tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70312314947796224312024-02-20T05:40:05.721-05:00Robyn HappensRobynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comBlogger403125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-28122952951613320132021-11-04T23:18:00.011-04:002021-11-05T00:21:28.676-04:00DOON THOUGHTS<div><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://am22.mediaite.com/tms/cnt/uploads/2021/10/dune-mouse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="800" height="232" src="https://am22.mediaite.com/tms/cnt/uploads/2021/10/dune-mouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I just got home from seeing Denis Villeneuve's Dune and wrote out the following 13 points rather than blowing up the group chats because I am not a monster. I am, however, someone who lists out 13 points of discussion after seeing the space worm movie. Anyway. Desert power to you and yours.
<div><br /></div><div>DOON THOUGHTS </div><div><br /></div><div>1. That was criminally excellent and also hard to believe it took this long to get it right. </div><div>2. Extremely pleased that they removed the icky pedophilia stuff from the Baron narrative. We’ll work on the fatphobia but it’s a STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION. </div><div>3. I was always confused about this and they probably address it later but who’s house sitting Caladan during all this, is there like a Cousin Bob Atreides who’s gonna sublet the castle into multi-family units, I have questions. [editor's note: ok I understand that the book establishes Count Fenring as the housesitter but the movie does not make this clear AT ALL and I would just like to think of Imaginary Cousin Bob just King Ralphing it with his bros while all the shit goes down on Arrakis, let me live]</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/40/King_Ralph.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="248" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/40/King_Ralph.jpeg" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Meanwhile, on Caladan...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>4. OMG THROPTERS. GR8 WORK, THERE. </div><div>5. Oscar nomination for the graphic designer who stylized the Atreides crest alone, that shit is dope, I want it on my hand towels. </div><div>6. Thufir Hawat deftly demonstrating the practicality of a good parasol while smashing gender norms, u luv 2 see it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/3022561/381x254/crop;webp=auto;jpeg_quality=60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="381" height="213" src="https://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/3022561/381x254/crop;webp=auto;jpeg_quality=60.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />7. Missed the banquet scene but did not miss the whole thing about eating rabbit tongues. Had to hug Miss Bossy a little after reading that. </div><div>8. They do zip through some of the prophecy stuff and the Tahaddi Challenge so I can see where some folks who haven’t read the books might be a little lost, but otherwise it’s astoundingly accessible (also autocorrect changed “Tahaddi Challenge” to “Tabasco Challenge” which would have been a lot more fun and less traumatizing for everyone tbh) </div><div>9. BUNNY RAT 💚 </div><div>10. Lol at Denis Villeneuve looking at Sting’s whole character as played in the Lynch movie and being like “nah, let's save that for later.” I know he'll show up later because LITERARY CANON, but that’s a boss move considering this is what a lot of people think of, if they think of Dune: <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pyxis.nymag.com/v1/imgs/bac/601/ba8d4997990e1160b513179e5e6d2f2309-06-dune-sting.w710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="531" height="320" src="https://pyxis.nymag.com/v1/imgs/bac/601/ba8d4997990e1160b513179e5e6d2f2309-06-dune-sting.w710.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>Nah</i>."</td></tr></tbody></table>'<div>11. When they first descended on the spice harvester I definitely said under my breath “yeah gurrrrrl worm time.” Also could not see the worms without thinking of <a href="https://twitter.com/InsaneLetterbox/status/1451970313311358986">the Forbidden Butthole tweet</a>, but I think that only enriched my experience. </div><div>12. Also definitely said aloud “aw man fuck these guys” when the Sardaukar dropped into the ecological center because seriously fuck those guys. </div><div>13. Would absolutely see again on biggest screen possible, 10 cups of spit coffee out of 10.</div><div><br /></div>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-3251791460470361022021-07-08T20:29:00.006-04:002021-07-09T15:58:42.801-04:00Leggo My Eggos<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnj0a09la00LK9EI-1WfjKFEl9O1ai-qFYN5IUjXTVuYKPIXQe3t4TzyO0cMqs7_YrmrLAgLAGs0QRbOenfaWseV8khQ8eLJ63FrD9dEpeH7i0FtYdGemxWRef7EmCtuaI9ASmARUirY/s1280/eggo.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnj0a09la00LK9EI-1WfjKFEl9O1ai-qFYN5IUjXTVuYKPIXQe3t4TzyO0cMqs7_YrmrLAgLAGs0QRbOenfaWseV8khQ8eLJ63FrD9dEpeH7i0FtYdGemxWRef7EmCtuaI9ASmARUirY/s320/eggo.jpeg"/></a></div>
I guess I should tell you about my weird pandemic hobby that I picked up.
<p>It started in October, when I went to see a new GYN, who asked if ever had an AMH test done. That would be Anti-Müllerian hormone, and it tells you how many eggs you have on hand. My previous doctor had never suggested one, and since such matters weren't necessarily a priority for me at the time, I didn't even know that such a thing existed. But being a fan of self-awareness and science, I said sure.
<p>About a week later I was getting ready to go to a members event at MoMA, and was just about to go down the escalator to the Q train when I got a call from the doc. It was a holiday, so I thought that was unusual, so I took the call. And the AMH results were not great. Like very not great. Like when I looked up my results later on a chart there was "Normal," "Low," "Very Low," and what amounts to "Women and Children to the Lifeboats Immediately." I was solidly in that last group.
<p>I never DIDN'T want kids. I just never wanted to be a single parent. I still don't know that I want to be. But while I excel at a great many things, I still haven't quite cracked the absolute alchemy of finding someone halfway decent to like you back as much as you like them to want to sign on for such an assignment, and vice versa. I'm still working that out. And it wasn't all that pressing of an issue. Until it was. I was given the option of taking immediate action to even leave the possibility of having kids open -- or accepting that window was closing, and closing fast.
<p>So last November I started freezing my eggs. Which means that every few weeks I stab myself in the tummy a couple times a night with hormones, and come in a couple mornings a week to get more blood taken and say hello to my new pal the transvaginal ultrasound. Then, when we've tricked my body into creating a couple of eggos and they get good and ripe, I take a day off work to get 'em sucked out and sit on the couch drinking a shitload of Gatorade and watching movies and hope they make it through freezing and slowly accrue a collection of Shepsicles that live in a lab in Midtown right near Bloomingdales.
<p>The magic number of eggs you want to have on ice to make this endeavor worthwhile is 30, since not every one is gonna take. And once you start, you're kind of in it to win it to get to that number since anything else is a waste of your time and resources. Most folks get about 10 eggs each cycle. But because I don't have that many rounds in the chamber, it's taken me a lot more.
<p>I just finished my fifth cycle. I will likely need at least one more. So far I have 14. I'm trying to beat my record of 5 eggs frozen in a single cycle. One time I only got 2. That sucked.
<p>The whole thing sucks to be quite frank. The doctors are great. And the procedures are mostly covered, though I still have to lay out a chunk of cash for this ridiculous experiment. And my insurance gets "confused" frequently about what is and is not covered so I've spent a couple of hours every week since January fighting with them. I have a nurse patient advocate named Vickie who finally scared them into cutting some goddamn checks. If I do make a kid out of this endeavor, there's every chance I will name it Vickie.
<p>If I had any queasiness about needles that's pretty much gone since I've jabbed myself over 100 times at this point. My arms and belly have perpetual green bruises, which is NOT cute. Though I have gotten alarmingly good at having to give myself injections in public restrooms when the occasion calls for it, which is not a skill I thought I'd be cultivating at this stage in my life, but it's never too late to start to develop a new talent. Also I can't have caffeine or alcohol during the process since my ovaries are so stinking DIFFICULT, so if nothing else, that was a major giveaway to my loved ones that I was UP TO SOMETHING.
<p>And as for what happens next: I have no effing idea.
<p>That's part of why I kept this on the D.L. for a while. Even from family. Because they would rightfully have a lot of questions, and I honestly don't have answers. I just knew that when I was faced with the possibility of never having kids I had a big ol' case of "DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO" so here we are.
<p>I share this not just because it takes up a HUGE amount of my brainspace any given day, and NOT because I need or want advice, but because maybe it will help folks who may be in similar positions. I don't know if my AMH levels are what they are because of my age (extremely possible) or maybe ever was it so, and I just never knew (also extremely possible), but maybe my ovary-having friends would be interested in learning a little something about themselves sooner rather than later so they don’t have to find all this out on the Q train platform. Also I suck at keeping my own secrets. Other people's, sure. Mine? Awful.
<p>Thanks for reading, and I'll let you know what's next as soon as I do. #LeggoMyEggos
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-9502904236661941192017-11-10T12:03:00.000-05:002017-11-10T12:08:54.223-05:00On Louis CK <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">So apparently this is a thing that needs to be talked about
because I’ve been having some surprising discussions about this, and fair
warning that there’s gonna be the word “penis” and descriptions about what
penis-havers do with said appendage. So.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">What Louis CK did was wrong. You can feel all the ways about
it. But it was wrong. And this is why. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Listen, if I’m working late… or if I’m on a business call…or
if I’m at a conference and someone has had the foresight to bring a bottle of
whiskey and a bunch of us go to someone’s room for a drink (which is a regular
normal thing that happens in Grownupland)… and a colleague whips his penis out
and asks if he can beat off (or just commences forthwith), how easy do you
think it would be for me to work with him again? How comfortable will I be
going back into the office? It’s weird enough when a co-worker asks you out on
a date — which is why there are rules about this kind of thing — let along even
asking about doing what Louis did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Now imagine it’s your boss. Or someone powerful in an
industry in which you hope to get ahead. Now you know what they think of you,
and the degree of respect in which they hold you. What do you think your odds
of advancement are now? Moreover, now you know what you think of THEM and how difficult
it would be to have a meeting with them, or even look them in the eye. They
have given you three choices: report them to HR, interrupt your career and leave your job, or just take it, giving them the satisfaction of knowing they got
away with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">And reporting anyone to HR for harassment, which is
absolutely an option, is NOT FUN. Especially if it’s your direct supervisor or a
senior person in the field. Your motives will be scrutinized. You will have to
answer uncomfortable questions. And even if HR does the right thing and removes
that person and you know you did the right thing, you will never feel great
about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">And yes, I know from experience. And yes, I have almost never
talked about it. Because it was deeply unpleasant. It did not involve
dick-presentations, but it did involve extremely inappropriate and
uncomfortable things said by a direct boss, repeatedly, to me and other women.
