Dear Mr. Jobs: Thank You For Putting The World In The Palm Of My Hand.

Wednesday night we got word of Steve Jobs' passing while cruising through Twitter from an app on our iPad.

Reading the news of the death of the founder of the world's most innovative, forward thinking computer company on a device of his making... Doesn't get any more poetic than that.

The website posted the following tribute to their 56 year old fallen leader with sleek black on white text in quintessential Apple style.

As I read Apple's official statement aloud to Geo, I started to cry. The depth of my sadness for the passing of this amazing man I have never met was completely unexpected. The sorrow befitting a cherished family member rather than a complete stranger. And yet, there it was and still is. 

His path was so bold, his vision so enlightened, his impact on our collective lives so enormous, that his death feels like the end of a Renaissance period. 

The simplicity behind his user-friendly operating system of clicks instead of codes revolutionized the computer industry, allowing even boobs like me to hop on board. 

In 1989 we borrowed $10,000 from my 401K to buy Geo's first computer, a Macintosh 2CX 25mhz, 8 megabytes of RAM, 80 megabyte hard drive with a 13" monitor. The second fastest machine of the time. 

He was working at a small graphic design studio and was the first one to embrace this new technology. Geo knew this machine was a major game changer. What took days to create final art for printing, now took hours. No more waiting for type to be set across town. No more sending photos out to retouchers. No more scrambling for band aids for sliced fingers from razor-sharp Xacto blades while cutting and pasting copy. It was all right there in front of him, on his desk with a few simple clicks of a mouse. Amazing!

Geo never looked back. 

We're now on our seventh Mac and are the proud owners of four iPods, one iPad 2, one iPhone and Apple TV. 

Steve Jobs was a once-in-a-lifetime genius who had an uncanny ability to imagine what we, the consumer, wanted long before we did. He changed the world. He gave us the future. 

But perhaps the biggest gift he gave us wasn't wrapped in a clean, white box embossed with a silver Apple logo. No, it was his inspiration to find what you love, act without fear, follow your heart, listen to your gut and always believe that anything is possible when you think different(ly). 

His flame burned white hot, but like all brilliant lights, it burned out too quickly. We'll never know what the next big thing from his big brain would have been, but what we do know is this crazy blue planet is a much better place having had him in it.

So here's to you, Steve Jobs. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Because of you we've been able to effortlessly create t-shirts, cards, calendars, books and blogs. Because of you I can search the web to settle a bet, have a face-to-face conversation with my beloved niece in Japan for free, discover the name of that incredibly catchy song playing in the Gap, stay connected to my friends through Twitter or FaceBook, find a place to eat no matter what city I'm in, and never EVER be physically lost again all thanks to your marvelous little machine called an iPhone.

Thank you for putting the world in the palm of my hand.




Related articles:
Steve Jobs on letting go
"My 20 minute phone call with Steve Jobs"
excerpts from his commencement speech

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation
or recounting the last good week of the season

(Part one of three)

Okay, so every September Geo and I are lucky enough to spend one last week at the Jersey shore thanks to the enormous generosity of my big sis. Usually we take the week of Labor Day to invade her quiet little beach house, but this year we moved it back one week to accommodate bookend concerts by our two blue-eyed musical loves, Francis Dunnery and Rhett Miller.

"Here. These rolled out of your head." She says while handing a set of glazed-over eyeballs back to the imaginary reader.

Hey, not only did we get to see three great performances, we also missed the God-awful, shitty weather provided by Hurricanes Irene and Katya. So there.

Sometimes timing works out.

We spent the beginning of our vacation in Malvern, Pa having our charts read face-to-face with Francis. It was an enlightening, albeit freaky-ass 90 minutes. He deciphered our individual as well as our collective relationship charts, and boy was he spot on. Weird.

It kinda felt like what I perceive therapy to be, without all the subjective judgyness. There is no analysis, just fact. This is where the planets aligned at your birth, ergo this is how you are. Neither good nor bad--just fact.

