Open Letter to Santa: You Failed Me!

Dear Santa:

I am writing today to say, “You screwed me over.”  You screwed me over big time. Look to the left, Santa. What do you see?   A smiling boy and you.

I see a missed opportunity.  I see Santa Clause slacking off and depriving me of a treasured moment as a parent – the screaming child picture.  What is wrong with you? Do you not know how to give a little pinch? Can you not whisper, “My reindeer love to eat two-year-olds.”?

There is nothing more horrific but yet oddly amusing about young children screaming like they are watching the stuffing being pulled out of their favorite teddy bears.  Tears make great photographs. Childhood smiles are a First World indulgence.

So Santa, you owe me.  I would like to you to scour the Earth and steal every Elf on the Shelf cleverly hanging from chandeliers and sticking out of silverware drawers. All stockings should be filled with broccoli and carrots.  Toys should be replaced with unwanted clothes, and wanted clothes should be replaced with canned goods.

All I want for Christmas this year are a few million crying children. If you follow my conditions, I will forgive you for not giving me this:

 Sincerely,

Garbageman’s Daughter

When Politics are Too Personal to Keep Private: Why I Am No Longer a Closeted Democrat

Author's Note: This originally appeared as a guest blog post on Growing Up Fort Collins (http://growingupfortcollins.com) on November 6, 2012.

Politics are personal, too private to share. You should never tell anyone who you supported with your vote. This is the lesson I learned in a tenth grade political science class. Good advice and a recommendation that I intended to follow my entire life. I planned to never share my political leanings with extended family, friends, or co-workers for three reasons. First, I did not want to give my kids something to rebel against. As a daughter of a lifelong Democrat as soon as I got the right to vote, I registered Republican. Second, my parents and in-laws already have a long list of my wrong doings. Political affiliation did not need to be added to the list. Third, it’s fun to make them guess.
There’s plenty in my profile that would make me difficult to politically brand. I grew up in rural Central Pennsylvania with a dad, grandfather, and brother who hunted regularly. So, I must be an antigun control Republican. I am the daughter, granddaughter, and sister of garbage men, so I must be a blue-collar supporting Democrat. I married a Texan, so certainly I am a diehard Republican. I am a public librarian, which means I am a Socialist, right? I was raised Catholic, which would make me a pro-life Republican. I have been a Feminist since I learned the definition of the word, which probably makes me a pro-choice Democrat (and maybe even a secret lesbian). I am a mother of four who clearly isn’t a big proponent of birth control, so probably a Republican? Also, I have disabled child who was born healthy and was stricken with a rare neurological disease that resulted in him having half of his brain disconnected from his body, leaving him with mild paralysis on the left side of his body. Does this mean I am a pro-welfare state Democrat who wants the government to take care of my handicapped kid for the rest of his life?

Because there are many ways to judge and pigeonhole who I am; I concluded it was best to keep mum during the political season. My plan was I would remain unbiased and unaffiliated in the public arena (also known as Facebook). So when the opportunity arrived to see President Obama at Colorado State University, I decided to approach the experience as a non-partisan trip for my kids to have the chance to hear the first African-American President speak; a way to be a part of the political process. We were there to make memories, learn about politics and be part of history.
After a hot bus ride from the transit center to the university, long lines to get through airport style security, my children’s endless pointing at and gushing over how the United States Secret Service looked they came straight out of a movie (personally reminded me of Agent Cobra Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch), and long-winded speeches by every Democratic politician in Colorado, President Obama took the stage.

 

As I listened to President Obama recount a charming story about his last trip to Fort Collins in 2008 and his desire to take a nap in the brisk Fall weather back then, my seven-year-old son said, “Mom, I am hot. I am hungry. Let’s go now.”

“Just a few minutes, I promise. We can go eat anywhere you want when we are done. Do want pizza, ice cream, chili cheese fries, hummus with naan? How about a new Mario Brother’s game for your Gameboy if you are quiet for just a few more minutes?” My efforts at bribery were failing fast. I wanted to blame his restlessness on his brain injury, but he was just being a typical bored second-grade boy.

