Just when you thought this whole Michael Jackson madness couldn't get any weirder...

ACTOR Macaulay Culkin is the mystery dad of Michael Jackson's son Blanket, it was claimed last night.

W.T.F?

Can we get off this macabre Merry-Go-Round now, please? I think I'm going to hurl.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year!

which can mean only one thing...

It's the first day of school.

Okay, so Geo and I weren't blessed with children of our own, but September still reminds me of the start of a new school term. I can tell you I still get a charge from this time of year. There's a palatable shift in energy. A clear change from the carefree shuffle of summer to the audible buzz of a time-to-get-off-your-ass-and-get-back-to-work attitude. Facilitating this change is the noticeably cooler nights, earlier sunsets and reduced production of mint for my beloved Mojitos.

What?! Daaaaaaaammit!

But most of all this time of year reminds me of my Mom (Big Mar), her best friend Pat and the greatest First-Day-of-School tradition EVER.

When we (and by "we" I mean the five of us kids) would come home from our first day of school, Big Mar would always be on the couch napping...sometimes with a cool cloth on her head. Kinda unusual because she normally would be in the kitchen preparing some kick-ass, mouth-watering, so-delicious-your-taste-buds-would-dance dinner causing you to salivate all over the new shirt you just HAD TO HAVE so you could be as cool as Jennifer who was oh-so pretty and always had the hippest threads which she wore every day for the entire first week making you feel square and insignificant even though you tried really REALLY hard to find the signature shirt of the season and now it has this big nasty purplish pool of a stain because you just HAD to eat a grape flavored freeze pop on the way home making your spit all pinky-purple, didn't you, Asswipe and now the frock is ruined and you'll be ridiculed for being relegated to last year's fashions and...

Wait...what was I talking about?

Oh yeah. So my Mom who's usually in the kitchen cooking or baking is sleeping on the couch. Weird. It wasn't until we were adults she fessed up that once she and Pat watched the last of their broods walk up the hill and out of sight, they'd bust open the highballs (that 60s constant cocktail) and celebrate their sweet release from the long, cruel summer of offspring overload. I should note here that my Mom, like many women of that era, was a stay-at-home Mom which meant dealing 24/7--by herself--with all the crap we kids could dish out from June 6th until D-Day in September.

So, yeah. Turns out Big Mar was sleeping off a bender when we got home.

Seriously. Don't you just love that? If we had kids I'd be sooo down with that ritual.

I'm happy to say that ceremony has been adopted by many a mother with whom I have shared the tale. They call it "Mimosa Monday".

To all the mothers reading this...feel free to follow in this time-honored tradition. And please, pass it on to any woman struggling for a reason not to murder her progeny by summer's end.

They're gone, BABY! Cheers!

Friday Photo #30
Location Location Location

True in real estate... and Rhett Miller signatures. :D

The End Of An Era...

I was sincerely saddened this morning by the news of Ted Kennedy's death.

He was many things to many people. A crusader for civil rights. The champion of the underdog. The last true liberal in the Senate. The voice of the disenfranchised. And yes, to some a criminal.

First and foremost, he was human.

He drank too much. He made mistakes. He made a HUGE mistake way back when in the marshy waters of Chappaquiddick. Do I think he used his name and family connections to get away with manslaughter. Sure. Few wealthy and influential people don't. But I also believe he spent the rest of his life trying to atone for that sin so long ago, committed by a man of a certain age who should have known better than to run.

He's the only one of the dashing Kennedy boys who was spared an assassin's bullet and got to sport a thick shock of grey hair into his 70s. Perhaps that was karma's gift to him--affording him the opportunity to make right of his wrong.

And boy, did he.

Many of the great social programs which help the middle class as well as those less fortunate exist in large part because of the Liberal Lion. He understood what makes this country so special. The bounty of the American Dream is for everyone. We are all in this together, and together we can accomplish great things.