It gave both of us fresh insight into how we deal with each other. Very interesting. We taped the session to replay and refresh our memories on how NOT TO TAKE THE SHIT HE SAYS TO ME PERSONALLY, and other such epiphanies. :)

But that's fodder for another blog post.

Anywho, we capped our astrological lesson off with a house concert in perhaps the biggest privately owned home I've ever been in. There were an enormous number of rooms, and yet only two people lived there. It was a beautiful old structure, but it had that creepy feel like you just knew the place was haunted. At one point, Kate (Francis wonderful booker) and I went upstairs to the bathroom. There were five bedroom doors on the floor. Nothing strange about that except for the one door had a slip lock on the OUTSIDE of the door.

What the ef?!?

What the Hell was in there that needed to be locked IN?!? A ghoul with a hump back, razor teeth and long, pointy yellowing talons who could lacerate you to shreds if left to its own devices? A serial killing nephew whose murderous urges are amplified during the current full moon? An eccentric uncle who insists on boring you to death with his mind-numbing travel tales complete with an endless Kodachrome slide show?!?

*Eeeeeeesh* That last one made my hair stand on end.

But I digress...

The concert was terrific. We had seen this particular show a number of times, but most of the guests had never been to a Francis house concert. It was delightful getting caught up in the newbies' enthusiasm as they got swept up in the energy of this charismatic Irishman manically pacing before them.

It's a lovely bunch of people in his inner circle. Kate, Larry, Tony (the merch man), Erica (Francis' better half), every single one is warm, caring, easy to be around. And they're all big huggers. I love that. There's something very comforting about hugging.

the lovely Kate and her hubby Larry

For some reason they like us. I don't know why, but we're thrilled they do. Maybe it's because we supply Francis with olive bruschetta. That shit's like crack to him. Seriously. He can't get enough of it. Or maybe it's because Geo smells so good. Mr. D's always threatening to grope him after a whiff of his cologne. Lovable goofus. Ha Ha!

Francis and Geo: pre-grope

Whatever the case, we're just happy to get our quarterly Francis fix. No matter what troubles are pervading our lives, we always leave feeling lighter and more buoyant than when we arrived.

You can't put a price on that.

In Which I Fought The Law, BABY!

Okay, so on my travels home from my brother's back in August, I was clocked going thousand miles over the speed limit through this tiny town south of Pittsburgh. Come on! I swear I was only driving a couple (hundred) miles above the limit. Seriously. I was only keeping up with traffic, Yo. Otherwise I would have caused an accident.

That's my story. I'm sticking with it.

(Boy, that's a lot of "Is" in that paragraph)

Anywho, I decided to fight it. This morning was D-Day.

Baby's first Traffic Court.

yaaaaaaaay...

So in an attempt to appear all penitent and shit in front of what I assumed to be a burly rube of a judge-wanna-be, I donned a nun's habit, set the GPS to East Effing Jabib and set sail into the murky waters of Deliveranceville. I gave myself ample time to make the 9am appointment so I could crawl at a snail's pace, because the last thing I needed was to get a speeding ticket on the way to FIGHT a speeding ticket, right?

How lame would that be.

Fifty minutes later, Grandma Moses pulled into a semi-strip mall nestled amongst a rundown neighborhood on a dead end street. Ooookay. Weird. I half expected to see roaming dingos emerge from beneath cars up on blocks, thirsting for my jugular.

A. I hadn't had coffee yet.

B. Clearly, I watch too many vampire-related programs.

Moving on...

I'm greeted by Barney Fife who, after genuflecting, guides me to a little room in the back. After hearing his confession (he confused me with a priest) he worked a plea to present to the honorable Judge Hatchet.

So the Judge bellows out to Barney to send in the first loser of the day. We walk into a room filled with thick, heavy chairs behind a large wooden library table (circa 1975) intended to make one feel insignificant before of the great and powerful Oz. In front of us was a raised judge's bench where the Man of the Morning was desperately trying to look busy shuffling papers and scribbling notes. You know, just like on the TV.

Judge Happypants didn't even look up from his Playboy, I mean, busy work when Barney read his recommendation of no points and a reduced fine.