Suddenly, my floundering negotiations were halted by my thirteen-year-old son grabbing his little brother’s arm. “Stop it. Do you know who that is? That is the man who is responsible for you having insurance. You will not disrespect him. Go sit down and be quiet.”

“Leave me alone” he yelled and then ran off to the nearest tree to pout.

That was it. That was the moment when I realized I did not have the option to be unbiased, bi-partisan when it came to politics and my kids. Tragedy has shaped our political choices. We know who we are politically and now we bear a political responsibility to openly support the courageous president who accomplished what other political leaders before him could not, passing a national healthcare plan.

No more private politics for us. Sometimes politics become so personal they must become public. My family and families like us are the faces of Obamacare. We are committed to the belief that access to affordable healthcare should be an inalienable right for all Americans. Holding this belief means developing a tough skin and accepting the fact that we have friends and family who do not agree with us and will never agree us. I wanted my kids to know that some people believe that paying for other people to have healthcare will hurt their own families’ finances and access to their current physicians and pharmaceutical plans. So, I try to tell my kids that both views come from a position of love for their families.

My thirteen-year-old never buys that the Republican stand on healthcare comes from a position of concern; especially since he was told by other eight-graders that if his little brother couldn’t take care of himself when he grew-up than he deserved to die. Tough not to internalize. Every ugly statement against Obamacare feels like a personal attack on my son. Every vote against Obama feels like a vote against my son, especially hard-hitting knowing that family members voted for the other guy. But politics are not about the “I”, it is about the “we.” So, our family has made a commitment of money and time to the Obama campaign. Closeted Democrats, we are no more.

Being open about our support of Obama and his plans to move the country forward has made us beleaguered, worn and nervous with so many battleground states up for grabs on this Election Day. But no matter what way it shakes out, my children know that we do not need the government to take care of their brother. We will take care of our own and continue to advocate for those who need a hand-up. This cause is our cause. We are the face of Obamacare and that is a family secret that we will not keep private.

 

 

Let Me Tell You Why You Are a Starving Artist

Dear Small-Time, Small-Venue Performers:

These days, I hear you call yourself a starving artist, living hand to mouth on the art that you make or perform. Well, have you ever wondered why you are not a well-fed, plump artist? Well, let me tell you, artists who eat, do the following: answer their phones, return emails, send out emails to get gigs; and, have a website that works. The really well-fed ones have a performer Facebook page.

If you are a performer and you make your living by performing then you need to make it easy for people like me (a public librarian) to hire you. You can do this by getting a phone and remembering to pay the bill. Cell phone or landline, really doesn’t matter as long as you keep it turned on. If you have a website, it needs to be updated more than once a decade with full descriptions of what you do, videos of your performance, a list of past performances, and current contact information. Make sure your email address works and check your email regularly. If keeping an Internet provider for your email address is a problem, use a cloud service like Hotmail, Gmail or Yahoo.

And by all means, if you can get an email that says, "I may be interested in hiring you," which really means "I will pay you for your talent,” you certainly should answer that email promptly. It is absolutely unacceptable to check your email every two months and then be shocked when I already booked someone else for the performance.

I should not have to contact one of your colleagues from ten years ago or hunt down a venue where you played for an hour about four years ago. I should not have to ask a librarian in a city many miles away for your phone number and email. This is not good business for anyone. This wastes my time, and it means potentially no income for you.

Even if you are on a hiatus from performing or if your group has disbanded, it is your responsibility to set-up an automatic reply email that provides that information. If you are on tour, busy, or just experiencing a lazy streak, you need to send an automatic reply email that says you will be reply within 72-hours. Then, you need to actually reply, so an event planner can move on quickly if you are unavailable.