He was the only one left of our fabled Royal Family. The beastly burden of legacy was involuntarily thrust upon his shoulders. He was the baby, for God's sake. His brothers' short lives left gi-normous shoes he was expected to fill. No wonder he drank. Seriously! Good Lord! With that kind of pressure, who wouldn't need to crawl into the bottom of a bottle for comfort. He eventually got his shit together, got his head straight and became one of the most productive Senators in Congress.

I think his brothers would have been proud.

Once upon a time, there was an idyllic mind-set called Camelot wherein hope lived. Where we all believed the world was good and nothing was impossible. Teddy was the last and the loudest member. Even though the original cast of this fictitious Eden have all passed away, their ideals live on. For that we all owe him a tip of the hat and an enormous thank you.

Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your compassion. Thank you for your resolve. You have served your country and its people very well indeed.

Now go on. Have fun with your brothers.

Knock, Knock... Cable Guy
bow-chicka-chicka-bow-bow!!

Okay, so as you may have guessed from the title, I had a visit from the cable guy this week. After we had a cigarette and he put his pants back on, he hooked up our digital cable and installed our new... DVR!!!!

That's right. Fred and Wilma Flintstone have leapt into the 90s and are the proud owners of a hard drive, TiVoesque, program recording thingie. And we are digging it, BABY!!

No more missing critical content of a live program when the phone rings, or the kitchen buzzer goes off or someone's wife bursts into the house after an evening out with the girls, hopped up on chips, chocolate and cocktails gushing with the "greatest dish, evah!! OMG!" that really can't wait until the commericial break because it's waaaaay too hilarious and seriously she has to get this out before she forgets it because, you know, she's wacky on the firewater and thiiiiis close to passing out and besides, she reallyreallyREALLY HATES to be shushed mid-manic mode even though she knows it totally bugs her husband to have his viewing pleasure disturbed especially at the pivotal "Aha!" moment of the show, but, come on, it IS all about her and... Wait, what was my point?

Oh yeah. You can pause the LIVE stream and resume watching WHERE YOU LEFT OFF because it is always recording!! Awe-freaking-some!!

Wooo Hoooo!!

Mountains of VHS tapes, you are soooo.... last Wednesday!

We still can't get our beloved Picture-in-Picture (or PIP) to work yet (I wrote of this lamentable fact here.) But, Woooo Hoooo!! just the same.

Now excuse me whilst I go online and sign up for classes at YabbaDabbaDo U to get my Engineering degree to run this thing.

When The Reaper Comes A Little Too Close For Comfort

My first real long-term boyfriend died suddenly of a heart attack this week.

That is one of the eeriest statements I have said in my life to date. Geo spotted his obituary in the paper. I don't read the obits, myself. Of course I don't read much of the paper in general anyway. But the obits, rarely if ever.

There was a lovely write up. Jim was married with two children. He had apparently got out of the journalism business (smart man) to coach hockey and other sports at a local affluent school district. According to the article, he had made quite a positive impact on the lives of the children with whom he dealt. A life well spent.

He was only 50 years old.

Fifty. That's all. And now his wife's a widow. Heart attacks aren't supposed to happen until your, like, in your seventies. And not to someone who's in good shape. Life is so fragile...

I hadn't seen or heard from him since he graduated, but it's sad and unsettling just the same. His death is like a big, fat punch of mortality to the gut. A little too close for comfort.

"It's A Mistake..."

or spending a sleepless night with Colin Hay

Okay, so the first thought that ran through my mind this morning at 3AM was, "NOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!?!"

The second thought was, "Coffee! Coffee! I need the caffeine-fueled, life-giving, chemically-inducing rejuvenation properties of coffee! I wonder how badly disfigured my face will be if I just shove my mouth under the coffee maker while the black gold is brewing?"

The alarm clock is a cruel, cruel mistress when one's only been asleep for three hours and has a full day ahead.

