new posts in all blogs
Viewing Blog: Crossing Polansky, Most Recent at Top
Results 1 - 25 of 49
CROSSING POLANSKY: Cross-Genre Writing and Other Misadventured, Piteous Overthrows
"Nobody told me you're supposed to stick to one genre!"
--Cynthia Polansky, novelist
--Cynthia P. Gallagher, nonfiction dog writer
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Statistics for Crossing Polansky
Number of times this blog has been viewed on JacketFlap: 0
Number of Readers that added this blog to their MyJacketFlap: 2
....the vampires linger on! This week I welcome Irene Brodsky, author of Poetry Unplugged, as a guest blogger with her own special tribute to Barnabas Collins, starring vampire in the 1960's soap opera, Dark Shadows. The erstwhile TV drama is coming soon as a feature film starring Johnny Depp as Barnabas. Now THAT'S going to be a sexy vampire you can really sink your teeth into (I said as much to Jonathan Frid recently, but he just replied "Bite me.").
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do you remember “Dark Shadows” starring Jonathan Frid as Barnabas Collins? If you do, you will be thrilled to death to know that the handsome 176-year old vampire is back in town, thanks to Johnny Depp & Tim Burton. So hide your necks and wear garlic every night! I have no shame to say I can hardly wait to see Johnny Depp as Barnabas. I remember Depp from “Cry Baby” & “Edward Scissorhands.” At my age, 63, I should behave myself and not have silly crushes on tall, dark and handsome vampires, so let’s keep this a secret….o.k.? But just in case you want to confess you are just dying to see Barnabas again, drop me a line at Chayarochel@aol.com, and we can giggle about it!!! Meanwhile, enjoy these video blasts from the past:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xtoW82jcXw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37neU5D9jj8“DARK SHADOWS”
My personal tribute to Barnabas Collins:
I remember Dark Shadows in the year 1969
A soap opera about Barnabas Collins
A handsome vampire… Creature of the night
Roaming the countryside for the taste of fresh blood.
Oh! To be free of this curse!
He never gave up for a cure to be found.
Oh! To be human once again!
To marry the love of his life.
for she knew not what he was and he dare not say!
Alas the time has arrived!
Barnabas must hurry on his way.
A miraculous potion has been made by a Doctor of shady intentions.
And Barnabas rushed to him with great anticipation
In the dark shadows, under a weeping willow tree
The evil Doctor awaited in the fog.
The magic potion beckoned to Barnabas
and he raised it to his parched lips.
Oh! To be human at last!
Then, the greedy Doctor declared to take all that Barnabas owned
Barnabas agreed to pay, but he had other intentions!
He made his choice to taste fresh blood
one more time!
In the Dark Shadows of the deadly forest
under the weeping willow tree,
the sneaky doctor’s blood flowed
until he was no more.
And Barnabas married the love of his life
The Dark Shadows were far behind them
Hopefully sunny days awaited
up ahead.
But Oh! What I would not give
To turn back the hands of time to 1969
To know if Barnabas and his new bride
were safe and happy?
I wish I knew!
And so, my dear readers, I bid you goodnight, don’t let the bedbug bite, watch out for bats and avoid hypnotic eyes! Till we meet again…
I remain, Irene.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/D
I confess I don't really understand the present vampire craze in books and movies. I've said before that, while a romantic version of Count Dracula began with Bela Lugosi in 1932 and continued with Frank Langella in 1980, the original Dracula as written by Bram Stoker was far from a hunk. Personally, I can only assume that matinee idols in the 1930s must have been considerably different from today's. No disrespect to Bela Lugosi intended, but a forty-something Hungarian with slicked- back hair, white pancake make-up and red lipstick is not the stuff of my romantic fantasies. Lugosi resembled my pediatrician (sans make-up) -- not such a good thing when you're getting your back-to-school shots. It just goes to show the impact of the vampire as a romantic figure, transcending youth and conventional good looks almost 90 years ago to spark an erotic fantasy that has not only lasted but burgeoned into the current literary/cinematic phenomenon taking over mortal women everywhere...an interesting paradox when you add the resurgence of Jane Austen's popularity.