Just the idea of thinking what I would have done if he took his schlong out or
even asked if he could makes me physically ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">And even if it’s not a professional situation, it’s wrong. If
a friend did this to me, he would no longer be my friend. Even if you are on a
date, there are infinite scenarios in which this is not okay. Good rule of
thumb, if the circumstances are such that the presentation of genitalia or the
suggestion of such would be shocking or surprising, such actions should not be
pursued jeezustapdancingchrist did I really just have to spell that out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">The “classic” (ugh) weiner-exposing scenario that is
practically an unwanted merit badge for women in NYC is the subway perv. If you
or someone you know has ever had the honor of having some weirdo whip it out on
the subway or somewhere like that, it’s unsettling and awful and stays with you
for a long, long time. Of course I’m not traumatized to the point where I can’t
use mass transit — I doubt I’d have the choice anyway — but I think about it every
time I’m in that subway stop, and I kick myself for not telling the cop I saw a
minute afterward because I just didn’t want the inevitable hassle. And I
remember his stupid arrogant face, knowing he was doing something that made me
uncomfortable that I would likely do nothing about. And this is a stranger’s
dick that I saw for half a second five years ago. It’s a sick power thing. It’s
wrong for the subway perv, so it’s definitely wrong for someone with actual
power over you and your life to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">And fine, if we have to play the “what if it were your [fill
in the female relation of choice]….” If this is harmless, how would you feel if
someone did this to your wife or daughter or niece? How would you feel for that
person to go forth without consequence? How would you feel meeting them at a
company event? Would you shake their hand? (Now please practice empathy so you
don’t have to pretend something awful happened to someone you know in order to
recognize something as awful, please and thank you.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">And here’s the thing: if you’re still feeling super
conflicted or defensive about this — you can still enjoy his work. You can
still think he’s funny or enjoy his show. You can feel sympathetic and hope
he gets help. Or you can feel angry and hope he never works again. Or you can
feel anything in between. Life is deep and rich and weird and complicated and
god knows the list of problematic things I enjoy is long and robust. This is
your god-given right to that thing we call perspective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">But what you can’t say is that he did nothing wrong. It's more than just a gross creepy thing you can laugh about later, and it's not that dicks in and of themselves are scary (though, lezbehonest, they are pretty silly-looking floppy little things). </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">His actions had actual consequences on people's lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">Yeah,
he’s done some brilliant stuff. The women he mentored and harassed who
consequently left the industry because of his behavior and the harm they felt
he could do to their career if they spoke up might have also done some
brilliant work. But we won’t know that. And he needs to be held to account. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">And if you're STILL confused about why this is harmful...then okay, but I genuinely hope that you or someone you know never has to find out otherwise through personal experience.</span></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-64750515856906905652017-03-11T11:08:00.000-05:002017-09-09T11:14:39.818-04:00Meet Miss Bossy<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">IT'S A GIRL!!! Sometimes when God closes a bunny door, he opens a bunny window. Cleared for adoption today, meet your best new internet bunny friend MISS BOSSY. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The ASPCA bunnies are being adopted out this week or re-homed at bunny-specific rescues who can give them better long term care than we can here, and Miss Bossy and I have been bro'ing down for a while. She's sassy, snuggly and the same size as Penny the Cat so THEY WILL BE BEST FRIENDS GODDAMMIT I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Just like with Penny, I wasn't totally planning on replenishing the pet situation this soon, but clearly I am not meant to be petless. Think of it as Bun and Tippy paying it forward. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/pennyandbossy" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;">#PennyAndBossy</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOdJwH7f6xT9UXsQLNL1s77AD1GHzIsl7Ts6jBebeWjoHxxstlrfV_-1naWtIBxEkEwTrVBECybbG3DafsmvkPmmc-YZnQHErGiKXIFIt8BXfAuRDyiFNpGQLcq3qwWyTx96Ys0GCDys4/s1600/Bossy+Intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOdJwH7f6xT9UXsQLNL1s77AD1GHzIsl7Ts6jBebeWjoHxxstlrfV_-1naWtIBxEkEwTrVBECybbG3DafsmvkPmmc-YZnQHErGiKXIFIt8BXfAuRDyiFNpGQLcq3qwWyTx96Ys0GCDys4/s320/Bossy+Intro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-1161237894648515842017-02-13T11:07:00.000-05:002017-09-09T11:15:18.910-04:00Meet Penny<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I was going to wait a little while, but circumstances changed, and besides, a Shep without pets is like a sky without stars. So… meet PENNY LEE RIGGS-CAPRA-SHEPHERD, FIRST OF HER NAME. </span><span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><img alt="" class="img" height="16" role="presentation" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v9/fdd/1/16/1f63b.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">😻</span></span><span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><img alt="" class="img" height="16" role="presentation" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v9/fdd/1/16/1f63b.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">😻</span></span><span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><img alt="" class="img" height="16" role="presentation" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v9/fdd/1/16/1f63b.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">😻</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxi_i3bHbblPj8LFszadZZ0-9cIFBr4wf_Lf93qMQIzwV8AbC2SCQmzIvcum5RpnXTo4cKxXFTuZukA_nHTu83DdyyXtjjqJyHx8YKq-4lEwg49UcNU5tuJjrxW66JlkbFYNGr6HCgn8/s1600/Penny+Intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxi_i3bHbblPj8LFszadZZ0-9cIFBr4wf_Lf93qMQIzwV8AbC2SCQmzIvcum5RpnXTo4cKxXFTuZukA_nHTu83DdyyXtjjqJyHx8YKq-4lEwg49UcNU5tuJjrxW66JlkbFYNGr6HCgn8/s320/Penny+Intro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Penny and I tried to do a Beyoncé/Madonna on the Rocks type photo shoot to announce her arrival but...it didn't work so good.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLmdv81H8Dr5rqvW6BNoBe4BbeCt-sMv0xcOi5kXapZEPP3xVI9w76-RyMMbYsrzNbHjR2E57SO1QZRJNJOm1xPcES1xs2lk0-_RjAf39QVayS5bqqRFeqHemhZ-h9AnAGWhyphenhyphenmrUR25A/s1600/Penny+Intro+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLmdv81H8Dr5rqvW6BNoBe4BbeCt-sMv0xcOi5kXapZEPP3xVI9w76-RyMMbYsrzNbHjR2E57SO1QZRJNJOm1xPcES1xs2lk0-_RjAf39QVayS5bqqRFeqHemhZ-h9AnAGWhyphenhyphenmrUR25A/s320/Penny+Intro+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;"><br /></span></span>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-56519154271369999772017-01-17T11:01:00.000-05:002017-09-09T11:01:42.850-04:00Bun Scott Shepherd (2007-2017)Last night my littlest boo stopped being his bright, bouncy, curious self and was rushed to the animal hospital. Today his little bunny heart just gave out after 9 and a half years. A lot of people always asked me "What does a rabbit DO, though?" and if they got the chance to meet Bun Scott they understood right away what a charming animal he was. He had no fear of people (cats were another matter, hence his awkward co-existence with Tippy), and would follow you from room to room, jump up on the couch to snuggle with you, and generally wanted to be where you were. His trusting and gregarious nature is what saved him when my friend Paul found him on a doorstep on Connecticut Avenue, and he was all too happy to be scooped up and taken in on a new adventure that eventually led to his being my sweet little buddy for the better part of a decade. <br />
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And even though he barely ever made a sound, the apartment is far, far too quiet without any little critters there right now. I actually had to leave on a business trip as soon as I paid my final goodbye to Bun, and I am not looking forward to the silence.<br />
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Farewell, Bun Scott Shepherd. Loyal friend and prince among rabbits. July 7, 2007- January 17, 2017<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYX5pC9D0kssi9hwYo2PMVh2AOF0p2BQB_HlTKFUprEiCA9YDrZFQAhueXYjubR4YIcH6PJwBIx-BPs_gx9uEZIMZ_YVCJqp_TR1snIfwnA5bm4McXB3SEUBTktoVOYZoL0zVqD-FedU/s1600/Bun+Scott+RIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYX5pC9D0kssi9hwYo2PMVh2AOF0p2BQB_HlTKFUprEiCA9YDrZFQAhueXYjubR4YIcH6PJwBIx-BPs_gx9uEZIMZ_YVCJqp_TR1snIfwnA5bm4McXB3SEUBTktoVOYZoL0zVqD-FedU/s320/Bun+Scott+RIP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-83023412767163948412016-12-04T13:46:00.000-05:002017-11-10T13:47:00.022-05:00This Is Fine: 2016 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Everybody Wants To Rule te World -- Lorde</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. This Land is Your Land -- Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Dear Mr. Man -- Prince</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Swingers -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=561608055&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/bryandunnmusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Bryan Dunn</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. Natural Disaster -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=266248911998&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/motherfeather/?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Mother Feather</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Wicked Tongue -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=377941238886908&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/FifeandDrom/?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Fife & Drom</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">7. He's on the Beach -- Kirsty MacColl</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Scared of America -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100001927900857&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/jesse.d.ruben?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Jesse D. Ruben</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">9. Democracy -- Leonard Cohen</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">10. War Sweater -- Wakey! Wakey!</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">11. If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next -- Manic Street Preachers</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">12. My Shot -- The Roots</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">13. Tinsel Take Down -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=540410192&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/lukewesleymusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Luke Wesley</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">14. Mr. November -- The National</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">15. Walk in the Park -- Parlour Tricks</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">16. Rock 'N' Roll Suicide -- David Bowie</span></span></div>
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-45852622832896791852016-09-11T11:30:00.000-04:002017-09-09T11:26:17.250-04:00The 9/11 diary entries[This is a combination of portions two diary entries: one from September 22, 2001 -- my first entry since the attacks -- and another from October 6, where I fleshed out some of the details. All of the words are original.]<br />
<br />
<i>....But the thing that's most important and that has pretty much dominated our existence for the past 11 days are the terrorist attacks on the Pentagon and World Trade Center. I've been a bit consumed by it lately (I've amassed a healthy collection of magazinzes, largely un-read so far) and have written my fair share of stuff about it for my journalism classes.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The need to record things for posterity compels me to start at the beginning of this thing, from my first day of Digital Journalism class, which was interrupted by someone from the Journalism office delivering the news. It was just after nine, so the 2nd plane must have just hit. A student worker knocked on the door and said "Just so you guys know, 2 planes just crashed into the World Trade Center." I guess they wanted to leave the ultimate decision up to the professor, although it was abundantly clear to us that the first day pleasantries could not go on. One girl, in fact, emphatically insisted that class adjourn so she could make a phone call. She left almost immediately.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Our friendly messenger told us that there was a TV in the 5th floor office. Although I could have gone outside and seen it for myself in a matter of minutes, I went upstairs.Maybe, as Jeffrey says, I just didn't want to see it for myself just yet.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An older professor, who I had never seen before, was watching the TV in the lobby. It was tuned to NY1. The professor was crabby. He ordered us to file in quietly and take a seat. The image was worse than I expected. I don't know what I expected. I knew that a plane had hit the Empire State Building in the 30s, and that building survived (duh). But I wasn't prepared to see all that billowing black smoke. The anchors had precious little idea of what happened. It was clear that I wouldn't be getting much in the way of news just yet. So I left. On my way, I saw the girl who needed to make a phone call, and she seemed okay. I thought everything must be okay.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Outside -- a gorgeous day, flawless sky, 70s, etc -- the students didn't seem rattled at all. I allowed myself to be convinced, if only for the moment, that it wasn't as bad as it seemed. I went to the bookstore. All seemed normal. I was prompted to ask the cashier if she heard what happened. She had. That was all. She hadn't seen it, but she knew. Did I want a bag?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>People still seemed largely oblivious -- save for a few people already throwing around rumors ("It was a Delta plane -- red and blue -- definitely"). I still had it in my head that I could attend to scholarly duties and do some research for an assignment on Charles Dickens, so I walked to Bobst Library on Washington Square South and LaGuardia Place. And then I saw the smoke.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At that point, 9:15, the Towers were still standing but with large, gaping, smoking jagged gashes. The Towers had the trick of taking on the color of the surrounding sky. On rainy days they were stark and gray. At sunset, they glowed orange. On September 11, they were deep blue. Deep blue with large black gashes spewing black smoke. There wasn't much evidence of flames, only a few isolated fires could be seen throughout the exposed floors. But the smoke was thick and black.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I actually went into the library.I didn't realize at that point how many people had already died in the plane crashes (let alone how many more would die a short time later). I didn't think the Towers would fall. I thought that it would take forever to fix that, and that I'd have to look at those gashes every day for the rest of the school year when I walked to class. That is, until they covered it with an ugly-ass blue tarp or scaffolding or something.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But it slowly started to hit me that this was something more terrible than I originally thought. I tried to concentrate on the volumes and volumes of Dickens before me. I never realized how narrow the hallways in the library were. I got dizzy. I wanted to go back to the dorm. I left, having accomplished nothing at all.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The crowd outside was bigger now. As I walked north up University Place to my dorm on Union Square, others were going south. Some had professional looking cameras. I started to run.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>No one spoke. People were still trickling into the streets. Standing in the middle of them. Most of the cars didn't even honk. Everyone who had a car parked on the side of the road had returned to their vehicles and turned on their radios, opened the doors and windows so people could crowd around and hear. Each had turned to a different station, making a cacophanous sound that told me the whole story as I ran north. "White House evacuated." "Could be more planes." "Possible explosion at the State Department." Occasionally I'd look behind me, but not for long.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At the dorm, someone chose this to be the time to get their hand scanned for our high-tech security system. This caused the line to enter the building to grow, and tempers to get short. When Mr. Brainiac was done, the guard asked who was next. None of us gave a damn about handscanning, We wanted to go back and try to connect with our families. I ran back to my room to see suitemate Laura in her bedroom watching the news. "Enjoying the chaos?" she asked. </i>[editor's note: I hated Laura]<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I too put on the news and tried the phones in vain. I decided to go back outside where I thought my cell phone would work. I didn't know that none of the cell phones worked.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I ran back outside to see the first tower enveloped in a cloud of dust. When the dust cleared, there was no more tower. I raised my camera to take a picture. It was then that I realized that my hand was shaking.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Two people came out of the subway behind me. Ostensibly, they had been stuck on the train since the attack and knew very little, if anything. "What the hell happened here?" the man asked. I tried to tell him, but he walked past me. My cell phone was no help. I went back inside.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I got off on the wrong floor. I turned the knob of the wrong room, shaking it in frustration, not realizing my mistake. A girl opened it and stared at me. I stammered an apology. She said that she understood, that everyone was a bit mixed up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The next few hours kinda run together. I remember talking to John before my parents as his was the first number to go through. I finally reached Mom and Dad on AIM. They were evacuating the Navy base in Philadelphia. Jeffrey came to my room. He had seen the second explosion and even though he knew I was okay, he wanted to be sure. Christine was eating a sandwich that she had brought from the bakery where she worked the day before. The bakery, Ecce Panis, was in the WTC concourse. We watched the bakery not exist anymore.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We watched the news for nine more hours. We watched 7 WTC fall. At 11 pm, we turned the TV off. We couldn't sleep, so we played Trivial Pursuit. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The next day the wind shifted and everything below 14th Street was barricaded (we live between 15th and 16th). It smelled awful, like burning chemicals. Jeffrey and I went to Pennsylvania, where we contiunued to assure the curious that we were indeed alive.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Since then I have been mighty cynical. I've been frightened by the sudden spurt of red, white and blue bloodlust, and "war fever," although it seems that more people are beginning to hold off on wanting to go to war (although our president doesn't seem to be one of them). I was initially tuirned off by what I perceived to be empty gestures -- memorials and poems in Union Square, "light a candle at 7 pm", "wear a ribbon, buy a flag" -- but I'm beginning to soften.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I guess I'm most concerned about my little brother going off to war to fight an undetermined enemy. I'm saddened by the backlash against Arab and Afghan people (Jeffrey and I ate at Bamiyan tonight, and were happy to see that it was fairly busy). I'm depressed by the barrage of Missing Persons posters for people that I know are pulverized. I'm concerned that I'm not more horrified at the fact that I just witnessed the destruction of thousands of people, let alone the skyline of the city that I love. I worry that it's all going to hit me @ once -- in a public place. Maybe the produce section. I'll just start screaming and throwing lettuce or something, jjust generally disgracing myself. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm mad at the people that are letting fear control them, like my friend who didn't want to go out tonight because she heard there was going to be biological warfare. The only times I felt really touched were when it first happened, when my Literature of Journalism professor wanted to casually blow it off, when Conan O'Brien almost broke down during his monologue, and when I thought my president was going to declare war. I'm sure it will hit me sometime. In the meantime, I'm looking for a job and carrying on with life, because that's all I know how to do right now.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Bad writing, but I thought it was necessary. Sorry to bore you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>11:25 pm</i><br />
<br />
[Editor's note: it's not bad writing, kiddo. And it will hit you. Buckle up.]<br />
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-25265494167665705722016-08-14T21:47:00.003-04:002016-08-14T21:47:58.985-04:00A Reminiscence by Benjamin Kushner<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>The following is a long post, but pretty special to my family. I never knew Great-Grandpa Ben, and I never knew his daughter, my Grandma Pauline. I knew Ben emigrated to the U.S. from a village in Russia (in what's now Moldova) and loved reading and classical music. I knew that at one point he owned a grocery store in Philadelphia. And I knew that he left a small stack of typewritten pages that he wrote in his 80s describing his life in Russia, his voyage to America and his early years in Philadelphia as a struggling immigrant. We finally got around to typing it up. And here it is. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>I recognize this all may not be as interesting to you as it is to us, but it underscores the need to talk to your grandparents, and maybe keep some notes of your own life, because this is more valuable than any heirloom. The last paragraphs are particularly touching, summing up what he is grateful for and what has caused him pain, including my grandmother's death which had happened within a year of his writing. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Write it down. Write it all down. Sometimes the most interesting stories are the ones that might otherwise never get told. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A REMINISCENCE</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
BY</div>
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</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
BENJAMIN KUSHNER</div>
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<br /></div>
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As I begin to write this
reminiscence, I am close to my 82<sup>nd</sup> birthday and my thoughts turn
more and more to the days of my beginning.