You see last night Geo and I spent a lovely evening out...on a school night...specifically, MY school night. Okay, it was Geo's school night, too, but he didn't have to get up at 3AM.

Did..Did I tell you I had to get up at 3AM? I think I did tell you I had to rise at 3AM. No? Well, I had to get up at 3AM!! Yeah. Can you believe it? I know. I'm such a hero. My workplace is planning to erect a statue in honor of my bravery and self-sacrifice.

Anywho...Colin Hay, former lead singer of the 80s Australian band Men At Work was performing at a local, quasi-dive bar touring in support of his latest CD "American Sunshine" which is excellent, by the way. (You can sample it here.) The show started at 8:00PM. Not a good sign, especially when yours truly had to get up for work at 3AM.

Did I tell you I had to... oh, yeah. I did.

This club is standing room only except for a few couches on the outer perimeter of the balcony. So Geo and I placed ourselves in what we perceived as the optimum viewing spot against the railing upstairs, overlooking the left side of the stage.

The opening local act, Aviation Blondes, was good and brief. Still by the time the roadies scrambled to clear their gear from the stage, it was a little after 9PM when Colin and company (including a long, raven-haired chippie wearing tight-fitting clothing) descended the stairway of the staging area to the blare of Scottish bagpipes. Here I always thought he was Australian. Turns out he's a Scott who emigrated to the great southern continent.

They opened with the atmospheric "Down by the Sea" to which the chippie starts to channel her inner Solid Gold/pole dancer. Seriously. She had a lot of space on stage and she was working it--floating her arms up and down, spinning with abandon, kicking and leaping, at times singing bits of back-up. She was actually distracting. She was also the absolute opposite of Mr. Hay's stone-still stature. She was all movement and dramatic interpretive dance. He was completely still except for the bob back of his head when he hit the high notes.

After about three songs:

Geo: She had to have been a stripper.

Me: Oh yeah! She totally needs a pole. I hope he's at least schtuping her.

Colin Hay: I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Cecilia.

Us: Aaaaaaah...

Anyway, she grew on us throughout the evening. Her abandon and complete lack of self consciousness was engaging and made us chuckle in a good way. She helped get the crowd stirred up. Although one dude on the floor kinda turned into creepy, stalker guy by constantly shoving his camera in her face, recording her all evening.

At first Colin was telling stories in between songs, tuning his guitar, chatting, tuning his guitar, and tuning his guitar. We could see the lengthy set list of about 25 songs from our vantage point. With all the talking (which we love) and tuning (not so much with the love)--Ohmigod! I thought we were going to be there until 1AM. But the time flew by.

He was So. Good. His voice all crystal clear and perfect pitch as he effortlessly belted out one song after another. He played about five from his new work--all very good--before launching into the tried and true crowd pleasers. He played every song I wanted to hear over the 2 1/2 hour, no encore set:

Beautiful World

Waiting for my Real Life to Begin

I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

Who Can It Be

It's a Mistake

Overkill (my absolute fave, complete with a kick-ass, crowd sing-a-long)

The start of the first three songs was just him and his guitar, before the band joined in. It was beautiful, and made us long for him to come back again as a solo act. Of course, his Peruvian chip of a wife might have trouble doing those high kicks to quiet renditions. :D

All in all an evening well spent and well worth the lack of zzzzz's this morning...despite my bitching.

Did I tell you had to get up at 3AM?

Beautiful World--Hey, check it out! That's his wife, Cecilia on the right.

My all-time fave, OverKill. Live in Belfast. A story up front and you can hear everyone singing along.

My New Favorite Bloggess

or clown sex is terrifying, but funny in the proper hands (that's what she said)

Okay, so one of the fun things about Twitter is the sharing of links. Thanks to Kevin Pollak--yes, comedian/actor/William Shatner impersonator extraordinaire Kevin Pollak-- I am now hooked on one of the funniest bloggers next to Hey Lola!