Like everyone else who adored Pride and Prejudice , I hungered for more on the Misses Bennet and their dashing suitors. When Mr. Darcy's Daughters was released six years ago, I eagerly hunkered down with Mr. & Mrs. Darcy, still-wild Aunt Lydia Wickham, and the Bingleys. Author Elizabeth Ashton did an admirable job, but she had a tough act to follow and I felt a bit disappointed at the novel's end. I had experienced similar emotions 16-odd years ago when Scarlett, a much-touted sequel to Gone With the Wind came on the book scene. As movie sequels often fail to live up to their smash-hit predecessors, Scarlett did not hold me sway. There's just no substitute for the real thing.
So for years I contented myself with my high school English class paperback of Pride and Prejudice, reading and re-reading yellowed pages that fell apart from the ancient mass-market binding. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy by Sharon Lathan, covered with a beguiling portrait of an early-1800s young lady who might have been Elizabeth Bennet.
I put it down after 50 pages, unable to accept Elizabeth, for all her independence and forward thinking, having constant, steamy, and blatantly graphic sex with Mr. Darcy.
Don't get me wrong; a little well-written erotica is fine. And I always wondered where the Ingalls family went to the bathroom throughout the Little House books (did Pa build an outhouse or did they use chamber pots?). But I really feel there's a lot to be said for leaving certain things to the imagination. Besides, turning Pride and Prejudice into erotica reduces Jane Austen to a level that hardly does her justice. The societal formality of her era and her prose simply does not translate to the gothic romance genre. Elizabeth Bennet would never do those things; or if she did, I certainly don't want to know about it! It's like learning for the first time that your parents have sex: too much information.
Nor would Jane Austen have written about such things. Author of YA novel Funny How Things Change Melissa Wyatt, who shared my exhibit table at a recent NAIBA conference, also shared my opinion about these sequels. Jane Austen wouldn't have even hinted about a male member, much less invent so many euphemisms for it (Melissa said she stopped counting at 14 in Loving Mr. Darcy by Sharon Lathan).
But sex isn't the worst of it. I can understand the marketing strategy of combining hot trends in a single product but I mean, really: Vampire Darcy's Desire??? (check out Amazon, if you're as late to the party as I am and hadn't heard of these books) Forgive me, but even if Mr. Darcy is a vampire, he has servants to get the blood for him, probably presented in a silver goblet. He would never overstep the bounds of genteel society to bite a lady's neck, and he's no Mr. Wickham to have truck with common prostitutes. So the whole idea just doesn't work. Besides, how can we take poor, innocent Jane Austen into the horror genre? She must be turning in her grave...that is, if she hasn't risen from it to walk the earth as a Georgian zombie.
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
Two weeks ago, while recovering from a meniscus tear, I tripped on an uneven sidewalk and went flying forward. To protect my knee, which thankfully was wearing a compression bandage, I took the fall on my hands, breaking my left radius into pieces. Some surgically-installed hardware put me back together, but my forearm is in a splint for the duration, severely limiting my typing skill! So please enjoy archived posts while Crossing Polansky takes a hiatus to restore full usage of my left wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please join me in congratulating my assistant, Jennifer, in the arrival of son August Tyler, born August 22 and weighing in at a whopping nine pounds! That's his big brother RoYeon in the photo with him.
Welcome to the world, August!
Enjoy the last weeks of summer!
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
It's probably fair to say that most engaged couples choose together the song to which they will dance their first dance as man and wife. The first bridal dance takes on many forms these days, from choreographed Arthur Murray 10-lesson routines to a barely rocking embrace while the band croons out "We've Only Just Begun." I once attended a wedding where the bridal couple danced to "(Hunka Hunka) Burning Love" by Elvis Presley. Definitely not your parents' sedate waltz.
My husband's and my song choice, Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, gave us pause for its divergence from traditional lyrics. After all, we weren't 20-somethings; would a classic rock song that talks about getting too wasted to drive home be inappropriate? We just liked it, so to hell with convention. But imagine if your fiance suggested one of the following songs...could he be he trying to tell you something?