It is a partial history of my life.
It is not the introspection of old age that leads me to reminisce about
my childhood days and about my life in Russia and my early years in
America. I am not yet so far gone that I
cannot look to the future, even though less days lie before me than
behind. My grandchildren or great-grandchildren
may be curious to know where their Grandfather or Great-Grandfather came from
and how life was like in my childhood, so this story is for them and for their
children if they wish to pass it on.</div>
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I was born on February
22, 1896. There was some doubt about the
date of my birth. In my days in the old
country vital statistics and registration was not kept for the population of
Russia and certainly not for the Jews.
We were later able to figure out the day I was born, because it was two
weeks before Purim, and my Father remembered a portion of the Torah that week
and we concluded that I was born Feb 22, 1896 <a href="http://www.jewishgen.org/Yizkor/pinkas_romania/rom2_00350.html">in a
small town</a> on the banks of the Dniester called <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Vadul-Ra%C8%99cov,+Moldova/@47.944155,28.827707,3a,75y,90t/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1s92224157!2e1!3e10!6s%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2Fproxy%2FLPMC60MHQtsq8cw9qablK7hd7oj_rDyiBYJdM2Xk09BIepmM5CbmswuKfAnwmgbl66MJAlbBjSVOwCGlp">Vad
Rashkov</a>.</div>
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My family consisted of my
Father Avrum and my Mother Charna, and us six children three boys and three
girls. I was the second child in line of
birth, the first boy. Our house was the
largest and most modern in town. It
consisted of 14 rooms and was the only house in town with wooden floors, and it
extended almost a city block. It was
surrounded by trees. We had no
sanitation facilities and no running water. Water for drinking, cooking and
other purposes was brought in by water carriers with two wooden buckets from a
nearby well. For bathing during the
summer, we used the river known as Dniester, and during the winter months we
had a special Public Bath House which the entire population used. </div>
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I remember vaguely when
my brother Burich was born even though I was only six years old. I remember the excitement and jubilation and
the festivities which lasted all week long after the birth. The birth of a third son made my Father so
excited that he wanted to have the best of everything. </div>
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I started to go to
(Cheder) school at the age of six. There
were no public schools available except a few in the big cities and few Jewish
children dared to go to them. My school
was private and in the home of the (melamed) teacher. He only lived in two
rooms, so we had to acquire our education in rather crowded circumstances. In the class were ten boys, who sat along a
table five on each side. </div>
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The lessons
were in Hebrew. Our school hours were
from 8 in the morning until 9 at night.
We went home for lunch at noon time and for supper about 5 o’clock. We had school all year long. In the summer we went barefoot, and in the
winter we wore leather boots and heavy clothing with fur hats. We walked to and from school. The streets were not paved and the mud was
deep. We had no lights on the streets
and during the winter months we carried lanterns which we made out of cardboard
with a candle in the center.</div>
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The winters were very
long. The snow started to fall in
October and lay on the ground until late April.
Winter was fun for us kids. We would
make our own skates and slide one foot over the frozen river the Dniester. Those who did not have skates were sliding on
their shoes, but it was fun.
Transportation in the winter was by horse drawn sleds.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the summer we would go
bathing in the Dniester in the nude.
There were no bathing suits. When
the river was muddy, we came out with more dirt than we went in. It was a lot of fun though.</div>
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On Sunday morning, my Father
and Mother went shopping for the week. I
had cheder school all day as usual, but we did manage once in a while to run
wild until my Father and Mother returned home.
On Monday morning my Father would leave for the week to a railroad
station called SHOLDONASHT. He was a
commissioner and his job was to receive merchandise for the town merchants and
also to ship all kinds of merchandise to various parts of Russia…</div>
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My day began early because I had to be in
(cheder) school at 8 o’clock and I had to say my prayers before eating
breakfast. My Mother would say, Berale,
put on the tfillin before you eat your breakfast. After prayers I was served breakfast – <a href="http://www.kitchenrussian.com/userfiles/images/Breakfasts/Grechnevaya-kasha-na-moloke/IMG_4872.jpg">kashe
with milk</a>, a piece of herring, and a piece of chala. On Fridays we would have a piece of <a href="http://momsrecipesandmore.blogspot.com/2005/12/malai-moms-cornmeal-cake.html">hot
malai</a>, a substance of corn meal with cottage cheese. We had no juices nor vitamins or cereals of
any kind. Most of our food was flavored
with beef fat (schmaltz) and garlic.
Coming home for school for lunch there would be for a change potato soup
with noodles or teglich mit fasolis, little creamettes with navy beans. For supper around 4 or 5 o’clock there would
be a <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f9/4f/7a/f94f7ada2660e66731259ebf0fbf7f2f.jpg">russel
with a mamaliga</a>, a lamb stew with a substance of corn meal, or dairy such
as sour cream with cheese latkes and borsht.
When I came home from school at 9 o’clock in the evening I was served
farfel flavored with schmaltz.</div>
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Friday was the big day
for us. In the morning when we arose my Mother
had already the bread and chala in the oven.
She had it prepared the night before, 2 for Shabas and one for each day
of the week. On Friday the house was cleaned
and made shabostic, ready for the Sabbath different from any other day. My Father’s shoes were already shined when he
came home for the week end. He
immediately inspected us kids to make sure our nails are cut and our ears
clean. My Mother was already cooking
Yoich mit lokshin, gefilte fish and tzimis from lima beans or chick peas
(Nahit). We went to services and when we
came home, my Mother blessed the candles and we ate by the light of the candles
and a kerosene lamp. My Father made the
kiddish and later I made the kiddish and when my brothers Burich and Isrul grew
older, we sang the kiddish together.</div>
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We lived without
worry. It was a time of happiness. We had no radios, televisions nor
phonographs, so during the winter we sat by the stove eating pumpkin seeds and
telling stories. On Friday night my Mother
would put the food, such as the beef stew and lokshen kigel in the oven and
seal it so it would keep hot for the following day, and when we came home from
shul, we would serve dinner. After
dinner when we boys were able to sneak away for a few hours, we would go to the
wine yards and pick grapes. Our district
was best known throughout Russia for its fruits and grapes which we shipped to
all parts of Russia. On Shabas afternoon we had to go back to Cheder for a few
hours.</div>
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The week started again
and it was always the same, and so the years went by fast until I reached 13 years
to become Bar Mitzvah. I was Bar Mitzvah
at the old synagogue where my Father was President for many years. Most of the synagogues were near the river, six
in all. In my day there were no Bar
Mitzvah parties. One was called up to
the Torah, and that was it, but since we were considered a wealthy family, my Mother
baked a honey cake, bought a half dozen herring and a bottle of vodka and that
was it. </div>
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When I reached 14 years,
my Father said it was time for me to join him in his business at the (Stanzia)
railroad station where he was engaged as a commissioner, receiving and shipping
all kinds of merchandise to all parts of Russia. Even though I was only 14, I was a big help
to my Father. And I assumed responsibilities fit for a much older person. My Father was able to stay home for a week,
and I stayed on the job. </div>
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I continued to work with
my Father until I was 16, and then I began to realize that there is no future
for a young man in doing what I am doing.
In the early part of the 20<sup>th</sup> century immigration to
Palestine and the United States was at its peak, and my thoughts turned to the
idea of going to America. My Mother’s
sister, my aunt Ethel and brother Chaim were already in America since
1908. I wrote to them about my decision
and asked them to send me a ticket which they immediately did, and on July 3<sup>rd</sup>
1913, I was ready to leave. On the night
before my boyfriends gathered at our house to bid me farewell, and we were up
all night eating and drinking and singing.
Since I was of military age, I could not get a passport, and I had to
sneak out of the country at night. They
called it “Stealing the border”. On Sunday
July 4<sup>th</sup>, my Mother made a big dinner and invited some friends to
the house to say good bye. I remember
very vividly at the dinner table while the guests offered a toast, my Father
broke down and tearfully remarked, He will have everything in America except
his Father and Mother, brothers and sisters.
My Father was very emotional and very attached to his children, particularly
to me since I am constantly at his side.