May I introduce to you, Jenny thebloggess.com. She's middle aged, married, with a child, a Pug named Barnaby Jones Pickles and she is hysterical!! Prepare to be amused.

My maiden voyage down Bloggess Boulevard involves her righteous indignation at being blocked on Twitter by William Shatner. I kid you not. Captain Kirk put the breaks on our gal, spurring an actual interweb feud.

Oh, it's on.

Apparently she over tweeted him after an evening consuming a tad too much vino. She innocently stated something about inviting him to come to dinner in an attempt to save her marriage which then deteriorated to her talking about supplying him with a hooker.

See, further evidence real friends shouldn't let friends Tweet drunk. Otherwise said friend might suffer the Wrath of a Khanless Kirk. The Prince of Priceline apparently did not take kindly to the persistence of the Bloggess, no matter how well meaninged her intentions. Defense from the Twitterverse was fast and furious. Anywho, you can read the hilarious exchange here.

Her follow up posting questions Ole Bill's need to mock her by posting this tweet:

The gloves are definitely off now. Ha Ha Ha!! You can read her response here. P.S.: I still love Bill, feud or no.

Jenny is a busy gal. Not only does she blog about all-things-William Shatner, she writes for the Houston Chronicle on Good Mom/Bad Mom, shares her unique perspective on an advice blog (not to be heeded) and pens a "satirical sex column" whose tag line is Sex is funny. Except clown sex. That's fucking terrifying.

Her first post... "Clown porn is not as funny as you think it's going to be".

Anyone who knows me, knows how much I hate clowns, but after reading this (and catching my breath from riotus laughter) I was hooked. Seriously. If I had a mouthful of liquid, it would totally have sprayed out of my mouth...she's that funny. Do yourself a favor and read this... then just keep reading.

Other notable essays:

"An open letter to husbands and boyfriends about the guys we (surprisingly) DO and DON'T want to have sex with"

"Warning: Some penises are actually a combination of penises and testicles. I call them 'Penisticles'"

"The Bloggess: Porn for the Blind"

So, thank you Kevin Pollak for the heads up. You're.... my.. hero.

Dear John: Long Time No See

or revisiting an old, dear internet friend

Okay, so lately I've been wasting ...er, spending an inordinate amount of time discovering a number of interesting websites & blogs via different sites. And by "different sites", I mean Twitter: the Mother-of-all-time-suck that actually enables one to stumble on cool stuff and interesting articles or groovy videos or best-of lists or other random crap you didn't know you were interested in until someone tweeted it and you feel compelled to click on it because, you know, that person actually took the time to cut and paste the address and it would be rude if you didn't at least take a fleeting glimpse at it and.. Good God!?! how is it I have been sitting here at the computer for three hours in my PJs and bed-head hair when I was only going to take 15 minutes to check email?!?

Yeah. That Twitter.

Anywho, during my internet incarceration, I've neglected to keep up with one of my favorite YouTube bloggers, the one and only young adult author John Green. (His tomes are great reads, especially "An Abundance of Katherines". Go buy it.) John is a quick-witted, literate and extremely charming self-proclaimed Nerd. He also has a tendancy to run his hands through his hair when he's upset or nervous, causing a puff factor which has at times reached as high as four inches.

He and his brother, Hank started a video project over two years ago on YouTube in an attempt to get to know one another better. They have successfully created a devout virtual Nerdfighteria empire complete with over 100,000 followers. They now have a music label, sell tons of merchandise and inspire thousands to volunteer and do good works to help reduce world suck. They're really sweet, noble guys. I wrote about them here. Their meteoric internet rise is pretty incredible. Almost as incredible as his crazy-ass coiffure.

Seriously. Look at that thing. It's HUGE! It's so spacious I think there's a family of migrant workers homesteading in the clearing of that Green Forest.