Love Hurts by Nazareth
Battle Hymn of Love by Kathy Mattea
Sad to Belong to Someone Else [When the Right One Comes Along] by England Dan and John Ford Coley
Torn Between Two Lovers by Mary MacGregor
[If You Can't Be With the One You Love] Love the One You're With by Crosby, Stills, & Nash
Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson
My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow
Gives You Hell by All American Rejects
What's your pick? What wedding dance song choice would leave you standing alone at the altar?
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
Cynthia Polansky
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
At last, my list of really odd street names has another item! For almost a year now, Lovely Johnson Lane in Annapolis, Maryland has been the sole occupant of this photo-list, despite pleas for submissions of oddly named street signs and their locations. Maybe this will break the stalemate. I give you:
When I picture a boulevard, I see a very broad road with a wide island divider, usually with pretty landscaping and/or decorative. A and Eagle Boulevard is a short street in the Parole district of Annapolis leading to a service-oriented business, (no "A" or "Eagle" in the company name, either) with lots of trucks. No island, no landscaping, no signage, which is probably why I've long overlooked this candidate for the list. Definitely the road less traveled, more of a lane than a boulevard.
In the tradition of street signs, all letters are capitalized. Ergo, "AND" is all caps and disturbing to my grammatical sensibilities. The first letter wouldn't be capitalized, since proper sentences never begin with "and" (those of us who remember Schoolhouse Rock are humming Conjunction Junction, what's your function? right about now). Does "AND" have a different function here, perhaps an adjective, identifying a type of eagle? It's a stretch, yes, but who would have thought that wawa is a species of waterfowl and not just a convenience store?
Why all this analysis of a street sign? Darned if I know. In fact, I just realized what an unusual person I must be to even conduct such an analysis, let alone blog about it for all to see. At least I'm living up to my tagline!
"Expect the Unexpected"
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
As soon as I read the pet article's title, How Not to Lose Your Pet in Our Difficult Economy, my blood began to boil. Tips to prevent people strapped for cash from surrendering their pets to shelters, rescue organizations, or simply abandoning them? It is unthinkable to me that such an option exists.
Okay, so I was already a little hot under the collar, so to speak, about a Baltimore "pit bull" who had been doused with gasoline, been forced to swallow gasoline, and ignited (for the outcome of that story, sign up for my newsletter). I was frustrated that convicted felon Michael Vick was released from prison after such a short sentence for his part in animal abuse (animal cruelty laws need to become more stringent, but that's another blog). Personal feelings aside, I realize that perfectly nice people may be under economic pressure to relinquish their pets.
I just don't understand it.
Do these perfectly nice people consider relinquishing one of their children? Of course not. Do they investigate every economic option before taking the easy way out and getting rid of the pet? Doubtful. Before taking on the responsibility of pet ownership, did they even consider the possibility of a crisis, economic or otherwise, putting them in this position? Probably not.
I know I'm a bit militant when it comes to animal welfare, and I'm prepared to accept any recriminations for the following content (I took similar heat when I challenged Katrina victims who abandoned their pets). But why is it acceptable to disavow compassion and responsibility for pets when pockets are light? Why do they deserve a lesser quality of life than the humans who take them into their homes? Why do they deserve a lesser quality of life than humans, period? They are sentient beings who can teach mankind a lot about character, loyalty, and love.
Economic struggles regarding pets usually manifest in the cost of feeding them. We seem to forget that, in domesticating dog, man essentially traded custodial obligations for dog's labors on the battlefield, hunting grounds, farms, sentry duty, etc. If dog didn't eat, man didn't benefit. Our survival no longer depends on dog's assistance, but care of domesticated dog is no less our responsibility.
The article I read suggested cutting pet-care costs by buying the cheapest food possible. Far be it from me to criticize economically-strapped dog owners from bulk-buying Brand X chow if that's the only way they can afford to keep their pets. However, the composition, not the price, of Brand X chow is the problem. The filler, grain, and other inexpensive, processed ingredients do not comprise an optimal diet for carnivorous canines.
