I sense a theme here.

The CEO of Cinemark, Alan Stock, donated $9,999 to the Yes on 8 Campaign [the California ballot initiative that bans gay marriage], but will now profit from showing MILK in his theaters.

If 50,000 of us commit to see MILK at a competitor instead of a Century, CineArts, or Tinseltown theater, at an average cost of $10 per ticket, that’s half a million dollars in lost revenue.

Click here to go to the boycott website. Click here to find out why Harvey Milk is so important to the gay and lesbian rights movement.

The more you know.

… is a few of these on the tree.

There’s always my Amazon wish list.

What would happen if American companies collapsed? Those who work on Wall Street or in the auto industry would find work, just not the work they want. New ideas, inventions, innovations, and businesses would pop up to fill the void; they always do. That’s how this country works.

Whenever I have lost a good paying job - a situation which has occurred more often than a lot of people know - I’ve always found a way to pay the rent. Living on ramen and bologna isn’t optimal, but sometimes it’s where you end up.

More succinctly put, flipping burgers for a living is ALWAYS an option, not the other way ’round.

Government’s view of the economy could be summed up in a few short phrases:
If it moves, tax it.
If it keeps moving, regulate it.
And if it stops moving, subsidize it.
[Ronald Reagan]

Obama isn’t a Socialist, but these myriad corporate bailouts could very well be. Real loans with genuine repayment plans is the capitalist way. So is bucking up and learning a new skill or job set when your career dries up.

It’s YOUR life to lead, not your government’s. To expect to be bailed out of your predicament is a new phenomenon … I mean I cannot imagine my parents, who came of age before Social Security, accepting any kind of hand out. A hand up when truly necessary, sure - I recall at least one block of government cheese - but they had more dignity and integrity in themselves than that.

My parents had four kids to raise and did so without a lot of things deemed “normal” today, like decently-running cars or owning their own home. Rather than a drawback, however, their sacrifice is what taught me about responsibility. Personal lessons I received directly from them, because they lived it:

Lost a job? Find another one pronto, even if it’s not one you want. Pride doesn’t pay the rent.

Company you work for went out of business? Bummer. Here’s the Classifieds.

Their own lives were a constant example to me. They worked really hard, they had nothing, and at times the upper middle class folk in our family would look down on them. But to this day, none of their kids have been in prison, none of their kids were forced to marry due to unplanned pregnancy, and all of their kids live relatively successfully away from home.

They are the reason I had two part-time jobs and simultaneously had a full load of classes in college. They are the reason I chose to live on ramen and bologna sandwiches rather than apply for food stamps. They are the reason I work so hard now, both at our own business and at running an organized household. They are the reason I can say, in all honesty, that if the American economy collapses tomorrow, I will find a way to survive it.

Now I’m witnessing a spoiled younger generation who has summarily refused to grow up, who has not been forced to work 16 hour days just to get by, who has not had to sell a CD/movie collection to pay the electric bill, who has not paid for their own education out of pocket, and who still has the option of moving in with or borrowing from Mommy and Daddy when times get tough, and I’m left with this thought:

Is it any wonder the corporations want a bail out? We’ve been taking them individually - and remaining perpetual kids - for decades now.

No bail outs. No help without repayment. Some people and companies need to learn the hard way and no taxes should be used to help those unwilling to heed the lesson.

Our survival as a country may actually depend on it.

Me, I’m studying Mandarin.

Yep, that’s me and the non-husband all right.

Here is proof on a global scale:

Just eight weeks to go.

My wrist isn’t broken, it’s just severely strained. It’s also in a soft cast, which is making travel a special kind of hell.

Did you know that the TSA has to swab and test a cast at every checkpoint? Yeah, neither did I. It was especially helpful when we changed planes at LaGuardia last night and had to deal with the single most disorganized and bumbling group of transit security I have ever had the displeasure of encountering.

But I’m digressing when all you probably want to know is how this happened. Oh, that’s special too.

Let’s just say that if you have hardwood floors, you should probably clean up even the minor, itty-bitty, tiniest spills of personal lubricant.

Can’t wait to see how I break a hip when I’m 80.

Another sign to add to this list: My purse just got bigger so as to accommodate my new reading glasses.

Sigh.

My memories remain filed safely away in grey matter storage until one day, out of the blue and sometimes like a tsunami, they rush out of my head and into the forefront of my consciousness.

My most recent experience with this made me woozy: It was an all-out barrage of high school crushes and boyfriends.

What started it? I was contemplating my love and what an absolute genius he is when it comes to engineering, business, machines, geek gadgets, and money. That is, he is truly a renaissance man … but he’s also a borderline autistic with his social life. Our relationship is symbiotic in that he keeps our tech, vehicles, and the business going, while I maintain the books and paychecks, our social calendar, and send him reminders of names, birthdays, and such.

So I thought back to all the men I’ve liked throughout my life, but specifically the boys in high school. Guess what? Geniuses. Some I never dated, but just hung out with; some I did date, but it didn’t work out. There was a nuclear genius, an artistic genius, a computer programming genius, a psych/human relations genius, a mechanical genius, a business genius, and a musician genius. (At least one of them wouldn’t see himself as a genius, but I think he is to this day. That’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed in touch with him for 25+ years and none of the others.)

All of my high school crushes, without a single exception, were geeks like me. We bonded over things like Thomas Dolby and Star Wars, the Apple IIE and the concept of “nothing” having to be “something” simply by virtue of having a name. We shared puns, complex theories of music, and mutual interest in different languages, paintings by the Dutch Masters, Dr. Demento’s weekly radio show, and the predictability of human behavior.

However, there was one big problem: I was a blonde teen girl growing up in Southern California. Guess what wasn’t expected of me? Smarts.

I so wanted to fit in that I developed a nasty habit of being a smart girl when I was alone with these boys, but acting like a stupid girl when we were in public. I even adopted a Valley girl accent for awhile, which I can still do, but really, it’s best not to ask.

Anyway, eventually each one of the genius teen boys got tired of two-faced me and wandered off, hopefully to bigger and better things. My memories, however embarrassing, remain and, if any of them make their way here, I offer my sincere apologies for my behavior.

I also hope that you found a woman who isn’t afraid to be intelligent and beautiful. They’re not as rare as you may think, but you may just have to leave Los Angeles to find one.

If I hadn’t, I may have adopted the stupid girl thing permanently.

Gnarly, dude.

When I noticed the ache in my knees could predict snow.

When I found that stocking up on warehouse-sized blocks of toilet paper was a good idea.

When I said, “Get a job” aloud and to another person.

When the words in my books and on my computer screen started to get blurry.

When I realized my nightstand had become a small pharmacy.

When I wondered how my “kids” are doing.

When I noticed the address book in my phone has no less than SIX doctors in it.

Too soon, too soon.