Grumble Grumble Sigh Belch pfffft "Fine. Whatever. Get the hell out of my courtroom, Sister. I need to hit the head."

And that was that. Ten minutes, no points and money back! HOLLA!

I got back in my car, defiantly tossed my torn up ticket and wimple out the window and screamed "So long, Suckas!" laying tire in my wake as I pealed away.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Wait. What's that in my rearview mirror, a cherry top?

Aw, Sunova BEEEEEEEEEEEP!!

Big Mar's Birthday Fest 2011 (Part Two-Photos N@)

Okay, so the festivities started in earnest Friday. My sisters, niece, Big Mar and I headed to the local sweat shop, AKA nailery for party manicures from Vietnamese girls who pretty much hated the world. Okay, so maybe that was just my nail tech. You just know they're talking smack about you when they grab your man hands, roll their eyes and start yakking to each other in Vietnamese. It's not just me, right?

Anywho, from there we went back to the homestead to nosh on a huge brunch of breakfast casserole, cheesy potatoes, waffles with strawberries and an assortment of other non-figure-friendly sweet rolls.

dueling waffle irons 

part of the partay 

fruit bouquet to counter balance the crap

And we washed it all down with Mimosas.

Gotta have your daily requirement of Vitamin C. :)

We were joined by out-of-town relatives to begin the eating festival. Thirteen of us crammed around the table. Afterwards I gave our cousins from Georgia a quick tour of the city before heading back for... dinner! It is ALL about food at the abode.

We decided to each take a meal so our Mum wouldn't get pooped out feeding everybody. It worked out beautifully. My sister Toni did a tremendous job coordinating everything and keeping us all on track. She IS the party queen. She's so organized, it's revolting. I can't even figure out what time I need to get up in the morning and she's got charts and graphs and spread sheets for every facet of her life. Okay, I exaggerate, but she's amazing how she has everything mapped out. It's impressive. And sick.

And then, Saturday was the party!

The next two days were all about celebrating the wonderfulness of Big Mar. The fact that so many people traveled so many miles just to be with her on this momentous occasion speaks volumes as to how much she is genuinely loved and adored.

BEHOLD! A SHIT LOAD OF PHOTOS!!

Big Mar with the grand kids
her pride and joy

Our delightful niece, Jaimie (in the blue top with matching blue hair) pulled a prank on us all by wearing a blonde wig...the very one my Mom is wearing, because that's how one shows reverence for the aged. By stomping on her dignity by forcing her to wear a wig.

What say we dress up the old gal

"When I get off this chair, I swear I'm gonna
belt someone with my cane for this."

Mikey loves his G

Mike and Reg with the Grandma

I love her

so let's see how many faces can you cram in one frame.
at least a half dozen more. pffft.

the eldest does the toasting honors

Big Mar relieved her stripper photos weren't mentioned
I kid I kid

the rowdy Card Club ladeis

WIGMANIA!

The Fam

a shit load of fam

a shit load of cars at the family homestead

8 pounds of chicken + 3 huge desserts + one case of wine
= 25 happy campers

the "kids'" table

me hanging at the kids' table, pre-vin

kids' table, post-vin

is that a big enough piece of cake, or what?!

newcomer to the fold, Ben
with the dessert sampler

Then we did the coolest thing. My siser-in-law, Leslie brought a dozen Chinese Sky Lanterns that we launched in honor of Big Mar's big day.

Unbeknownst to us, our nephew brought firecrackers. We became the even louder family. Dogs barked, ticked-off neighbors came out, car alarms went off... It was the grooviest.

"Light and run, Mike!" - his father's sage advice






Each lantern's graceful ascent into the night sky seemed fitting tribute to a woman whose lightness of being, verve and elan have filled all those around her with immeasurable joy and abundant love.

So Happy 90th, Mum. Here's to a life well lived with elegance, grace and just the right amount of saltiness. You are and ever shall be cherished. May your spark never fade.