Although there are seems to be an endless supply of starving artists out there, event planners for institutions like libraries, schools, nursing homes, senior centers, museums, recreational centers and children’s hospitals tend to have specific needs that must be filled by specific types of performers. In other words, if you specialize in performances for children or multicultural presentations, you will be in high demand. Sometimes depending on your geographical area and local demographics, you may be the only performer that fits an institution’s need. For instance, if you do African stories and you live in rural Iowa, you are going to get a lot of calls during Black History Month. You need to be prepared to answer in a timely fashion to not cause panic and worry for the scheduler who may be banking on you and you alone for her multicultural celebration. If you perform Hispanic dance or music and you live Texas, you better answer those emails quickly and with a reasonable quote, or the planner will just find someone else.

Non-profits (especially libraries) have a specific methodology for planning events for their communities; it is not party planning. A performance in a downtown library which serves people of all racial, ethnic and economic backgrounds is not the same as little Sally’s birthday party in the suburbs, so you need to be aware of your market and their needs. A random clown can work anywhere but will be competing against other random clowns. A clown who creates his show around the summer reading program theme in his area can most likely work every day all summer long. Know your area and create a niche for yourself.

In regards to higher-paying gigs in the for-profit sector, I have limited information on their procedures because as a committed non-profit-making librarian I tend to shun those who use skills similar to mine to actually earn a livable wage. But, I do know libraries and will leave you with a few “musts” if you want to have a successful career as a small venue performer.

1. Keep all contact information current and updated regularly.
2. Make video or audio recordings of your performances available on your website.
3. Occasionally send emails to libraries and other non-profits announcing your services.
4. Know your niche and market prior to peak times. Multicultural performers need to be targeting venues about three to six months before to a specific heritage month. Children’s performers need have their performances for summer reading in place at least nine months to one year in advance.
5. Keep your fees within reach of non-profits. Libraries tend to have limited budgets but are very good, solid customers. They pay on time and will recommend you when contacted by other libraries if you are entertaining and professional.
6. Arrive on time. Seems obvious, but tardiness is a huge problem in the arts community.
7. Maintain courteous prompt communication from the time of the initial contact until the final performance. Confirmation calls prior to performance are essential.
8. Remember to take your cell phone with you on the way to performance.
9. Figure out driving directions in advance and allow time to get lost.
10. If you are feeling overwhelmed by any part of the process from booking to marketing to collecting payment, consider hiring a booking agency. Many specialize in small venue performances and charge fair fees. In most cases their fees, are just tacked onto the performance price resulting in higher cost for the library and not subtracting from your profit.

Simply, by following these ten steps, you will go from starving artist to well-fed artist in no time.

Sincerely,
Garbageman’s Daughter

An Open Letter to Prince: A Few Thoughts on Your Comeback Tour

Dear Prince:

As you may know, Whitney Houston is dead. Michael Jackson is dead. Some people may call this a tragedy. I call it opportunity. Yes, Prince Rogers Nelson, this is an opportunity for you to prey upon people’s fears. Fears of you dying before they see you in concert. Fears of their own morality. As their favorite pop stars from their childhood continue to perish; they start to wonder if you are next or if they are next. Now is the time to capitalize on these worries by announcing the “See Me Before I Drop Dead Tour.”

On this tour, you need to break out the hits from the 1980s and keep your crappy, overproduced music from the 1990s and your nice but overlooked music from the 2000s deep in your fault. You need to give your fans a little of your hump the piano freak show. Once you start humping that piano, why don’t you just play all your filthy ditties and make it the “Dirty Forever Tour.” Bring all those freaky hits on the road: “Head”, “Jack U Off”,and” Let’s Pretend We’re Married.” Of course, you must perform Erotic City, not the instrumental version that you have been teasing fans with for a decade, but the full vocal, “We can fuck until the dawn, making love 'til cherry's gone” rendition.
This is what people want. Real people; people who have more or less forgotten about you. Ignore your 47 hardcore fans who whine and complain every time that you play “Purple Rain” or “Kiss.” And, only want you to do set-lists of the unreleased but heavily bootlegged favorites such “Empty Room” and “Wonderful Ass.” Those fans do not matter; they are crazy (says the woman who rationally writes you an open letter nearly every month).