Today I got a chance to catch up on his videos from the last few months. I'd forgotten how much I missed his humor and unique take on the world. Watching his antics again is like eating a big bowl of comfort food on a cold, winter night or slipping into my favorite pair of jeans.

Here are some of the highlights from today's viewing. The brothers Green created an online game named "Truth or Fail". Here's John's entertaining contribution.



One of their very early videos discussed the endless humor of placing the phrase "in your pants" after book titles like "The Unbearable Lightness of Being ...In Your Pants". This also works well when paired with fortune cookie fortunes. As Seinfeld's Banya would say, "That gold, Jerry! Gold!"



He regularly answers viewers questions onTuesdays...known as "Question Tuesdays"



And, of course, he eats weird, disgusting food stuffs like fat sandwiches as punishment for our enjoyment...off of Fiesta Ware, no less.



Yeah. I've missed you John Green.

Friday Photo #29

Okay, so a couple of weeks ago Geo and I were heading into town to attend a swanky soiree in the Cultural District. We drove out of the Ft. Pitt Tunnels (the most awesome city approach EVAH!) and .. Viola! are treated to a full-on rainbow arcing above our city.

Sadly, no lucky leprechaun was guarding his gold nuggets at the end of said rainbow, but there was a colorful crazy donning a foil hat, size 13 red pumps and feather boa diddling on his penny whistle... He was also playing a recorder.

Hey-OOOO!! Badda Bing! I'm back, BABY!!

Sometimes I Make Life So Hard...

Okay, so I was cleaning up one of the many piles of crap in our bedroom (I know. Crazy isn't it. Me...cleaning!) when I came across a large stack of greeting cards I'd received for various numbered birthdays and anniversaries.

I have friends with well-honed senses of humor. Honestly they would not be my friends otherwise. It was great fun sifting through this plethora of paper. It's funny what people associate you with. Drinking in abundance, be it wine or margaritas, is a big theme amongst numerous birthday greetings, as well as my love for acquiring footwear. Apparently when my birthday roles around each year, my family and friends share this philosophy: Marie + birthday = booze and shoes. Oh and let's not forget the delightful double entendre, 12-year-old boy humor.

Yes. My friends know me very well.

My bud, Jude's cards always make me laugh and cry. She writes such straight-from-the-heart, sincere sentiments. Sweet and genuine "I love you, Man" moments. Beets and Suzette fluctuate between full-on absurdity and heartfelt, with a side of sarcasm.

Howard however wins the trophy for most outrageous, off-the-wall greetings. Here's a sampling:

"I looked on the Internet to find a present for you. But all I found was porn for me."

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to North Carolina. Please return your hair to its full, upright position."

"They loved their husbands, and everyone elses, too. For they were whores."

Ha Ha Ha!!

I've been able to weed out a lot of these missives, but there remains a sizable stack with which I cannot part, the majority being various greetings from the love of my life, Geo.

They are beautiful cards filled with declarations of love and devotion. Expressions of how blessed he feels to have found me. How happy and full his life is now we're together. Of walking down life's path, hand-in-hand, growing old and grey together (Okay. I'll still be a redhead).

I teared up the day I received these lovely notes. This morning they made me well up again, but for a different reason. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Geo and I have been having a difficult time of late. The conflict stems from me. I have not been holding up my end of the relationship bargain very well lately. And by lately I mean the last six months or so. I've developed interests which have taken away precious time from our already limited day-to-day interactions. And he's angry about it. Rightly so since the time is being wasted in completely stupid and trivial ways.

For someone who yaps a lot...a LOT, I don't know how to do this communication thing very well. I don't know how to really, truly verbalize what's in my heart. I don't know what to say to convince him he is the center of my world. I am woefully inadequate when it comes to speaking about what really matters. And my actions of late are pretty unconvincing.

I don't want to fuck up my marriage. Perhaps it's time I see a therapist. For real.