XOXOXO
M

Big Mar's Birthday Fest 2011 (Part One-words)
or celebrating 90 sparkling years on this blue planet

Okay, so this weekend the sibs and I threw a soiree to celebrate the life and times of the most wonderful woman we know, our Mum, Big Mar.

Friends and relatives drove from near (surrounding neighborhoods) and far (Maryland, New York, North Carolina, Georgia and Japan--okay, you can't DRIVE from Japan, but you know what I mean. Smart ass.) to help her say goodbye to her 80s. Several of them made the long journey to Pittsburgh only to turn around and drive back to their home state the same day.

Why? Because everyone LOVES my Mom. She has always been that special sort of person to whom everyone gravitates. Firm, but fair, yet never judgmental. She's an amazing listener who never betrays a confidence. She's kindhearted, warm and always welcoming. She is happy to stop what she's doing to sit down and visit with whomever knocks on her door. Like a big ole adorable puppy, she's always excited when people drop by. Her positive outlook is contagious. Her love of humankind is genuine.

She has the kind of face people feel immediately comfortable with sharing their life story. I can tell you from experience, many times we have sat my Mom down on a bench when she's needed a rest from shopping only to find her engaged in a lively conversation with a complete stranger upon our return.

There were five of us kids and even though we didn't have a lot of extra material things growing up (I always yearned for a real Barbie doll instead of that poser Dawn doll I received. Selfish beyatch), we had the security of abundant love, gentile guidance... and a well-placed hairy eyeball or two.

And the food... my GOD the food! She was and remains an AMAZING cook. In fact she still whips up her culinary magic for us every other Sunday. Dinner for five or twenty five, she's never flustered and gladly makes room for one more. We all used to bring home unexpected "strays" to the dinner table. She'd shrug her shoulder and say, "What's one more. We have enough food."

Big Mar never learned to drive so our house became the center cog for family gatherings. I have fond memories of carloads of kin folk, including our favorites from Miami, pulling into the driveway in their big-ass 1970s Buicks, off loading cases of beer, pop and the occasional bag of groceries. My Dad always freaked out that the house was too small for so many people, but my Mom was cool as the proverbial cucumber. No one seemed to mind what state the house was in as long as they had a tall, icy high ball in one hand and glowing cigarette in the other. Everyone felt at home in our house. As Big Mar is fond of saying, our house was clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be comfortable.

During these events (planned or unplanned), a cornucopia of food would pour out of the kitchen like some crazy clown car of consumable goods. We had such fun running around the sizable yard playing with a kajilion kids from our extended family while the adults hung out on the porch laughing, drinking and telling stories. When it got dark, my Dad would put up a sheet and play home movies and cartoons from an old 8 mm projector. I can still see him, head tilted slightly, right eye squinting from the curl of grey smoke rising from his unfiltered Pall Mall pinched between his lips, threading the film through the maze of sprockets...

And at the heart of all the chaos was Big Mar. Loving every minute of the mayhem. The more the merrier. She still loves the madness. She just has to take a nap occasionally now.

My Mom is one of the brightest women I have ever know. I'm not saying that just because she's my mum either. She really is. She's extremely well-read, has a memory to die for and is still a whiz at doing extensive math in her head.

In. Her. HEAD.

I can barely operate the calculator on my phone and she's adding up long strings of numbers in her head...at 90!

Had she been born three decades later, I have no doubt she could have been a physician, judge or pretty much anything she wanted. But she was born in 1921 when there were few women in the work force. The choices were nurses, housewives or Barbies. Her fate was to be our Mom and she took on that daunting, thankless job with elegance, grace and a light heart.

And I couldn't be more grateful.

So thank you, Big Mar. Thank you for giving us a happy home filled with love and laughter, for instilling in me a moral compass, a keen sense of humor and my love of the word "shit". Oh, and thanks for breaking the wooden spoon on Buddy's ass instead of mine.

You're a beautiful old broad, aged to perfection.

What do you say we shoot for triple digits. We'll all help you blow out the inferno.

Love ya, Mumsy!!

