chaume cheese and Skippy Super Chunk Peanut Butter on the same piece of toast is a good idea.
• M is up at sparrow's fart to take Mr. Chaume&PeanutButter to swim training.
• M is tending to sulking orchid plants and wondering what on earth made me think keeping orchids would be a good way to learn patience?
• M wishes all her Brent schoolmates a great Centennial reunion. Will you guys please let rip, you're too damn old to still behave yourselves.
• M is getting ready to groove to John Legend in Brussels tonight.
• M is fed up with the indiscriminate use of the word "like."
• M wonders why God created teenagers and early mornings. And He expects me to combine the two? In a sane and loving way? Hello!
• M wasn't sure a hiphop concert was what I needed but dancing to Q-Tip with a full live band sure chased my big blue funk away. (the day after our cat Trouble died)
• M delights in the abundance and creativity of the number 13.
• My kids are being bolshy, I have workmen underfoot, and the dog wants to supervise me in the kitchen. Get me outta here!
• M is looking for that Rumi poem where he says there is no room in the small heart for a separate "I" - can anyone help?
• M just spent 10 minutes trying to explain what a leprechaun is to a deaf Walloon farmer. Now we're BOTH confused. I need a Guinness, now! (on St. Patrick's day)
• M is giving up Worry for Lent. Chocolate would have been easier.
• M loves the way her kids say, "Oooh, can WE bake this chocolate caramel tart," when what they really mean is can I do it so THEY can inhale it in 15 minutes flat.
• M salutes friend & hero Roger Doiron for his work in persuading the Obamas to plant an organic vegetable garden on the White House lawn. It's finally happening!!!

Gratitude Walks.

Facebook reconnected me with an old school friend last year. We didn't hang out much when we were at university. She was busy raising a young family, writing poetry and getting cum laude grades. I was busy raising hell, mostly. I always admired her but felt we lived in different worlds and I was too shy to strike up a conversation with her for fear of sounding stupid. Luisa is now a mother of 4, an associate professor of creative writing and other wondrous subjects at an American university, and continues to write the astonishingly beautiful poetry that is winning her awards at about the same rate I'm collecting love handles and extra chins. My old shyness with her is gone, and we've both discovered to our great delight that we walk large tracts of common ground together.

One day last November we were ruminating by e-mail on the things that draw us to wonder. I decided to tell her about my gratitude bowl. With a few minor alterations to reflect some changes in my life since then, this is what I wrote:

I have an old Igorot wooden bowl with a scalloped rim that holds a ragtag assortment of stones found on beach walks, some of Noodle's bright marbles, a few large, mysterious seeds from Cartagena, Colombia, two sanded glass eggs from a flea market, a small knob of polished turquoise, two tiny fossils from the Moroccan dessert, et cetera. I take everything out of the bowl, and try to put each item back one by one. For every stone/thing that makes it back into the bowl, I have to find something in my life today that I am grateful for. So for example: "Today I am grateful for my health, for the fact it's Saturday and I had a lie-in, for this beautiful Aran sweater that keeps me warm as we try to save on heating oil, for the damp stain on the ceiling because it means I have a roof over my head, for Mia snoring on her pillow, for Skunk and the laughter I share with him, for my dishwasher, for Luisa's poems and the places they take me to, for the back rub Skunk gave me last night that allowed me to sleep deeply, for the cold winter we had because it might mean fewer mosquitos this summer, for the still-warm pound cake in the kitchen that I am trying to ignore, for the kids squabbling upstairs because it means they're not arguing with me for a change, for the smell of this coffee, for the beautiful salt-glazed mug I'm drinking it in and the hands that made it, for the immense healing Jin Shin Jyutsu is bringing to all aspects of my being, for the John Martyn CD playing on the stereo..... et cetera et cetera."

I love doing this because it reminds me how blessed I am and how rich my life actually is. It's so easy to focus on the negative and on what I lack, but it takes real mindfullness to acknowledge what's good. Some years ago, my life was pretty miserable - or so I thought - and I spent all my time feeling sorry for myself. A wise friend, sick of listening to me moan, suggested I find a way to practice gratitude daily. I devised this little game. I began with 10 stones. It took forever for me to find 10 things I was grateful for. But I eventually managed it, so she told me to increase it to 20. I groaned and told her she was nuts. I eventually found 20 things to be grateful for, so she said why not 30? And so on. I think my bowl has well over 50 things in it now. It's literally overflowing, and so is my heart. Legs and Noodle, who are now wise to what this bowl is about, keep adding things to it - a fallen chestnut, a chipped chevron bead, an old Danish coin with a hole in the middle.

Whenever I'm having a crap day, or even an okay one, I take my bowl and practice this simple spiritual exercise. In 10 minutes or less, abundance has banished gloom. Gratitude walks again.


The large round stone at the bottom with the jaggedy lop-sided smile is my Skunk stone.