On that same evening, Sunday July 4<sup>th</sup>, my Father took me to
his home town (<a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/R%C3%AEbni%C8%9Ba,+Moldova/@47.748443,28.991246,3a,75y,90t/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1s117628093!2e1!3e10!6s%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fproxy%2FFnR6uPLv3r8A2__zIU6witjmlS4xZTL_60ZTSrdUtkT7KW3AJXIpjZDrxmibgUL2793IxcrRQxhndjIN">Ribnitza</a>)
to say good bye to his brother and to all our cousins and friends. The following day, July 6<sup>th</sup>, we
left by train to a town called Slobodka where I was supposed change trains and
travel to a town far away called Vladimir Volinsk where I was supposed to cross
the border from Russia to Austria. We
stayed up all night in the waiting room until 7 in the morning, and I will
never forget, my Father did not take his eyes off me for a minute. When the train arrived, he escorted me to my
seat and when the train pulled out, he kept waving until the train was out of
sight. I was later told he fainted and
collapsed on the platform.</div>
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On the train, I met many
young people from all over Russia, and after travelling 48 hours, we reached
the town <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Volodymyr-Volynsky,+Volyns'ka+oblast,+Ukraine/@50.864331,24.3268032,3a,75y,89.11h,89.69t/data=!3m8!1e1!3m6!1s-Tiez9wU-X-Y%2FVBcJR9tgr3I%2FAAAAAAAAtoU%2Fcj-mK0jwPSw0JRO05kAYTOlO1ofPMImFwCLIB!2e4!3e11!6s%2F%2Flh3.googleuserc">Vladimir
Volinsk</a> from where we were supposed to be taken to the border at
night. An agent met us at the station
and took us to a boarding house where we were kept in hiding. During the night
the boys were taken to a nearby stable where six of us slept on straw on the
bare floor. The following night we were
ready to be taken to the border. Even
though it was the month of July, the mud was knee deep. We finally reached a place, a wooded area and
we were told that someone would soon be here to take us across the border. We waited almost three hours. In the meantime, it started to rain and we
were soaked to the bone. Finally a Russian
soldier appeared and told us to give him each two rubles and he will lead us
across the border. We were 33 boys and
he led us across the border. After
walking several hours in no man’s land an Austrian soldier appeared and took us
to a boarding house to dry up and have some coffee. This is where the story of the cup of coffee
originated, which years later I used as a bed time story when I put my children
to sleep, and it remained as a legend with them to this day. The following morning we boarded a train and
after traveling for 3 days we finally reached <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Port+of+Hamburg/@53.5490585,9.828023,3a,75y,90t/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1s-JmBu_VXjsmU%2FVz2mRkIBwKI%2FAAAAAAAAYyA%2FI2VYCtcSJpY0wsiumeA1HNMXWt4rR9msACLIB!2e4!3e12!6s%2F%2Flh4.googleusercontent.com%2F-JmBu_VXjsmU%2FVz2mRkIBwKI%252">Hamburg</a>
Germany which was our embarkation point for America. We waited 3 days in Hamburg and on July 16<sup>th</sup>
we finally sailed on the German American Line on an <a href="http://www.gjenvick.com/HistoricalBrochures/HamburgAmericanLine/AcrossTheAtlantic/1905/11-PrinzOskar-PrinzAdalbert.html#axzz4H1iJblnv">ocean
liner</a> called <a href="http://www.norwayheritage.com/p_ship.asp?sh=priad">Printz
Adalbert</a> which was named after the oldest son of Kaiser Wilhelm of
Germany. On July 16<sup>th</sup> at 3
P.M. the ship began to move and I realized for the first time that I am alone
and far away from home, and the tears began to roll. On the ship I met many people and I had a good
time. I travelled 2<sup>nd</sup> class
and in those days 2<sup>nd</sup> class passengers were very few. The meals were not bad, but nothing to
compare with the present day luxury liners.</div>
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Finally on July 30<sup>th</sup>
at about 7 A.M. we sighted land and at about 11A.M. the ship docked at <a href="http://www.phillyhistory.org/PhotoArchive/MediaStream.ashx?SC=2&ImageId=51568">Front
& Washington Ave</a>. I immediately
spotted my uncle Chaim and I started to yell real loud in Jewish, Chaim, Chaim
here I am. He noticed me and motioned to
keep quiet. He was obviously embarrassed
since he already changed his name to Herman.
After going through customs which was no problem for me and the doctor’s
examination I got off the ship and met Chaim.
We started to walk from Washington Ave. to 16<sup>th</sup> and Tasker in
a 95 degree temperature and me with a fur coat and a big black hat…On the same
day Chaim took me to see my Aunt Ethel who was my Mother’s sister and I also
met my cousin Sylvia who was then one year old.</div>
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For almost two weeks, I
was taken around to see the sights of Philadelphia. In the meantime, I enrolled at a night school
at <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/515+pine+street+philadelphia/@39.9438128,-75.1510285,3a,75y,21.72h,90t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m4!1sCPQFM9CJOWBg5jkFZAonOg!2e0!7i13312!8i6656!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x0:0x5dacbb856d666c7!6m1!1e1">515
Pine St</a>., and one of my school mates was Dr. Brenner, who later became a dentist
since his brothers were doctors and lawyers.</div>
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After resting for 2
weeks, I began to look for a job and soon found out that it is not the goldina
medina and money is not strewn on the streets.
After looking for several days I finally found a job at a jobbing house
at 2<sup>nd</sup> and Market and my assignment was to sweep four floors and
help unload the trucks when the merchandise is delivered. My salary was Four Dollars a week. I stayed on this job for two weeks and got
the pink slip. They soon noticed that I
was not the type for this job. I started
to look for another job and soon found one at 6<sup>th</sup> and Moore St. at Frank’s
soda factory and my assignment was to wash empty bottles. In those days there
were no washing machines yet to do the washing.
I stayed on this job one week. I
continued changing jobs for almost 8 months.
One of the jobs was at 17<sup>th</sup> and Reed St. and my assignment
was to kill chickens and clean chicken coops.
I began to feel discouraged, degraded, and my thoughts turned to the
idea of going back to Russia, but on May 14<sup>th</sup> 1914 the First World
War broke out in Europe and of course I gave up the idea.</div>
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One day while walking on
5<sup>th</sup> St. with Chaim, we ran into a landsman whose name was Gavril
Karol who lived in Allentown. He was a
very good friend of my Father, but I vaguely remembered him. They told us that they are opening an apron
factory in Allentown and since he and his son Alex are constantly on the route
peddling, they want someone they can trust to run the factory, to do the
bookkeeping, the payroll, etc. He
suggested that I move to Allentown and I immediately accepted, even though I
was somewhat apprehensive about my ability to handle the job, but I already had
sufficient schooling and I had confidence.
A week later I left for Allentown to begin the job which I felt was more
suitable for me than any of the previous jobs.
My salary was 15 dollars to start and I lived with the Karol
family. There was where I acquired my
taste for classical music, since the Karol family was a musical family. I must say that the years I spent in
Allentown were some of my best. I was
treated with respect and dignity. It was
a small town then and everybody knew me and I knew everybody. </div>
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I occasionally made trips
to Philadelphia to visit my aunt and uncle, but the wheels of destiny keep
turning and where they stop no one knows, and one day while visiting a landsman
family by the name of Milgrom, I met a young man whose name was Nathan
Mosenson, who was a boyfriend to one of the Milgrom boys. In the course of my conversation with him I
learned that his Mother also comes from Rashkov, and of course aroused my
curiosity. He showed me a snapshot of
his family and my attention was immediately attracted to his sister who was a
very attractive and charming young lady.
Without losing any time, we left for his house to meet the family. Needless to say it was obviously love at
first sight and after a three year courtship we were finally married the date
and year January 1<sup>st</sup>, 1922. </div>
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We moved into an
apartment at <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/4032+w+girard+ave,+philadelphia,+pa/@39.9739861,-75.2054709,3a,75y,164.56h,90t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m4!1sZ9C9VpWBs7nEFUX27ZrjIA!2e0!7i13312!8i6656!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x0:0x94845347c8ca3ff6!6m1!1e1">4032
Girard Avenue</a>, on the third floor and set up housekeeping. I was then in the jobbing business for
myself, but soon the depression began and like many others went broke. My beloved wife of six months suggested that
she go back to work at <a href="http://philadelphiaencyclopedia.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Gimbels-1966-phillyhistory-e1323749760895-575x340.jpg">Gimbels</a>,
but that was out of the question, since she was already pregnant, so my in laws
suggested that we put the furniture in storage and move in with them. Since they lived in a very small house it was
rather crowded and with no privacy. In
the meantime, I got a job as a traveling salesman selling boys suits. My salary and commission were quite well and
things began to look brighter, only to be overshadowed by my wife developing
kidney trouble during pregnancy and as a result lost the first baby at birth. Time went by fast and in 1924 we moved into
our own apartment at <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/1201+n+41st+st,+philadelphia,+pa/@39.9743567,-75.2065222,3a,75y,92.89h,90t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m4!1sFFEsS_GPjxSlmLdLSFdUcg!2e0!7i13312!8i6656!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x0:0xaac16f55894dbe86!6m1!1e1">1201
N. 41<sup>st</sup> St</a>. where my daughter Shirley was born on July 11<sup>th</sup>
1925. It was a time of joy and happiness
which did not last long and when my daughter Shirley was 11 months old, my wife
was stricken with a kidney stone, has undergone major surgery and was confined
to the hospital for seven weeks. Despite
doctors’ advice and to take precaution against pregnancy, my daughter Pauline
was born 19 months later, the date and year 1927 April 7<sup>th</sup>. </div>
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I continued to travel as a salesman and in
1931 my uncle Harry, who was in the wholesale butter and egg business decided
to open retail stores. He opened one on
Marshall St., where my cousin Sylvia managed and one at <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/614+S.+4th+St/@39.941208,-75.149271,3a,75y,281.72h,90t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m4!1sf7d88I1WmIR1pyCO37Q4MQ!2e0!7i13312!8i6656!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x0:0x691e7a721185d27e!6m1!1e1">614
S. 4<sup>th</sup> St</a>. and suggested
that I quit traveling and manage the store.
To please my wife who was not in favor for me to be constantly away from
home, I accepted the proposition, and a year later I took over the store for
myself where I spent seven years which I must say under a very unpleasant
environment. In 1939 I moved to <a href="file:///C:/Users/Robyniwitz/Documents/1702%20North%2042nd%20St">1702 North 42<sup>nd</sup> St</a>., where I remained
until my retirement in the grocery and delicatessen business. In 1941 after Pearl Harbor, I got a job from
12 midnight to 8 in the morning and my financial condition began to show marked
improvement.</div>
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I said at the beginning
that this is a partial history of my life, so I will stop right here and
conclude by just saying that I have lived a full healthy life and I am
grateful. I have no regrets, excepts for
the fact that my beloved wife passed away at an early age and was deprived of
the pleasure to see her granddaughters married and her grandson become Bar
Mitzvah, as well and the pleasure of enjoying together our retirement
years. The subsequent untimely deaths of
my two younger brothers and the most recent tragic death of my younger daughter
Pauline left a deep scar and an indelible mark on me for the rest of my life.</div>
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I remember those who are
gone and I look fondly upon those who are with me. I always believe that a man has an obligation
to himself, his family, and to society.
I always believe that man and wife should under any circumstances uphold
the oath they have taken on their wedding day.