In all fairness, most Americans don't feed themselves an optimally-healthy diet; why should I expect anything different for their pets? After all, if the Average Joe family is going to have processed hotdogs for dinner, how cost-prohibitive can it be to buy enough to include the family dog? Americans' tendency toward excess in everything extends to our pets, but we should remember that a lack of excess does not equal insufficiency.
As for health care, the economy puts many of us in a position of choosing between medications and food. But again, denying a pet from necessary health care due to financial constraints is not just unfortunate, it's abusive. I'm not talking about major surgery here; many pet owners unable to pay for expensive emergency medical treatments make the difficult decision to euthanize. I'm referring to pet owners who ignore parasite prevention, infectious disease prevention, spaying/neutering, etc. And while parents who neglect to provide routine health care for their children are subject to legal action, such pet owners usually aren't, implying a kind of complaisance. Bottom line: if you can't afford to pay for heart worm prevention and regular veterinary care, don't get a dog. The "Octo-Mom" garnered media attention -- and subsequent financial aid -- for her economic plight as mother to 14 children. The more ubiquitous scenario -- a single mother with four children and a dog -- gets nothing.
Those of you still reading understand what I mean by advocating pet responsibility and forethought. Compassionate, responsible people don't just quit when a situation becomes inconvenient or infeasible. If we as a nation can afford to feed, house, clothe, and occupy imprisoned murderers, rapists, and child molesters for nigh on 50 years, we can set aside a few bucks a week toward our quadriped -- and I daresay more deserving -- community members.
http://www.cynthiapolansky.com/
http://www.cynthiapgallagher.com/
There is nothing wrong with your [monitor]. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission [of this very disturbing image]...You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits of Crossing Polansky...
Since donning my first pair of eyeglasses at age seven, eye doctors and vision professionals have figured largely in my life. From kindly old Dr. Skirball (whom my brother once called Dr. Eyeball by mistake -- there must be an unwritten rule that a doctor's last name determines their specialty. Cases in point: orthopedist Dr. Shin and hand surgeon Dr. Nalebuff. I'm not kidding.) in the early 1960s to respected
Dr. Maria Scott, who ten years ago changed my life forever in only three minutes with a simple laser beam. Medical and technological improvements in today's eye and vision care range from pleasing (no more "puff" (read: "blast") of air at close range on your eyeball to check for glaucoma) to miraculous (cataract replacement surgery and LASIK vision correction).
I gave my trust over to each and every one of those eye care professionals -- my 20/400 uncorrected vision depended on it. So when optometrist
Nikki Meadows wanted to measure my
tear production, I didn't have a moment's pause, even when she gently hooked the little paper equivalent of a dipstick on my lower eyelid and bade me close my eyes for five minutes. After all, I'd had my eyelids everted, my pupils dilated, my eyeballs "puffed", and my retinas cut. What's the big deal about a little dipstick? I only wished I could have opened my eyes to see how funny it must have looked.
Technology the rescue...Dr. Meadows obligingly took a picture with her cell phone.
Why am I sharing this random, banal anecdote that's immortalized in one of the most hideous photos I've ever taken? For no other reason than to give you the same laugh it gave me, and to add that anyone looking for superlative eye and vision care should visit the
Chesapeake Laser & Eye Care Center in Annapolis, Maryland. Any one of the practitioners in this group is top-notch for eye care, but for the discerning patient who also seeks a medical modeling career, my money's on Dr. Nikki Meadows every time.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
While visiting recently in my mother's kitchen, my brother mentioned that he hadn't received my monthly newsletter in a while.
"Could it be the spam filter?" I asked him "Maybe you need to whitelist the email addy."
I caught a glimpse of my mother's bewildered face. "You have no idea what I just said, do you?" She definitely had the I don't know what you're talking about but I'll be supportive and pretend it's fascinating look.
Trooper that she is, she shook her head and cheerfully said, "No, but that's okay."