It's The End Of The Music World As We Know It 
or a ground breaking band from the 80s calls it a day

Okay, so yesterday after 31 years in the biz, the iconic band from my post-college years, R.E.M. decided to "call it a day" in their joint musical venture.

One of my friends posted that this announcement should have happened ten years ago. He's right, of course, but even though it's been years since they recorded a collection of songs that remotely come close to their heyday in the 80s & 90s, news of their definitive demise left me melancholy and wistful. In spite of R.E.M.'s lackluster latter years, there's no denying the enormous influence these four men have had on the music industry and its future inhabitants.

On their official website, the band put it thusly:

"To our Fans and Friends: As R.E.M., and as lifelong friends and co-conspirators, we have decided to call it a day as a band. We walk away with a great sense of gratitude, of finality, and of astonishment at all we have accomplished. To anyone who ever felt touched by our music, our deepest thanks for listening." R.E.M.

Music, much like smells, is a trigger point that has that magical power to send one back in time to a special event, place or gathering with the stroke of that first telling chord. I have a lot of truly happy memories of moments in my past life spent with one friend in particular, all connected to the catalog of early R.E.M.

We were first introduced to land of R.E.M. by our musical guru friend, Bill when he started working with Geo back in the early 80s. At the time, Bill was in love with the song Driver 8 from their third album, Fables of the Reconstruction. I felt kinda meh about it at first, gravitating towards other tunes. And then this happened last year.



My worlds colliding in pure awesomeness. *Swoon* Plus you can actually understand the lyrics. I admit I love pure power of it now.

Anywho, they created so many great songs (Pretty Persuasion, Seven Chinese Bros, So Central Rain, Nightswimming, Shiny Happy People, the entirety of Life's Rich Pageant) and they're all connected to Bill.

Psst. Don't tell anyone, but I used to have a teeny bit of a crush on Mr. Bill. He's smart, talented, funny as Hell... what's not to love. Oh and did I mention he was handsome? Yeah, that too. Thankfully I was married to my ever-loving Geo when he waltzed into our lives, because had I been single, I'm certain he would have crushed my soul.

He is the Virgo flame to my Aquarius moth.

Bill is an amazing human being, but he has an irresistible charisma, making every girl he'd ever been with long to be his wife and bear his progeny.

No shit. Every. Single. One.

Way back when, he was in a long-term, very committed relationship which ended with him catching the girl he thought he was going to marry in the carnal clutches of another man. It left him damaged. So much so that every time he found a relationship getting close, he would walk away before she had a chance to dump him. Needless to say he left a trail of very angry, splintered women. It was nearly two decades before he let some in.

Best buds
circa 1993? 

Dorkus and her two favorite Y chromosomes
(could those glasses BE any bigger?!?)

Italian film director Sergio Spoliate and the Rock Star

Glam Rocker with Sergio's paramour, Sophia Putania

He's married now and lives on the other side of the Commonwealth. We don't see him nearly as much as we'd like, but hearing an REM tune takes me charging back to our youthful antics together: dart games at Caine's, George's surprise 30th birthday party, the great baby powder vs hair dryer incident at Hunting Ridge, dancing on O'Leary's bowling machine, white-guy dancing and drinking too much at Metropol, late-night confabulating (drunken or sober), Summer bowling league, numerous concerts including REM, smoking ceeegars, Jamacin' Me Crazy night in Florida, St. Patrick's Day bar crawl and perhaps my very favorite memory that never fails to make laugh out loud: the image of Bill riding a girl child's pink flowered Big Wheel down our steep hill, long legs all sticking up in the air, the trike's roar busting through the 1am stillness.

That one's going to be in head forever.

Good times...

So thank you Michael, Mike, Bill and Peter for three decades of music, for your gorgeous, thoughtful lyrics and for providing the soundtrack to the scenes of our youth. You will live on in my iPod.

I leave you with a few of my personal favorites from their vast collection. Starting with a rocking one from 1989 when they were young pups and Stipe still had hair.




the beautifully understated Nightswimming



"Miles Standish proud" with Eddie Vedder

Ten Years Down The Road

It still hurts...