I believe that one fellow man should try to help another fellow
man. My Father used to say, if you want
to stay well and live long, you must help other people as much as you can, and
even if he was the most charitable man in town, he died at the age of 57.</div>
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As you know I am not a
professional writer. I have written this
story in my own words and answered questions to those who may be interested and
to those who care to read it, I will just say </div>
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</div>
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“May God Bless You and keep you well”</div>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-50422946615730096582016-06-29T20:54:00.002-04:002016-06-29T20:55:17.317-04:00Tippy Shepherd (1997-2016)<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
For 12 years, the cat nobody wanted has been my spoiled, snuggled, ride-or-die beastie sidekick who saw me through some of the most difficult times in my life and given me more joy than I could ever return to her. Tippy could be as sassy and swatty as she was cuddly, but whenever I felt bad she knew to take care of me. Today I had to do the same for her, and we said goodbye before she had to suffer anymore or lose any more of what made her the Tipster. I am devastated, and th<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">e house is already way too quiet without her mini-pterodactyl squawk, and it will be some time before I stop sleeping on the left side of the bed to give her room to jump up and cuddle at night. But I hope anyone who has a pet feels this bad when you part ways, because that's the price of having loved and been loved by a special critter companion. I'm so glad I picked you, Tippy. And I'm glad you picked me too.</span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Tippy Shepherd (May 24, 1997-June 19, 2016)</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZhJ80WydjrNDEUHg1Gmp1lo-GF4jZFG81M9XbUxsKC45Sw9PuJlHua6x9OiJwsoerXD7qTzxsDSGN6f7WKE06dTmAmxlH7YFQ6Dl2GShdwXWqm38BelrfCuFC6GHanvH68w1RGIk44I/s1600/13475222_10154258343299591_7376891233739238189_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZhJ80WydjrNDEUHg1Gmp1lo-GF4jZFG81M9XbUxsKC45Sw9PuJlHua6x9OiJwsoerXD7qTzxsDSGN6f7WKE06dTmAmxlH7YFQ6Dl2GShdwXWqm38BelrfCuFC6GHanvH68w1RGIk44I/s400/13475222_10154258343299591_7376891233739238189_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-27641983667035754662015-12-06T13:44:00.000-05:002017-11-10T13:44:32.020-05:00Number One Single: 2015 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NXhiDPOY2ZWZrhbLAs6Sa6BGarvecu5JisxNBDFd7HkRAX7GdEO5NlZdHxqDaBbFrXIQ2GuchVfDF_qNXxtcWbCYlsHw3jBrJQLOacaW6J8FjqdSuQ4zny4ky-g99inn7sHJZ1buBZE/s1600/12308186_10153758692524591_673501536030939494_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="877" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NXhiDPOY2ZWZrhbLAs6Sa6BGarvecu5JisxNBDFd7HkRAX7GdEO5NlZdHxqDaBbFrXIQ2GuchVfDF_qNXxtcWbCYlsHw3jBrJQLOacaW6J8FjqdSuQ4zny4ky-g99inn7sHJZ1buBZE/s640/12308186_10153758692524591_673501536030939494_o.jpg" width="452" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Kentucky Bourbon -- Murder by Death</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Let the Good Times Roll -- JD McPherson</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Mama Your Boys Will Find a Home -- Scissors for Lefty</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Whatever Makes You Happy -- Jennifer Hudson</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. Bukowski -- Parlour Tricks</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Philadelphia --@</span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=114293491946489&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/theloveleighs/?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Love Leighs</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">7. Can't Bring Me Down -- Awreeoh</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">8. underneathu -- Jean Grae</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">9. All Good Cowboys -- Mercy Bell</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">10. All the Way There -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=606577264&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/laraewen?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Lara Ewen</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">11. New Mercedes -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=561608055&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/bryandunnmusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Bryan Dunn</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">12. Sharpening the Knives -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=686567211&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/jessirobertson.was.here?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Jessi Robertson</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">13. Never Too Soon to Compromise (Yourself and All Your Values!) -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=7405181&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/shwamusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Shwa Losben</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">14. California -- Rebecca Loebe</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">15. Don't Hold Your Breath -- Athlete</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">16. Justine -- T Bird and the Breaks</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">17. Don't Slow Down Zachary -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=1017244041&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/kelliraepowell?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Kelli Rae Powell</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">18. Q&A -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=773267754&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/abbyahmad?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Abby Ahmad</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">19. The Revealing -- </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=201506&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/chrisayer2?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Chris Ayer</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">20. Sylvia -- Pulp</span></span>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-83560255663508715912015-05-20T17:45:00.001-04:002015-05-20T21:37:22.386-04:00The Late Show with David Letterman and the Best After School Gig I Ever Had<div class="MsoNormal">
My first tour of duty in New York City began in 1999 as a
young squiblet of a freshman at NYU. And it was a magical time. I was living on
my own, I had a new boyfriend, I was going to Broadway shows and concerts on
the regular and I was so, so happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And after the first semester, I was also so, so broke. Your
girl needed an after-school job. Right quick.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had done my share of suburban retail work back at home,
and would have been happy to go back to that after class, but a quick look at
the NYU career services site offered something a bit more enticing, if obtuse:
“Audience Page.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It did not say for what show, so I imagined it might be for
a small-ish program, like a daytime talk show that was probably going to get
canceled sooner rather than later. Otherwise, why be so mysterious? It wasn’t
until I called to set up the interview when they told me what the gig was:
audience page for the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Late Show with
David Letterman.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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New York City. Concrete jungle of which dreams are made, you guys.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKzrLNc-y9uJowmO2K3idqoma8MzILzjU0OIp49pzfw_f7w7pVYSTx9RZv3SQBXmYMdxI7fTKy-yMYZhMmd4skVJRm21g5ncsYpuUg7-JyUsNJ-l27JVw-7vGDrAkUFsE2z5w_qDm-o4/s1600/IMG_3416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKzrLNc-y9uJowmO2K3idqoma8MzILzjU0OIp49pzfw_f7w7pVYSTx9RZv3SQBXmYMdxI7fTKy-yMYZhMmd4skVJRm21g5ncsYpuUg7-JyUsNJ-l27JVw-7vGDrAkUFsE2z5w_qDm-o4/s320/IMG_3416.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what is said on my paycheck. This is what I had to fill out on my taxes.</td></tr>
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It was early 2000, and the show had been on an extended
hiatus due to Letterman’s heart surgery. Which was unfortunate for the pages,
many of whom were not getting paid and sought employment elsewhere. As for
those who might have been a little ambivalent about taking advantage of this
situation…well, welcome to the big city, kid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was less than ambivalent, is what I’m saying.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So for the next year and a half, with a generous summer
break, I reported to the Ed Sullivan Theater four days a week at 3:30 pm to
assist with audience wrangling for the daily program Monday through Wednesday,
and two shows on Thursday. Fridays off. Shabbat shalom. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtorcUCvFfx_9QAMm71kzvOsQWKho_djkIUgBRedtE9KSElGYWwsCbli4nmUb9gjnupEB9wvwKJfeVdLaQaMAaOKCC-Kdgj8R93AmTn4FDzkXWtyX_kqzpMU8LIbIWue-FOsGx12Hapg/s1600/FullSizeRender_1+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtorcUCvFfx_9QAMm71kzvOsQWKho_djkIUgBRedtE9KSElGYWwsCbli4nmUb9gjnupEB9wvwKJfeVdLaQaMAaOKCC-Kdgj8R93AmTn4FDzkXWtyX_kqzpMU8LIbIWue-FOsGx12Hapg/s320/FullSizeRender_1+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best picture of me and the set in existence. Affordable digital cameras could not be invented soon enough.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<u>PAGE PROTOCOL IS NOT A JOKE<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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I made $10 an hour which seemed extravagant to me, and it
was for 1999…until you realize that I only worked 16 hours a week. But at 19,
and the youngest person on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Late Show</i>
payroll, getting that sweet $150 Worldwide Pants check was good enough for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wore a (loaned) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Late
Show</i>-issued gray Eddie Bauer V-neck sweater, a white collar shirt, and a
black necktie. I got some cheap elastic band black pants from the Greenwich
Village K-mart that looked smart enough from a distance, but were thin enough
to slip over layers of tights and jeans because we had to work outside and yes,
it was cold as hell inside the theater.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were about 20 other pages, and we oversaw a fairly
ridiculously complicated operation for checking in audience members, lining
them up, corralling them on the sidewalk, and loading them into the theater. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those with tickets had to come at 4 pm, get a number written
on their ticket, disappear COMPLETELY for 30 minutes (no milling about,
clogging up the sidewalk) and then come BACK. The first 180 folks reported back
at 4:30. They had to line up in numerical order by color coded ropes arranged in
an impressively thought-out formation that allowed for them to assemble while
still allowing for sidewalk traffic. They were given a spiel by some aspiring
comedians -- whose names have been lost to the passage of time and thwarted
showbiz ambitions -- who combined the rules of the theater with some lulz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would load them in just in time for the
next 180 people to arrive. And do it again. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvCzKp4cr_7MweNUfODQclaXIysneWF6Qsp635X1iPTGxmZIUwPtu2uM7cfu4k1GGIe4K29epIi_-wQhqbNSU2Cjrn-80H_EdIDqfcC0KGB4VN3ml-IAUnFDcaUzZFlDN7XhvdakuaC4/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvCzKp4cr_7MweNUfODQclaXIysneWF6Qsp635X1iPTGxmZIUwPtu2uM7cfu4k1GGIe4K29epIi_-wQhqbNSU2Cjrn-80H_EdIDqfcC0KGB4VN3ml-IAUnFDcaUzZFlDN7XhvdakuaC4/s320/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed Sullivan Theater lobby ready to receive an audience. There is an art to stanchion formation that cannot be underestimated.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>HOUSE RULES (WHOSE HOUSE? DAVE’S HOUSE)</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVK_JtbjCh80BRVvxagrTpt1YLE4DqHrfJ0W4eIgeSe4EO7lWKSBkO-Oo2MLvbVbYgiAtHqgmUQxJ6Q8p4NXZ-DOaRaPT9k6oMftm0nh6CPoaVRaulGD-decd2AYle_l5JlS35jT7hWk/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVK_JtbjCh80BRVvxagrTpt1YLE4DqHrfJ0W4eIgeSe4EO7lWKSBkO-Oo2MLvbVbYgiAtHqgmUQxJ6Q8p4NXZ-DOaRaPT9k6oMftm0nh6CPoaVRaulGD-decd2AYle_l5JlS35jT7hWk/s320/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not as shiny sparkly in the harsh light of day, now, is it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes if we were short on time, the Comedy Kids would do
their routine for the First 180, while someone like me would draw aside batches
of the Second 180 as they got their tickets, and give them an abbreviated
version of the house rules. When it was discovered that I could deliver these
quickly, cheerfully, and at a volume that belied my tiny stature and overrode
the box office din, I got to do this a lot. You had to be chipper even while
administering some fairly draconian rules. This is where I learned the fine art
of feigning enthusiasm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It went a little something like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“HI EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO THE <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">LATE SHOW WITH DAVID LETTERMAN</i>! WE’VE GOT A GREAT SHOW TONIGHT AND WE’RE
SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE. JUST SO YOU KNOW, THERE IS NO FOOD, DRINK, OR PHOTOGRAPHY
OF ANY KIND ALLOWED INSIDE. CAMERAS MAY BE CONFISCATED (chipper!). ALSO, YOU
WILL SEE SMALL MICROPHONES HANGING ABOVE YOUR HEAD. THESE ARE TO PICK UP THE
SOUNDS OF THE AUDIENCE BUT THEY ARE <b>VERY</b> SENSITIVE. SO WE WANT YOU TO
CLAP, LAUGH…BUT NO ‘WOOING’ AS IT MAY OVERLOAD THE SPEAKERS.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aside: this, as my audiohead friends will note, is bullshit.
Someone -- maybe Dave, maybe not – just thought “wooing” was obnoxious and
didn’t want it. They’re not wrong, but you try telling that to happy hour
tourists looking to get silly with Dave. Maybe this rule was relaxed in the 15
years since I was there, but it sure as shit was gospel back then.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, and: “IF YOU HAVE TO USE THE RESTROOM DURING THE SHOW
PLEASE <b>DO NOT</b> GET UP UNTIL A COMMERCIAL BREAK. ALERT A PAGE WHO WILL
FILL YOUR SEAT BUT BE ADVISED YOU MAY NOT GET YOUR SEAT BACK AND MAY HAVE TO
WATCH FROM THE BALCONY.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was true. An empty seat is no bueno on TV, so we had a row
of folks in the way back of the balcony on folding chairs. Usually these were
the sad sacks who arrived late, or standby folks. If someone did get up to pee,
one of these people would be dispatched to their seat QUICKLY and the
unfortunate urinator would be banished upstairs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only time the empty seat scenario was thwarted was when
someone straight-up pissed in the seat. Granted, they did not get that seat
back, as they were summarily removed, but they did beat the system, in a sense.