You owe it to your fans to give them the salaciousness that they desire. Give them the shagging songs they crave. Actually, you owe it to this fan, who finally got out from under her parents' control, moved near a big city, and scraped up enough money for a ticket, the year that you stopped saying “fuck.” The wholesome, religious Prince is a has-been, wash-up who appeals to no one but a few fringe Prince fans (who like me buy everything you put out no matter how crappy it is; reads every ridiculous and embarrassing thing that you say; looks at every freaky photoshopped image that makes you look like youthful alien from the “land of once cool, now pathetic rock stars.” Seriously man, you are not Dorian Gray; there is no harm in growing old).

Prince, I know you will not go for this idea. You have repeatedly shunned the past and have done just about everything you possibly can do to permanently ruin your legacy by being a litigious, unfaithful, smug prick whose failed marriages, destroyed friendships, bad business deals, lawsuits against fans and vitriolic statements about burqas, gays, and the Internet have at times overshadowed your musical genius.
  
But whether you want to or not, this is what needs to be done. It is time relive the past, don the purple lamé trench coat and play “Baby, I’m a Star” until your high-heels on your boots break. This is what fans want. I know this because this is what people tell me. Yes, people me tell—as if I were your personal assistant or manager—that they want to see you in concert before they die or before you die.
If I were your manager you would not be a has-been; you would still get radio play like the Madonna who is still as charismatic but talentless as ever; you would have never scrawled “slave” on your face; you would have manned up and maturely finished your contact with Warner Bros. with the quality of music expected from a musician of your stature; you would have never sued fans for enduring enough pain to put your symbol on their bodies or loving you so much that they videotaped their babies dancing to your music. And certainly, you would be doing the “See Me Before I Drop Dead Tour.”

Because you know, no matter how much Botox you get or how many girls you bang who are younger than “Purple Rain,” you will eventually die. So, why not make a ton of that money and give fans what we desperately want…how your music made us feel back in the day. Please let us relive that one more time before you drop dead.

Best Regards,
Garbageman’s Daughter
Devoted Fan for 29 Years and 4 Months

Funny Sh*t My Son Says

How did Oscar Wilde’s parents discipline him? How much time did Dorothy Parker spend in time-out? Perhaps it is a little presumptuous and even a little egotistical to compare myself to the parents of two of most witty writers to ever live. Perhaps my child isn't the next Oscar Wilde but he is exceptionally witty and clever. Simply put: He is the funniest person that I ever met.
So to commemorate my first son's thirteenth birthday. Here are some of his witticisms:

• I got an idea. Let me do your taxes and you can let me keep all the money I save you.
• If college doesn’t work out, I can be the guy who makes guacamole at Chipotle. I make delicious guacamole.
• I could never be rock star because I could not wear skinny jeans.
• Mom, are all your friends cooler than you?
• “About 90-percent of the people I meet are dumbasses,” he said, which triggers a disapproving look from his mother. “Have you never been to middle school? If I didn’t cuss, they would think I was a freak.’
• The difference between Madonna and Prince is that Madonna is a woman and Prince just acts like one.
• The only thing, Mom, that could make this Prince song worse is your dancing.
• We don’t entertain. We go to other people’s houses for entertainment.
• I cannot be funny on spot. I need to mock others and feed off their stupidity to truly be hilarious.
• I don’t debate for fun. I debate because other people are stupid and I need to let them know that.
• You just say that you are supporter of the arts to make yourself look better and smarter. No one really gives a crap about the arts.
• Mom, I sounded so smart in science class…No, mom that was sarcasm. I was talking about cabbage. No one sounds smart talking about cabbage.
• I don't really enjoy writing and even work that hard at it. I am just good at it with no effort all.