Finding Geo has been the biggest blessing in my life. I don't want to lose him. He asked me why I stay with him. It's pretty simple really. He's my heart, my soul, my true North. The one who makes me laugh. The one who good naturedly executes my hair-brained schemes. The one who gives me strength and confidence to face the world. The one whose hugs heal my soul. The one person on earth who is completely and brutally honest with me, yet somehow never loses faith in me. He is my constant. He makes me want to be a better person. I'd be lost without him.

*sniff*

I hope he can forgive me. The disappointment in his eyes crushes me. He deserves a better wife.

"Do Not Follow the Ideas of Others, but learn to--Oh, I'm sorry. I need to take this call.."

or peace and harmony in the modern world

Okay, so today on our little local dog and pony morning show, we had an honest-to-goodness Buddhist Monk as a guest. He was really, REALLY cool. Calming voice, welcoming demeanor, embracing all things spiritual and corporeal without prejudice or judgement.

He came to the station dressed in his beautifully flowing orange monk's robe, signature shining bald Buddhist head and... his iPhone.

Wha?!?

Yeah. He had an iPhone. A Buddhist Monk... purveyor of peace and harmony... teacher of compassion and wisdom... gentle guide to being one with the universe...

Has an iPHONE!!?!

I don't know if it is Karma sanctioned, but I think it had an app for navigating through his past lives. Can't you just hear the commercial now:

"Say you need the quickest route to enlightenment. Yeah. We got an App for that."

"Whaddup, Dog?"

Quack Quack Quack!!

or a bonding afternoon on the three rivers

Okay, so one of the perks of working for a television station is sometimes you get free stuff. Guests will bring in samples of their wares to share, chefs cook up a plethora of delightfully tasty fare and sometimes we get a free ride.

Literally.

Today was one such day. As a thank you for being a part of our little dog and pony morning show, the Just Ducky tour boat picked us up outside our door and compted us a spin around ye olde Burgh on land and sea... okay not the sea per se, but the river. Sheesh! Don't be such a douche.

Ducky boats are throw backs to World War II. They are combo aquatic/land vehicles built by the women left behind during the 40s. Their purpose was to transport supplies, ammo and in some cases actual aircraft to the front lines--slowly... very slowly... like we're talking only 5 mph max. Being as they were expected to be riddled with bullets in war zones, the life expectancy of each brave little vessel was only 90 days.

Some 65+ years later, all spit-shined and brightly painted, they proudly march on as a tourist attraction in numerous cities. I took a similar tour in Boston a couple of years ago. They're so cute.

Wackiness is the order of the day on a Ducky tour. Both the official tour guide (Kevin) and driver/sailor (um...let's call him Roberto. sure.) tell the tale of the city's history, sprinkled with the most God-awful puns and corn ball jokes you could imagine. Everyone is required to "Quack Quack Quack" as loudly and obnoxiously as possible to strangers on the streets and shorelines.

It sounds really gay, but it is surprisingly F.U.N.!

The grooviest thing is launching in the water. Dude! You actually DRIVE INTO the water. It's the coolest thing. Seriously. This ancient water craft defies scientific logic and actually stays afloat.

Usually there are loads of kids on board and the Captain brings them all up front to steer the boat once we hit water. Being a boat load of so-called adults, Kevin had to beg for volunteers to steer. NOT!! You would not believe how quickly the hands went up. We were all "Ooo Ooo. Pick me!! Pick me!"

Alas only five would be chosen, my bud Beets being one. She was last in line and pretended to be from Ireland. It was a hoot!

It was a gorgeous, albeit bloody humid day (the first of this summer), but their was a cool breeze wafting. A great opportunity to see our fair city from water level.

The only nasty thing we encountered was the river itself.

Pretty, isn't it? There is some nasty, nasty crap floating in that water. We used to encounter all sorts of questionable things when I rowed in the summers. Fortunately, none were bodies or parts.

Okay that shirtless Dude doesn't count. Or does he? Yow!