You have to respect that in a funny way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, after telling them about the weird numbered lineup
situation, we’d end with “SEE YOU BACK HERE AND HAVE A GREAT TIME (you
snacking, picture-taking, wooing weirdos).”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told you it was ridiculously complicated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM AND WE STAYED THERE<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was one of the few pages with no showbiz aspirations,
which is good, because unless you want to get in on the tech side of things, it
wasn’t a glamorous gig. You didn’t get to meet the celebrity guests. You didn’t
really get to meet Dave. You would occasionally see him in the basement
corridor that connected the office building to the theater (and also housed the
bathrooms, so we had to be alerted to his impending presence and shoo audience
folks away before he played through), and he would say hi, but he didn’t
exactly have time to kick it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But you DID get to hang out with the crew, including Alan
Kalter the announcer, (who bonded with me as a fellow ginger), Biff Henderson
the stage manager (who was LOVELY and helped me with my homework sometimes),
and all of the security folks who would throw out the people who were REALLY
drunk or REALLY mean to you while using their best Tony Soprano voice, which
was satisfying.<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxhzLoy5mT0Qz1cRZKQ4KOsbiTLHqz_zm0_U-scHLdcCz3i0XT-rTgv7ALgcoWrMGVTF2aCFVX_x0h6NxhRaoE4S-nwMWNtCDpUNA86bRRvgbaWs-NajQiXnO_YNoKCGdUG9Mvu_Q3JbQ/s1600/IMG_3410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxhzLoy5mT0Qz1cRZKQ4KOsbiTLHqz_zm0_U-scHLdcCz3i0XT-rTgv7ALgcoWrMGVTF2aCFVX_x0h6NxhRaoE4S-nwMWNtCDpUNA86bRRvgbaWs-NajQiXnO_YNoKCGdUG9Mvu_Q3JbQ/s320/IMG_3410.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biff Henderson: Stage Manager. Folk Hero.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were some privileges enjoyed just by the pages. When
it was really cold out, and if the Roseland Ballroom across the street didn’t
have a show that night, we would line folks up in there and have the run of the
place before they arrived. That was fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We also got to reward audience members we liked with a
coveted “dot” on their ticket which put them in the front row (and, more than
likely, on camera) so Dave could see them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might even get to pick the people to play “Know Your Current Events” or "Know Your Cuts of Meat." It was a stupid power, but it was ours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could also exact revenge on people who were rude to us by
surreptitiously sending them to the balcony. We’d mark them by walking
alongside them when they came in, and when we got to where our boss was standing
at the foot of the staircase we’d say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!” and he’d say
“THANK YOU, ROBYN. UP THIS WAY, FOLKS,” and away they’d go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though truth be told, you could see way better up there. I
always liked being stationed up there for this reason…and because no one could
see my solo dance parties during the musical acts. But the jerks didn’t know
that. As far as they were concerned, they were being punished. And as far as we
were concerned, they could go on thinking that. STUPID POWER BUT IT WAS OURS.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got to go to the holiday party, which was usually at the
theater. The important folks (Paul, Dave, et al) mainly kept to themselves, but
whatever. There was lobster in EVERYTHING. And we got Worldwide Pants sweatshirts
and tiny pre-printed cards in little envelopes that said:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">MERRY CHRISTMAS<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DAVID LETTERMAN<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQ8OkAyyzowZfFSoW44GTBg8fjGxIbk1VOmgQMqeD8QXG4nVfeUuBhzb6Q-4z1UKmY13avVUDqsr6zueyJNj_LqsLW8Hsxu9fZEwANZz033JETfSP6FnFGT_yiL77msnfET228cNWM8/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-style: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQ8OkAyyzowZfFSoW44GTBg8fjGxIbk1VOmgQMqeD8QXG4nVfeUuBhzb6Q-4z1UKmY13avVUDqsr6zueyJNj_LqsLW8Hsxu9fZEwANZz033JETfSP6FnFGT_yiL77msnfET228cNWM8/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Very <i>Late Show</i> Christmas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd1_Bky1jZDJjSYwtwHaUBS5HOpwGDwHY9s5cKxxN2Py2sgMz0H71gYN-x5CUdaV2ngdCVxMxS2J7f-Kd9-V_BBpfmNJ_cAUAxNDAcDXPtB8JQ5dbfyEAIAmumxiLFjfyKNNyiKaEW-g/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd1_Bky1jZDJjSYwtwHaUBS5HOpwGDwHY9s5cKxxN2Py2sgMz0H71gYN-x5CUdaV2ngdCVxMxS2J7f-Kd9-V_BBpfmNJ_cAUAxNDAcDXPtB8JQ5dbfyEAIAmumxiLFjfyKNNyiKaEW-g/s320/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creepin' on the colleagues creepin' on the fancy people</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And we did get to see a BUTTLOAD of famous people. I got to
see Madonna, Merle Haggard, Dolly Parton, Warren Zevon, Willie Nelson, Lou
Reed, Oasis, Nick Cave, Paul Simon, Bill Murray, Stevie Nicks, Jerry Seinfeld,
Julia Roberts, Janet Jackson, Mitch Hedberg, Paul Newman, Sting, Al Green,
Patti Smith, a pre-famous Zack Galifinakis (who confused the crap out of
EVERYONE), Robin Williams, George Carlin... and on and on and on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One night (incidentally, the episode where George W. Bush
made his in-studio late night campaign debut), James Brown just sat in with the
band and sang during commercial breaks. Which was weird for the TV audience but
AWESOME for us since we got our own private James Brown concert. And they PAID me to be there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And of all these people, the only person I begged the
security folks to ever let me meet was…Moby. Like I said, I was very, very
young and very, very silly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>THAT’S OUR SHOW, GOODNIGHT EVERYBODY<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, the page program shifted to a seasonal, term-limited system, so when I came back to school in the fall of 2001, there was no room at
the Ed Sullivan Theater for me anymore and so endeth my showbiz career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did go back as an audience member not too
long after that, but it’s sort of like going back to see your old high school
teachers thinking they’ll be SO GLAD to see you, but really, thanks for coming
but we kinda have a job to do and you’re kind of getting in the way of that,
but HAVE A GREAT TIME. I have not been to the Ed Sullivan Theater since.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s weird for a lot of us to think of a TV landscape
without David Letterman, even if, like me, you haven’t watched regularly in a
long, long time. Mr. L was a powerful part of my New York story, and I am
especially sad to see the garish blue-and-gold marquee outside the theater
change now. It was always thrilling to round the corner of 57<sup>th</sup> on
to Broadway and see those lights and think “That’s where I’m going. That’s
where I work!” even if I was just a marginally-glorified usher. I never wanted
to stop feeling that way. And though my destiny may not have been within the entertainment-industrial
complex and I now work in an office building in Midtown rather than a
celebrated theater in Times Square, six years into my second tour of duty in
New York City, I still do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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And Mr. Colbert, if you do nothing else as you inherit the stage,
the audience and the pages of the Ed Sullivan Theater…let them “woo.” For God’s
sake, let them “woo.”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wE6ylGUaRKgySfaYstAqjzUdRl86E1KoCN6GXEaV4y4Buu4759kj7YkyZB5rImFYDaZ4l_BQvy98jn8-hggXEDoHNOUnJYeOm-SJQ5habvzF4JF6zEsbiVbvlcBEwp6xQ83MUTsHCDc/s1600/IMG_3414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wE6ylGUaRKgySfaYstAqjzUdRl86E1KoCN6GXEaV4y4Buu4759kj7YkyZB5rImFYDaZ4l_BQvy98jn8-hggXEDoHNOUnJYeOm-SJQ5habvzF4JF6zEsbiVbvlcBEwp6xQ83MUTsHCDc/s320/IMG_3414.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on the far right in my Xmas sweatshirt from Mr. L, surrounded by my fellow pages and friends with whom I formed lifelong...nah, actually we never kept in touch and I forget most of their names. But look at how much we're pretending to like each other! SHOWBIZ.</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-60104977475341461082014-12-14T13:35:00.000-05:002017-11-10T13:41:26.025-05:00Annual Review: 2014 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. F*CKERY LEVEL 3000 — Jean Grae</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces — Ben Folds Five</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. My Life — Richard McGraw</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. She’s So Happy Now — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=561608055&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/bryandunnmusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Bryan Dunn</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. Bodies — Soul Miner’s Daughter</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">6. 17 Again — Eurythmics </span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">7. How to Be Your Girl —</span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=606577264&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/laraewen?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Lara Ewen</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Love Don’t Turn Your Back on Me Now — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100001927900857&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/jesse.d.ruben?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Jesse D. Ruben</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">9. One for My Baby (And One More for the Road) — Stacey Kent</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">10. Black Dress — Mercy Bell</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">11. What Makes a Good Man — The Heavy</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">12. Mother Feather — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=266248911998&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/motherfeather/?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Mother Feather</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">13. Annie in Luck — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=7405181&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/shwamusic?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Shwa Losben</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">14. Lipstick — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=686567211&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/jessirobertson.was.here?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Jessi Robertson</a><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">15. Kids in NY — The Julie Ruin</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">16. The Weekenders — The Hold Steady</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">17. Pink Rabbits — The National</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">18. The City — The 1975</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">19. Here Comes a Regular — </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=391665010943817&extragetparams=%7B%22hc_location%22%3A%22ufi%22%7D" dir="ltr" href="https://www.facebook.com/TheReplacements/?hc_location=ufi" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Replacements</a></span>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-42813580755804118482014-11-26T23:59:00.003-05:002014-11-28T00:26:49.011-05:00On FergusonI'm back home in Richboro for the holiday after being in Ferguson for three days. I don't want to debate the issue too much on Facebook because I've learned that never ends well. But as far as what I saw and experienced:<br />
<br />
You have all seen the bad things. I have posted about the bad things on Facebook and Twitter as they were happening. And the bad things were very bad, and very scary. I felt the heat from the burning buildings on my face. I tasted tear gas three times. I heard a mother screaming for someone to help her wheezing son when a coffeehouse full of people doing nothing more extraordinary than what you'd see at any Starbucks was suddenly filled with tear gas. I have learned that gunshots and smoke bombs make disconcertingly similar sounds when they are fired 15 feet away from you. At you.<br />
<br />
But Ferguson is not a war zone. For the most part, just a block away from any of the fires you saw on TV is a side street with houses with picket fences or big backyards where people were sitting in their living room watching the news. It is a city of 20,000 people, the overwhelming majority of whom just want to live in a community where everyone lives in peace and mutual respect.<br />
<br />
I saw extreme acts of anger. And I saw extreme acts of baseless, reactive fear. But I also saw extreme acts of kindness, courage, and hopeful determination to commit to the long-term effort to make a better future. Because as the protests and the reactions across the country show, there is a fundamental problem that goes beyond Ferguson. Until we bridge the gap in trust between those who enforce the law and the people they are sworn to serve and protect, we cannot move forward. I realize that is not an original assertion. But that does not make it feel any less true. However, rather than being discouraged by what I saw in Ferguson, I believe that the will to make that change is stronger and more durable than any news cycle, and I am actually encouraged by my experience there that such change is possible. <br />
<br />
Our team was in the coffeehouse that was gassed. The coffeehouse was a designated safe space for activists, protesters, or really anyone who wanted to come in at any time of the night and catch their breath both literally and figuratively from the tension in the world outside. The following evening, when we were not there, the coffeehouse was gassed again. And then the events in the clip below happened. We've seen the bad things. We have not seen enough of the good things. Because good things don't make for good TV. Or so we're led to believe. So here is a clip of one of the good things, that does, in fact, make for good viewing. Yes, the people in this clip are clearly on one side of the issue, but I was moved by their spirit of unity and optimism. Maybe you will be too. Maybe not. But I feel like it needs to be seen.<br />
<br />
We can all do better. We can all be better. And I believe we will. Starting with swearing off Facebook-fighting about this and actually getting off our butts and doing something more positive than shouting each other down online.<br />
<br />
Thanks for listening. Okay, here's the video for real this time:<br />