Albeit a little late in the game, I understood at that moment what a completely new language technology has spawned, a language that grows with each new fad. It started with "IM-ing" and has evolved into "texting" (now a verb in its own right) abbreviations: BFF, OMG, TTFN, ROTFL, and the ever-important one I thankfully have no reason to remember that warns of parents looking over the kid's shoulder. But abbreviations were just the beginning. Then came Facebook, largely responsible for the metamorphosis of the noun friend into a verb, as in "If you friend my ex-boyfriend after what he did, you are no longer my BFF."
Along came Twitter and its appropriate lingo: tweeting, re-tweeting, tweets, twits, etc. Now there are terms that combine English words with the Twitter diphthong (go look it up in the dictionary, like a big boy or girl). Think of the possibilities, some of which already exist: tweeple, mistweet (mistwake?), tweblog ... we may all start sounding like Elmer Fudd ("When I catch that wascally wabbit, I'll give him such a Tweet...").
Perhaps the not-too-distant future will offer foreign language classes for various tech dialects. Don't laugh; remember COBOL and BASIC? In the early days of computer science, proficiency in these acronymic computer "languages" was important. Today's tech talk isn't nearly that esoteric, but I predict it will flourish like toenail fungus, so prepare yourselves. Your grandchild may graduate college with a double-major in Tweetish and Textese.
p.s. (how many kids know what that abbreviation stands for?) If you need translations of any of the tech terms used, visit Dictionary.com. They're probably already integrated into the vernacular.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Crossing Polansky is taking a bye due to family illness, but hopes to resume next week. Meanwhile, enjoy the archived posts (scroll down for list) and follow me on Twitter.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
www.cynthiapgallagher.com
I was a student at George Washington University when I first heard Washington, DC described as "where local news is national news." Catchy, and true. I've lived most of my life in and around Washington and, not surprisingly, I've been privy to many historical events, good and bad. Even out here in Annapolis -- 22 miles and a lifestyle away from the District -- we aren't immune. Years ago, when the DC Sniper targeted Benjamin Tasker Middle School in nearby Bowie, that was too close for comfort. Annapolis gas stations hung opaque plastic panels around pumps to cloak customers from clear view. And that wasn't the only frightening proximity; some of the 9/11 terrorists took their fateful flying lessons at a small aviation school about 15 miles west of Annapolis. I couldn't decide if that was creepier than other 9/11 terrorists spending the preceding night at the same motel where my in-laws all stayed for our wedding in Boston.
Still creepier was the realization that the gunman who attacked the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington actually lives in Annapolis. I found it hard to believe that such venomous hate could reside, undetected, a mere five miles from my house. Had I ever passed him on the street? Would he have noticed the gold Star of David necklace I wear? Might I have been tutoring at the Writing Center on the same day he showed up at USNA to complain about ethnic enrollment?
Readily identifiable evil like a skinhead protest march or a KKK rally is one thing; it's quite another when a mild-mannered old gentleman living in a modest Annapolis apartment complex burns with a hatred that's been germinating for 60 years. We could be generous and allow that dementia may have quashed self-control and fostered violence. That's a palatable explanation many of us want to believe, instead of the more likely and exponentially more horrifying truth. It's no easier to wrap one's mind around the idea of an elderly, self-styled vigilante than that of deliberately crashing huge airliners into skyscrapers.
The bitter conclusion is that there is no escape from evil. Hatred and violence aren't confined to poor urban areas, international waters, or war-torn battlefronts. Evil can reside in our own backyards, the same place where we're told to seek our happiness. But guess what, Toto: we're not in Kansas anymore. Apparently it will take more than a weed-whacker to keep the crabgrass at bay.
This blog is dedicated to the memory of security officer Stephen T. Johns.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Ah, remember the good old days, when the title phrase was an efficacious insult instead of the come-hither teen-speak Stephenie Meyer fans have come to associate with all things vampire. I'm probably not the only one who remembers that the whole teen infatuation with hunky vampires began more than 20 years ago with the film, "The Lost Boys." Back then there was less blood and more imagination, kind of like the movies of 60 years ago when the camera panned up to the stars after the final kiss close-up. You knew what came next; you didn't have to see it. Now there's so much Hollywood vampire blood that California is going to have ration corn syrup.