Happy Birthday to my dear son who has the perfect combination of smarts, wit, good looks and charm to become a great man and inspiring leader since he already is a great son and brother.

Engagement Revisited: Our Love Is a Purple Dented Volvo

“Boring” was the one word response that I got from my husband when I emailed him the story of our engagement.

“Boring! This story could be a metaphor for our entire relationship as it foreshadows all the future collisions that we will survive,” I typed and hit sent.

“I didn’t know our relationship was a purple Volvo with a dent in it,” he replied.

Yes, our love is a dented purple Volvo and today on fourteen year wedding anniversary, I recall the day of our Engagement (A rewrite from the boring version that I originally sent my husband.)

Six month dating anniversary, March 23, 1996. She was joyful. He was nervous. Harsh Texas winds. A canceled picnic lunch and a defunct stroll in the park left him struggling for a romantic back-up plan in a rather grim, culturally barren city. Window shopping at the mall followed by a lunch at a Thai restaurant was the best he could, or so she thought.

After brushing her hair one last time, she heard Van Morrison’s Crazy Love and walked into the living room to discover her boyfriend on bended knee with an open ring box and a slight quiver in his hand. Before he could ask, she said, “Yes.”

Giggles, hugs and kisses followed until they finally left for lunch. Excitement got the better of him as he failed to check the rearview mirror and backed into a moving purple Volvo. The perfect beginning to a collision filled relationship…

Happy Anniversary, my brilliant and gorgeous husband who truly is a saint for putting up with my histrionics and bad cooking. You’re stuck with me forever.

NST or No Speak Text

No one would ever accuse me of being a particularly ethical person, so when my twelve-year son was lazy enough to leave his Facebook account open on his computer, I had no choice. I had to snoop through his messages.

Since snooping truly is one of the great perks of motherhood, I was rushing with adrenaline to get a peek into my son’s life since he tells me nothing other than “whatever” and “yeah.” But my spying quickly halted when I got to something that looked like HGFGD WFTYKPL BHLT. Not a vowel or a mark of punctuation anywhere in sight.

Now I know that my son goes to one of the best middle schools in town, and they tell me he is gifted and talented. So, one would think that the boy could write polysyllabic words and use fancy things like colons and semi-colons, but his time is too valuable to write in complete sentences. What I call articulation and competent literacy he calls "uncoolness." He tells me all the time that I am lame for sending him text messages with capital letters and periods.

So as I stare at the wall of capital consonants, I would be better off reading Braille or Russian since the extent of texting knowledge is any Prince song from the 1980s and WTF. I soon give up and hope that my child isn’t selling pot out of our basement or making plans to lose his virginity to an $8.00 whore on Colfax. But these are the things that I will never know until a police officer comes knocking on our door because I NST.

The Pep Talk

Our knuckles slam into each other as we both reach for the volume button on the car radio when Pumped Up Kicks comes on with its catchy melody and clever homicidal chorus.

“Mom, you are too old to like that song,” said the twelve-year-old middle schooler who has never experienced social alienation a day in his life.

“I like it. It sums up high school for me,” said his kindhearted, gentle mother with a delicate smile.

“Psycho! My mom is a psycho. That song is about killing people. Did you want to kill people?”

“Of course not. No. Absolutely not. Well, not exactly….probably not. At least not in real life…maybe in my head. You know what… it is complicated. Fantasies of homicide and suicide fill the teenage experience. Then you grow up and those sick fantasies fade away and are replaced by a whole another slew of dreams and hopes that ultimately go unfilled until you eventually die unpublished, broke and alone.”

“You are a terrible mother. Do you ever listen to yourself? That is not something a good mother would say.”

“Son, you are a bright kid with a bright future ahead of you. Do not kill yourself or others. Better?”

“See you are the reason, I never have friends come over. You have serious problems.”