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<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-61109221389466610142014-08-08T21:57:00.003-04:002014-08-08T22:05:12.275-04:00This Is My Goodbye Email<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">After five years, I’m sad to say that today is my last day at the ACLU. It may sound trite to say, but my time here has been the most rewarding and challenging job of my life so far, and I am grateful to a lot of people. I am grateful for the patience shown to me as a newbie who ran headfirst into the brick wall of a learning curve that was the national security project and the human rights program until I got settled. That was nice. I am also grateful to the patience shown to me when we instituted the center structure and SURPRISE! now you work on LGBT, RFP, WRP, and religion! I am grateful to those projects for not chucking me out of the staff meetings while I mastered the various Center for Liberty dialects. That was nice, too. I’m glad we got there in the end.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I’m grateful to work with a brilliant team of passionate people who are not only speaking up for those who are oppressed but ACTUALLY GETTING THINGS DONE. I am so proud to have been a part of the Windsor case, the BRCA gene patenting case, the fight to ensure that servicewomen get the recognition and the reproductive health care they deserve, and to have stood up against those who would have prevented an Islamic community center in downtown Manhattan. And I will miss the Christmas mail. Boy howdy, will I miss the Christmas mail.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">But I’m not going too far. I’ll just be uptown a bit serving as the deputy press secretary at Amnesty International USA, where I look forward to carrying on some of the good work we do here. I hope to stay in touch both through those endeavors and outside the office. After <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_277893771" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">August 18</span></span>, you can reach me at <a href="mailto:rshepherd@aiusa.org" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">rshepherd@aiusa.org</a> and at @AmnestyRobyn on Twitter. Be good to each other, keep fighting the good fight, and just accept the edits to the press release, already.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">XO, R<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Robyn Shepherd</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Media Strategist</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">American Civil Liberties Union</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">125 Broad St., New York, NY 10004<b></b></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">■ (o) </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="tel:212.519.7829" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" value="+12125197829">212.519.7829</a> <span style="color: #4f81bd;">■ (cell) </span><a href="tel:917.302.7189" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" value="+19173027189">917.302.7189</a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">■ </span><a href="mailto:rshepherd@aclu.org" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">rshepherd</span><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-decoration: none;">@aclu.org</span></a></span></span></div>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-27769575095997136702014-02-02T11:46:00.001-05:002014-02-02T11:46:05.145-05:00"Put On Your Booties Cause Its Cold Outside" -- A Groundhog's Day Tale by Bob ShepherdMy brother wrote this a few years ago, and it has been a Facebook favorite. It deserves to be liberated on the Internet, for the benefit of the tens of additional people who may see this. Take it away, Bob:<br />
<br />
<div class="_5k3v _5k3w clearfix">
<div>
I've had a few people bring up
this story to me today so I figured I'd share it with the rest of the
world. It is definitely better told in person but here it goes...<br />
<br />
It
is 1am on February 2, 2004. The New England Patriots had just defeated the
Carolina Panthers in the Super Bowl. Instead of turning in and getting
ready for class the next day, I head outside into the balmy 12 degree
Pittsburgh night and meet Josh and his trusty red Tacoma pickup truck
affectionately referred to as "the red dragon." I hop in and am handed a
cup of coffee as our night has just begun. Despite my previous
experience with a plan laid out by Josh, I have agreed to ride to
Punxsutawney, PA to witness Phil make his yearly prediction. I was told
to expect an all night party, and that it was an event not to be
missed. I was reluctant, but as usual Josh convinced to participate.<br />
<br />
Now
Josh is a very good friend of mine and I was honored to be a groomsman
at his wedding...so please read the rest of this knowing that I have a
lot or respect for him...however..I should also mention that previous
good ideas by Josh include the following events: A sailing trip that
resulted in me jumping into the lake to swim after an un-manned vessel,
then a ticket issued for not having life jackets. Screaming insults at
the Pitt football team's offensive line from his porch. Repelling out of
his second story window. Driving onto the front lawn of a frat house in
front of a cop then getting out, tying a rope from his truck around a
snowman and driving off. Running down Forbes Ave with a pumpkin on his
head telling everyone they knew it, and breaking into a certain
prominent Pitt building under construction to steal blueprints. I have
also witnessed Josh put a brilliant spin move on a cop while rushing the
basketball court at a Pitt game...needless to say Josh was pretty good
at college.<br />
<br />
We hit I-70 and head north. It's not long
before I happen to notice that the red dragon is approaching E which I
point out to Josh. I have been in this situation several times before
with Josh so I didn't worry too much when he assured me we'd be cool and
he had a place in mind.<br />
<br />
Skip ahead 45 minutes where
jamming to Credence has helped pass the time and we approach the off
ramp in Kittanning, PA to head east.<br />
<br />
J: " ...Um dude"<br />
::: sputter:::<br />
B: "NO...don't tell me that"<br />
J: "OK I won't"<br />
:::Sputter:::: :::silence:::<br />
J: "We're out of gas dude."<br />
B: "SONOFA"<br />
As
we're coasting down the ramp with only our momentum carrying us, an 18
wheeler has attached itself to the bumper and a constant barrage of air
horn fills the cab. He passes with a few choice words and we continue to
coast down the ramp.<br />
<br />
The truck comes to rest directly in
front of an ominously dark gas station, we push it in and Josh
fruitlessly tries his credit card.<br />
<br />
Its 3am, literally 0
degrees, there is nothing in sight, and we have no AAA. Josh calls 911 and
asks if someone can "bring us some gas."<br />
<br />
It begins to
sleet while the dispatcher tries to stop laughing and then tells us
there's a gas station two miles up the hill to our left. We begin the
trek and I share the same choice words the trucker had with Josh moments
ago.<br />
<br />
We get a can of gas and a ride from the sympathetic
station attendant back to the truck...Josh asks me for gas money....I
have more choice words.<br />
<br />
This is getting pretty long so I'll skip to my assessment of Groundhog's Day in Punxsutawney.<br />
<br />
It
looks nothing like the Bill Murray movie. The actual event takes place
in the woods nowhere near town at "Gobblers Knob." You are bussed in from
town after the most invasive pat down of my life and arrive at what I
can best describe as a wedding with no booze and no dancing, no food and
it's freezing. There is a stage with a fake stump that houses the rat
and they blast loud awful music at you all night...when finally at 7am,
they rip the now deaf, disoriented Phil from his cage and hold him up so
every flashbulb hits him directly in the eyes. He immediately pees all
over the handler and most of the front row. Some dude in a top hat reads
a scroll and tells you whether or not there was a shadow and everyone
goes home. That's it. The end. I look at Josh and he confirms that the
event is complete and its time to head back to the Burgh.<br />
<br />
Long
story short don't go to Punxsutawney...ever. I make sure to tell this
story ever time Josh and I catch up usually to berate him...and to
remind myself that college was way too much fun!</div>
</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-53886016700965803332014-01-21T10:13:00.005-05:002014-01-21T10:13:41.404-05:00"Snow Day Schedule"<i>Sometimes I make up raps on the subway. And by "sometimes," I mean just this once. Based on actual events.</i><br />
<br />
6 am weather report as I lay in my bed<br />"Could be up to 12 inches" (but that's what she said).<br />Roll out with my long skivvies under my civvies<br />Totin' my Zac Posen because tonight's also busy<br />Walk a mile to the subway in janky snow boots<br />Because a little old snowstorm won't stop the news<br />Gotta file a lawsuit in the pursuit of justice<br />The DC office is closed? Fuck 'em. It's just us.<br />Gotta log my eight hours before I change out of my trousers<br />Traipse through the slush and the mess in a designer dress<br />Blizzard conditions by the time I get to the museum <br />Slip on heels, hide the boots, so the rich people don't see 'em<br />VIP soiree. Stuff my face with canapes.<br />And the accumulation won't keep us from our reservation<br />Sushi and wine; I've got a groupon to dine<br />Might as well order another drink 'cause baby, it's cold outside<br />
Lookin' all fancy as we get in our taxi<br />So I can get home in time to watch a little Downton Abbey<br />And then call it a night. So your day off sounds adorbs,<br />but this what we call a "snow day" in New York.<br /><br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-18629865837348687182013-12-08T10:55:00.002-05:002013-12-08T20:36:00.193-05:00Everyone Says Hi: 2013 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0XypqApNdnVNH9w-vR0MMYs1loaw8x1Ag1iJHTrj2TKa1RUou_7zJvhVLOKuPdsRgxQlZAYKKfjyXKfuMjkW6fpavgze7KfANmD0GZxlS5BEZulAFFUMC5IYjgIHCWSzic8pTI2bY5g/s1600/Everyone+Says+Hi+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_325828="null" eua="true" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0XypqApNdnVNH9w-vR0MMYs1loaw8x1Ag1iJHTrj2TKa1RUou_7zJvhVLOKuPdsRgxQlZAYKKfjyXKfuMjkW6fpavgze7KfANmD0GZxlS5BEZulAFFUMC5IYjgIHCWSzic8pTI2bY5g/s320/Everyone+Says+Hi+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was tough trying to come up with a theme for this year's mixtape. But I think I pinned it down in the end. This post contains sarcasm.<br />
<br />
1. Massive Nights -- The Hold Steady<br />
2. Like Lightning -- Lucero<br />
3. Brooklyn Girls -- Shwa Losben<br />
4. Every Band We Ever Loved -- Henry Clay People<br />
5. Yonder -- The Love Leighs<br />
6. Litte Mascara -- The Replacements<br />
7. Better Off Without a Wife -- Tom Waits<br />
8. Moment for Life -- Nicki Minaj<br />
9. In These Shoes -- Kirsty McColl<br />
10. Nothing to Prove -- Jill Sobule<br />
11. Like a Friend -- Pulp<br />
12. Missing You -- Bryan Dunn<br />
13. Lower East Side -- Justin Townes Earle<br />
14. A Way to You -- Lara Ewen and the Unstrung Orchestra<br />
15. Muume wa Mtu -- The Dataz<br />
16. Lullaby for Bad Girls -- Kelli Rae Powell<br />
17. Always Love -- Nada Surf<br />
18. She's Got Something -- Greg Holden<br />
19. Are You Listening? -- A City on a Lake<br />
<br />
<a href="http://robyniwitz.blogspot.com/2010/12/holiday-mixtapes-back-issues.html" target="_blank">Past mixes</a>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-55886382060961395102013-10-15T19:07:00.000-04:002013-10-16T11:40:10.885-04:00Dear LADear LA:<br />
<br />
This is a little awkward, seeing as we barely know each other. Usually <a href="http://robyniwitz.blogspot.com/2010/04/dear-dc.html" target="_blank">I only write to cities</a> after a torrid relationship that draws blood on both sides. Sometimes metaphorically. Sometimes not. But I digress.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I've been pretty down on you this year. I know the last time we actually saw each other was 2007 for an ultimately doomed quest to win on <a href="http://robyniwitz.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-jeopardy-video.html" target="_blank">Jeopardy</a>, but we left on good terms. I got a framed photo of me and Alex Trebek, and a tote bag! So you may be wondering what it was you did to merit so many passive-aggressive...OKAY, aggressive...hissy fits.<br />
<br />
It all started when one acquaintance decided they wanted to move. That was fine. There was a goodbye party. And drinks. And then there was another. And then another. And then it wasn't just acquaintances, but close friends; best friends; ENTIRE SOCIAL GROUPS (I'm not exaggerating, see below):<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkCDB2YDnYeKNCfGAfCOFk3sFd9BU1vy8n-1pnemqck-9hOzn9MNm2fDu-NV_VYCKfZ4_oLMZ6y1vlOP8rRu3BC5qiySHdSevj2eM0qZBCIF-B0X_s8FuQ2KyK0-eu4aGeGZpmhnHg3w/s1600/249599_10150213478109591_3699255_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkCDB2YDnYeKNCfGAfCOFk3sFd9BU1vy8n-1pnemqck-9hOzn9MNm2fDu-NV_VYCKfZ4_oLMZ6y1vlOP8rRu3BC5qiySHdSevj2eM0qZBCIF-B0X_s8FuQ2KyK0-eu4aGeGZpmhnHg3w/s400/249599_10150213478109591_3699255_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vY7UdNq4cLQd8Oco9q2yEsQCd14Waw8aai__iqKE0CJyS4i7-Q1jUQkT3GEhEPqrSjwCDeIi23L6pZzzp_PT6zD7bWhVKUKYyepV4qpfnA4-DgETSKoXAxky1QCQt2myOYoix65MkAo/s1600/524317_10151043342499591_240220925_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vY7UdNq4cLQd8Oco9q2yEsQCd14Waw8aai__iqKE0CJyS4i7-Q1jUQkT3GEhEPqrSjwCDeIi23L6pZzzp_PT6zD7bWhVKUKYyepV4qpfnA4-DgETSKoXAxky1QCQt2myOYoix65MkAo/s400/524317_10151043342499591_240220925_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJlzt2ggFFImugmEExFFs5qk9URqL3sLnlRjPNNGXbkULVrZ5fNTkcWltsDUP0QkO3HqHiiRJwOF_AVo5JGoiVwbv8JofN6rROa4KMI8haf-ye_T2f8aS5QIQAs0h7c2I6I8etdDoUQPk/s1600/561530_791151334481_1509697924_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJlzt2ggFFImugmEExFFs5qk9URqL3sLnlRjPNNGXbkULVrZ5fNTkcWltsDUP0QkO3HqHiiRJwOF_AVo5JGoiVwbv8JofN6rROa4KMI8haf-ye_T2f8aS5QIQAs0h7c2I6I8etdDoUQPk/s400/561530_791151334481_1509697924_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
And before I knew it, by the middle of 2013 you had deprived me of roughly two dozen people.
And, to tell the truth, I felt bad. Really bad. All the usual depressing buzzwords: left behind, excluded, forgotten, wah wah wah, etc. It didn't help that because entire clumps of people moved en masse, through the magic of Instagram I was able to see my pals all having a great time like we used to...without me. I also knew that even though good friends mean it when they say they keep in touch, life happens. I knew I was really going to lose some folks. That's a bad feeling.<br />
<br />
So I got a little agro. But I'm writing today to say, it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. And I'm...I'm, uh...I'm SORRY, OKAY?