All in all it was a great way to bond with colleagues from the dreaded "shift of the damned" and a perfect opportunity to say goodbye to one of the best group of interns we've had in a long time.

A big shout out of thanks to the Just Ducky tour folks for their generosity. The entertainment was all it's "quacked" up to be.

*groan*

Sorry. You know I had to go there.

The Real Culprit Behind The Twitter Shutdown...

The secret Twitters of Doctor Doom!

BAH! Doom's iPod stuck on "I'm Walking On Sunshine . . ." AGAIN!

about 2 days ago from Twitterriffic

That song's enough to make anyone want to blow up something. Thanks to my pal, Gary for fleshing this out.

Friday Videos #1

Okay, so my work bud, Jimmy McParkway shared these two classic, best-of-the-worst of local television spots with me today. They are hilarious. In light of the difficult events of the week, I do believe we all need a good, long hardy-har-har.

The first is a breakfast song which aired on the WTVA Tupelo Missississississississississippi mornin' show "The Kay Bain Show" way back in May of 2004. It is sung by Minister Cleo Clariet and his fiance Katherine Lane, who incidentally looks more than a bit stoned. It goes on for-E-V-E-R!!

Coincidentally, the right Reverend passed away from congenital heart disease six months later. I know! Ironic, right? No mo' bacon, indeed.

This next one is by far my favorite. A snazzy furniture huckster from I'm guessing, Montgomery doing his thang, getting his groove on, pushing the fine pleather sofas.

LOL!!!! "To the left. To the right. Let's make this..a dance. Flea Market. Montgomery. It's just like...It's just like.. a Mini...Mall." Oh YEAH!! We talking 'bout Flea Market!

OhmiGod! I love this. Me and Jimmy were doing the Flea Market Mambo all morning. This ditty is waaay too catchy. If this doesn't put a smile on your miserable mug, then you are a Cyborg.

It's in your brain now. You know you'll be singing this all day.

You're welcome.

Twitter Down for Hours!! Millions Forced to Communicate Face-to-Face!

Mayhem ensues as people are forced to actually *gasp* phone one another for social contact. Experts reeling. Could this happen to you? What you can do to prevent this atrocity from befalling you and your loved ones. We'll have tips at 11.

Yeah. Apparently people were really freaked out about this Twitter black out thing. Me...I was outside, in the company of an actual person, doing real-life things. By 5pm the "crisis" was averted and Tweeters were back on their collective electronic perches sharing details of their latest fruit smoothie.

And there was joy again in Tweetville.

In Which I Will Never Understand the Darkness in Some Men's Hearts...

Last night a 48 year old man donned his workout clothes, packed his gym bag with four firearms, walked into a dance class at his gym and shot 13 women, killing three of them.

My first thought when these horrendous events occur is, yet another boyfriend unable to accept the relationship is over and unwilling to allow another to be with "his girl". The old if-I-can't-have-her-no-one-will twisted logic which poisons the minds of too many disturbed men.

It is unclear if he had a relationship with any of the women present in that class last evening. He left a note in his bag, the contents of which have not been released by the police. He did, however, pen a manifesto online filled with red flags. These hate-filled ramblings indicate he planned to carrying out these cold-blooded killings in January, but "chickened out" at the last second. His words.

Of course no one read his diary prior to this horrifying incident. He was no one of note or notoriety. Why would anyone Google him and stumble upon his "diary". In fact, I would be surprised if anyone other than himself ever read it.

Until now.

Now everyone is reading it. Trying to figure out what would lead this relatively attractive man with a stable job and a modest home to take the lives of innocent women before turning the gun on himself. Ironic, isn't it.

Life is so light. It's like an outline.

All one can hope for is to surround oneself with those who would fill in that outline, and avoid those who would erase it. So hold your dear ones close. Tell them how much you love them. You never know if you'll have a tomorrow.

As long as I live, I will never understand the darkness in some men's hearts.