But my real issue is the whole vampire-equals-sex-god thing. I suppose it started in 1931 when Bela Lugosi forever made Dracula a romantic figure (if you like Hungarians with patent-leather hair). Personally, Lugosi's Dracula resembled my pediatrician. It's a wonder I didn't screech during inoculations. Or fall in love.
Aren't vampires supposed to be scary? Certainly that's what Bram Stoker intended. The literary Dracula had hair growing out of his palms and ears, foul breath, and red eyes. Hardly my idea of romantic figure. Most women don't tolerate back hair, let alone palm hair (though I suppose it would have its merits in winter). Yet out of the myriad Dracula films made over the decades, only two ever portrayed the Vampire in Chief as a frightening character. "Nosferatu," a silent film of the 1920s and probably the original "horror movie," and "Bram Stoker's Dracula," the '90s film with Winona Ryder, Keanu Reeves, and Gary Oldman. Not surprisingly, the latter version sported all the special makeup and effects modern cinematic techniques offered. Gary Oldman's portrayal of Dracula was indeed scary, but compensated by a bevy of sexy, semi-nude female vampires who had their way with Keanu Reeve's Jonathan Harker.
I'm too old to know the names of today's hot actors portraying vampires in movies and cable tv shows, but I'm sure everyone under 25 has committed their chiseled jawlines and bleached-white fangs to memory. I just hope life doesn't imitate art and spawn a vampire craze among teenagers. Maybe vampirism will replace oral sex as the new good-night kiss. The legal drinking age may need some serious re-evaluation.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
"...I'd join the Navy!"
Thus reads a WWI Navy recruiting poster. One look at the modern Navy tells us that we've come a long way, baby. Since a very young age, I'd wanted to join the Navy; its structure, solidarity, and purpose always appealed to me. I might have been among the first class of women to matriculate at the U.S. Naval Academy in 1976. Obviously, my life took a different direction, but I confess that I still harbor (no pun intended) a wistful penchant. Living in Annapolis and working at the Academy satisfies a small bit of the longing that never completely died, and I get a vicarious thrill from all the rites of passage conducted here.
Today a time-honored tradition at the Academy kicks off Commissioning Week for the Class of 2009. Since 1962, the Herndon Climb has been the unofficial climax for plebes who have gone "unrecognized" throughout their first year at USNA. Herndon Monument, a stone obelisk commemorating Captain W.L. Herndon who went down with his ship in 1857, is one of the many significant memorials seen on the Yard. At the signal, the entire plebe class rushes the monument to form a human scaffold, enabling one plebe to scale it and replace a plebe's "dixie cup" cover (hat) at the top with a midshipman's cover. Legend has it that the plebe who reaches the top and makes the switch will become the first in his class to achieve the rank of admiral (though no one has yet fulfilled that prophecy).
By the way, did I mention that the obelisk is greased with 200 pounds of lard?
So in my best writerly attempt to turn any situation into a metaphor, I wish the following:
As you climb the slippery Herndon Monument of life (this week, anyway), may all your endeavors be boosted on the shoulders of many caring people surrounding you. Always strive for the Dixie cup and fulfill your own "admiral's prophecy."
Congratulations to USNA Class of 2009!
(scroll down for photos of Herndon)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
off-topic post script:
Congratulations to literary agent Laura Strachan, who provided the winning addition to the list in last week's Homophone Challenge! Funny how the simplest words are often the most overlooked. The list contained oar and or but not ore. Well done, Laura!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
close-up of a midshipman's cover firmly affixed to the top of Herndon Monument, greased with lard:
Teamwork helped this plebe rise to the top to achieve the mission:
First order of business: throw anything handy to knock off as much lard as possible before attempting to scale the obelisk. 
Plebes in "white works" uniforms, wearing the "Dixie cups:"
Here I go again: a new list! This must be a symptom of menopause that no one ever tells you about. Crossing genres is one thing; compiling useless lists is quite another (but I still like doing it).