I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
I think it's fair to say you and I might not be kindred spirits. I like seasons. Palm trees are lovely, but I can't ever call a place with no seasons home. I love mass transit. I don't tan. I love living in a city that doesn't revolve around one industry. Trust. I lived in DC for seven years. DC is you for nerds. I didn't thrive there, so I suspect you and I just wouldn't work out.<br />
<br />
But you are pretty. You have great tacos. You know how to have a good time. And yes, I got jealous when one of my expatriates told me he saw the last scene of How I Met Your Mother being filmed while hanging out on his lunch break. I just had to content myself with the Banksy outside my apartment with the sweeping riverfront views mere steps from the greatest art museum in the worCRAP THERE I GO AGAIN.<br />
<br />
Apologies, LA. That wasn't sporting. Back on topic.<br />
<br />
But most importantly, you're now the home of a not-insignificant number of people who mean a lot to me, and who played really important parts in helping me build a new, wonderful life for myself in a new place not so very long ago. Now they've come to you. So if I promise to lay off, will you promise to take care of them? And be nice to them like New York was to me? And maybe, just maybe, we can have a proper peace summit in person.<br />
<br />
Maybe in February. February sucks in New York. There. You can have February. We'll keep October. Happy?<br />
<br />
And I shall continue to hate on the Lakers. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. But you understand.<br />
<br />
In reconciliation, <br />
<br />
XO RRobynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-1603121620021572402013-07-08T12:53:00.002-04:002013-07-08T13:00:34.339-04:00Heavy Fog on the East River<span class="userContent">During last week's apocalyptic rainstorm, my
usual view of Queens, Roosevelt Island and the Triborough and Hells Gate Bridges was completely and spookily obscured. Here's a time
lapse video of the fog lifting. WEATHER YOU GUYS!</span><br />
<span class="userContent"> </span>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/en2gc6Er_Uw" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">And then, 15 minutes later, it looked like this:</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZKxAHlC1dhXts62JEcwo8LEFlgwZhEsAufLVOBATqLNEDdDu8amyQnNQLoQrGAATNeyxqQNrdhpdNHO0nTdCvzcpocIXoBI_5riH2Wd-61oQCZrPpGe5uaQuepOh9QszAknC3mPttmU/s1600/1016765_10151681278284591_228891213_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZKxAHlC1dhXts62JEcwo8LEFlgwZhEsAufLVOBATqLNEDdDu8amyQnNQLoQrGAATNeyxqQNrdhpdNHO0nTdCvzcpocIXoBI_5riH2Wd-61oQCZrPpGe5uaQuepOh9QszAknC3mPttmU/s320/1016765_10151681278284591_228891213_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">New York City. Where even our weather is bipolar.</span>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-83536849965607495732013-04-29T12:57:00.001-04:002013-04-29T12:57:27.869-04:002013 Abandonment Issues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GVs1Co_CJPUznewu4g7lxpxh07c1MdpmrN415m3G9YM1vMuvoRt-QpMUwFHAhMkXOuzEEzxRetutJx0YX0j-3qC5mwGTVU56TbjnqACXAzMq1X2HpJVFG-qBquqCl-2G6S97-KrzT9o/s1600/Abandonment+Issues049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GVs1Co_CJPUznewu4g7lxpxh07c1MdpmrN415m3G9YM1vMuvoRt-QpMUwFHAhMkXOuzEEzxRetutJx0YX0j-3qC5mwGTVU56TbjnqACXAzMq1X2HpJVFG-qBquqCl-2G6S97-KrzT9o/s400/Abandonment+Issues049.jpg" width="290" /></a></div>
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-66281617137105163822013-02-18T16:03:00.000-05:002013-02-18T16:04:32.579-05:00Yer Mom's Brownies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWdXHK_GYHDrMEHTC10r1g5VMlJpjChZ_gQktQV6SImx9BfbBSAb1F7IKJkJtnjVSHT4V7g6vcj0URqEH-I6PSi3O5IuwlimSTDigychRYkrv4cqk3Te9h8xEdhAe-sGIj3wwda9DBsk/s1600/Brownies048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWdXHK_GYHDrMEHTC10r1g5VMlJpjChZ_gQktQV6SImx9BfbBSAb1F7IKJkJtnjVSHT4V7g6vcj0URqEH-I6PSi3O5IuwlimSTDigychRYkrv4cqk3Te9h8xEdhAe-sGIj3wwda9DBsk/s400/Brownies048.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
[click to enlarge]Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-15190999168505947562013-01-19T18:50:00.000-05:002013-01-20T15:22:17.256-05:00Ackloo: Haters Gonna Hate CHAIN MAIL EDITION! (Updated)<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We get some pretty interesting mail in the Ackloo inbox. Most of the time I don't give the crazies the satisfaction of a response.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then sometimes I can't help myself. Names and emails redacted to protect the stupid. </span></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">---Original Message-----</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">From: ACLU Media</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sent: Sat 1/19/2013 6:38 PM</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To: DXXXXX</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Subject: RE: Lucius Travler</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thanks for contacting us. The email you reference has
been widely circulated, but does not represent the ACLU’s views. The
ACLU has no knowledge of the reported event, or the photograph. The
email has been debunked by the website snopes.com <<a href="https://owa.aclu.org/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/marines.asp" target="_blank">http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/marines.asp</a>>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ACLU vigorously defends the rights of all
Americans to practice their faith. More on our work defending religious
freedom and expression can be found here: <<a href="https://owa.aclu.org/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.aclu.org/aclu-defense-religious-practice-and-expression" target="_blank">http://www.aclu.org/aclu-defense-religious-practice-and-expression</a>>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ACLU has never had a spokesperson by the name of
Lucius Traveler, and no such person exists to our knowledge. So
regrettably, we cannot pass along your feedback to him personally. But
thank you for your e-mail. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----Original Message-----</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">From: DXXXXX [<a href="mailto:dorland_n@yahoo.com" target="_blank">dxxxxx@yahoo.com</a>]</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sent: Sat 1/19/2013 11:48 AM</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To: ACLU Media</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Subject: Lucius Travler</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please tell Lucius to go fuck himself. And I Pray
that some raghead puts a bomb under his sorry ass. Then he will know
what those wonderful kids are going through over there. DXXXXX</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sent from my iPhone</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: blue;"> </span></b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">>>></span> Fw:</span><span style="color: blue;"> ACLU vs USMC</span></b></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span>
<br /><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><u><b><span style="color: #1f497d;">H</span><span style="color: black;">OORAH!!</span></b></u></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">ACLU vs. US Marines</span><span style="color: black;"> </span><b> <span style="color: black;">THIS NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE USA MANY TIMES SO KEEP IT GOING!</span><span style="color: black;"> </span></b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmIq21Oh3Rl0v2fHdxv_bkTWautgrHW4kOP4DHSdMTdSWOI9Vj1xAABkCqHdBwhlqSK4l04x7uxEa1VImxy4gNvpG7tbnV7vOIjZTDy8Wk9jYhAIFLSLDjyk9NvNLtc8Sf9rsKSFe1jU/s1600/marines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmIq21Oh3Rl0v2fHdxv_bkTWautgrHW4kOP4DHSdMTdSWOI9Vj1xAABkCqHdBwhlqSK4l04x7uxEa1VImxy4gNvpG7tbnV7vOIjZTDy8Wk9jYhAIFLSLDjyk9NvNLtc8Sf9rsKSFe1jU/s1600/marines.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: black;"> </span></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">If you
look closely at the picture above, you will note that all the Marines
pictured are bowing their heads. That's because they're praying. This
incident took place at a recent ceremony honoring the birthday of the
corps, and it has the ACLU up in arms. "These are federal employees,"
says Lucius Traveler, a spokesman for the ACLU, "on federal property and
on federal time.. For them to pray is clearly an establishment of
religion, and we must nip this in the bud immediately."</span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">When
asked about the ACLU's charges, Colonel Jack Fessender, speaking for the
Commandant of the Corps said (cleaned up a bit), "Screw the ACLU." GOD
Bless Our Warriors. Send the ACLU to France !</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">Please
send this to people you know so everyone will know how stupid the ACLU
is getting in trying to remove GOD from everything and every place in
America May God Bless America , One Nation Under GOD!</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">What's wrong with the picture? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING</span></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">GOD BLESS YOU FOR</span></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">PASSING IT ON! I am sorry but I am not breaking this one....Let us pray </span></span>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">Prayer chain for our Military...please don't break it</span> </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: black;">THIS NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE USA MANY TIMES SO KEEP IT GOING</span></b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: black;">>>></span></b></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;">The truth is out there...but probably not in a chain mail. The more you know. XO R</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><b><span style="color: lime;">UPDATE </span></b>(1/2<span style="font-size: small;">0/13) </span>The cra<span style="font-size: small;">zies don't usually write back, but this time<span style="font-size: small;"> DXXXXX did, and it's not what you'd think. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">-----Original Message-----<br />
From: DXXXXX [<a href="mailto:dorland_n@yahoo.com" target="_blank">dxxxxx@yahoo.com</a>]<br />
Sent: Sat 1/19/2013 8:02 PM<br />
To: ACLU Media<br />
Subject: Re: Lucius Travler<br />
<br />
Thanks for your reply, and I apologize for my outburst. It seems I was
duped by that email and I get so upset when I see disrespect for our
troops. I do not plan to forward the thing. I do support some of what
you do, but not everything. DXXXXX<br />
<br />
Sent from my iPhone</span> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So<span style="font-size: small;">, having received the message at a tapas restaurant after four glasses of sangria, i<span style="font-size: small;">t made total sense to write back.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">-----Original Message-----<br />
From: ACLU Media<br />
Sent: Sat 1/19/2013 10:03 PM<br />
To: DXXXXX<br />
Subject: Re: Lucius Travler<br />
<br />
Completely understandable. And no worries. We're kinda used to it here. :)<br />
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry</span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think we've done a lo<span style="font-size: small;">t for national harmony, you guys.</span> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span><b><span style="color: black;"> </span></b></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><b><span style="color: black;"> </span></b></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-us"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-29705516522055908302013-01-04T12:32:00.000-05:002013-01-04T12:37:18.056-05:00The Jeopardy VideoFor the sake of maintaining the archives, the video of my <a href="http://robyniwitz.blogspot.com/2007/07/this-is-shepardy.html" target="_blank">Jeopardy appearance</a> is back online after an extended hiatus. Thrill as a slightly younger and slightly fleshier Robyn stops just short of game show glory! See it again for the first time! Party like it's 2007!<br />
<br />
Part 1:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/XTnrr9JPSIQ" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
And the exciting conclusion:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/olqZbo_7kTA" width="420"></iframe><br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7031231494779622431.post-88231285720075978922012-12-13T22:14:00.000-05:002013-12-08T20:37:55.993-05:00The Shep Hits the Fan: 2012 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkV2UrHSincX4jRggWq4hGzl-TCYgZ9EGyjqHJMy-CeA-o_n-uMXP1v7Q_Q-radFCO25w3MWp_QLYQJ7UqZF-9QgX3kv9uRAvTxhknkerl_ISKzq79BOCG80Dplx18dgGEa9WKTwdEqs/s1600/Shep+Hits+The+Fan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkV2UrHSincX4jRggWq4hGzl-TCYgZ9EGyjqHJMy-CeA-o_n-uMXP1v7Q_Q-radFCO25w3MWp_QLYQJ7UqZF-9QgX3kv9uRAvTxhknkerl_ISKzq79BOCG80Dplx18dgGEa9WKTwdEqs/s320/Shep+Hits+The+Fan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
2012. You started out pretty damn well. And then you went goofy. Profoundly goofy. You imploded relationships and friendships for no other discernible reason other than you just wanted to watch us all spiral. You sent half my pals to Los Angeles. You dumped a huge, cold, dark, rainy turd named Sandy on my city. You broke my heart, scared the hell out of me and made my football team suck. A lot.<br />
<br />
And then, at the very end, you decided to clean yourself up, get your shit together and stop being such a See You Next Tuesday. Astounding things happened in the world that gave me confidence in my work like I've never had before, and made me feel something like an honest-to-god grownup. My bank account may not have swelled, but it at least plateaued -- and that is an epic ACHIEVEMENT, people. I started writing again, and felt awesome about it. Friendships were mended. Conditions were stabilized. And you gave me a few reasons to rock an evening gown, and that's not nothing.<br />
<br />
You were not my favorite year, 2012. Watching you unravel most of the time was like watching a drunk person roller-skate in traffic with a bucket on its head. Why is this happening? What am I seeing? Are we gonna die? Where did you even get roller skates?<br />
<br />
But it all seemed to come ambivalently together in the end. It may not be "happily ever after." But it's at least "chill til the next episode." And I can live with that. <br />
<br />
It's been real, 2012. Let's never do this again.<br />
<br />
1. Generals -- The Mynabirds<br />
2. I Don't Believe You -- Greg Holden<br />
3. Mayday -- Jessi Robertson<br />
4. When Your Mind's Made Up -- Cast of Once: A New Musical <br />
5. Love it When You Call -- The Feeling<br />
6. Drive All Night -- NEEDTOBREATHE<br />
7. Wrecking Ball -- Creeper Lagoon<br />
8. Gold Guns Girls -- Metric<br />
9. Get Used To It -- Ben Lee<br />
10. Battered Apartments -- Luke Wesley<br />
11. Sweetheart of the Music Hall -- Bryan Dunn<br />
12. So Cry -- Shwa Losben (live from Rockwood Music Hall)<br />
13. Gotta Get Up From Here -- Ellie Lawson<br />
14. Something Bigger, Something Better -- Amanda Blank<br />
15. Some Bridges are Good to Burn -- Kelli Rae Powell<br />
16. Philadelphia (the City of Brotherly Love) -- We Are Augustines<br />
17. Hang with Me -- Robyn<br />
18. 45 -- Brian Webb<br />
19. Going Gone -- Abby Ahmad <br />
<br />
<a href="http://robyniwitz.blogspot.com/2010/12/holiday-mixtapes-back-issues.html" target="_blank">Past mixes</a><br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10276871937498089957noreply@blogger.com