The new list has popular songs with a girl's name as the single-word title. Some are familiar (well, depending on your age) and others are obscure (right up my bizarre little alley!). Send me your contributions, and include the band/singer who performed the song. All eligible (duplicates will be disqualified) song titles will be entered into a drawing for a free gift. The drawing closes next Wednesday, May 20 at 9:00 pm EDT, so don't delay! Here's a few titles to get you started:
Joanna (Kool and the Gang)
Joanne (Mike Nesmith and the First National Band)
Ronnie (The Four Seasons)
My Sharona (The Knack) trick! This title is ineligible because it has more than 1 word.
Dig out the old vinyl albums, comb the current CDs, and start listing!
author40@verizon.net
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Those of you who read the Wasington Post Sunday magazine are familiar with columnist Gene Weingarten, whose perspective on everyday occurrences is laugh-out-loud funny. My favorite is from a few years ago, before phishing had gone mainstream. The Post had installed a state-of-the-art spam filter guaranteed to weed out links to porn sites or any emails with "questionable" language. Unfortunately for the human resources department, it also blocked solicited resumes from highly qualified job applicants. Any college graduate cum laude was blocked quicker than you can say that's Latin.
Another Weingarten trademark is his phone calls to customer service numbers listed on the back of common household products like dishwashing liquid or coffee. With ridiculous albeit polite questions about the product, he taunts these representatives to the brink of anger, frustration, or insanity, sometimes all three. Kind of mean, but admittedly funny. So it is in his honor that I present the following.
an actual phishing email I received:
----- Original Message -----
From: YAHOO MSN via YouSendIt
Sent: Tuesday, May 05, 2009 11:11 AM
Subject: CONGRATULATIONS!!!
ouSENDit
Priority Delivery
This is to inform you that you have won a prize money of One MillionGreat Britain Pound Sterling (£1,000.000.00) for the month ofApril 2009 Lottery promotion which is organized by YAHOO/MSNLOTTERY INC & WINDOWS LIVE.You are to contact the events manager. /> Identification numbers:Batch number .YM 09102XM:Reff number .YM 35447XMWinning number .DTYFM0988However you will have to fill and submit this form to the eventsmanager. /> (1)Full name(2)Home Address(3)Age(4).Telephone Number(5)Sex /> (6)Occupation(7)State(8)Country(CONTACT EVENTS MANAGER)Name:Mr Robert willamsE-mail:overseassclaims_fans@yahoo.com
Download File
Sent by:
overseassclaims_fans@yahoo.com
File to pick up:
format for details form.txt
File will remain active for:
unlimited days
Link to file:
https://rcpt.yousendit.com/683866844/157d8b782cff36b247c03a597c3de635
File too big for email? Try YouSendIt at http://www.yousendit.com/
YouSendIt Inc. Terms of Service Privacy Policy DMCA Policy Opt Out1919 S. Bascom Avenue, 3rd Floor Campbell, CA 95008
My response:
Wow, you mean I really WON???!!!! That's amazing! Of course, I'll get the requested information right to you. But don't you want my social security number, too? I mean, to effectively pull off this scam, you need to steal my identity, right? That would be much easier with my social security number, so I'll just send that along with my other info. Oh, and I hope you don't mind, but I've sent a copy of this to my husband's office at the FBI. He's always saying that nobody really wins these things. Wait until he sees THIS!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know, I know: I should just ignore these emails. Okay, so I'm naive. I keep thinking that if the scammers realize that we're on to the identity-theft thing, they'll stop with the phishing. Maybe if Gene Weingarten gave it a go . . . he's much better at it than I am.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Crossing Polansky is temporarily on hiatus due to a family illness. Meanwhile, enjoy previous postings in the archives. www.cynthiapolansky.com
April 21, 2009 is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, a memorial holiday brought to the forefront of contemporary American life with Steven Spielberg's 1994 film, Schindler's List. It certainly made me more cognizant of the profound implications of this day of observance. I didn't realize, though, that Yom HaShoah was not an outgrowth of a menschy film director's cause; it was established by Israel in 1951, seven years before my birth and less than a decade after the end of World War II.
I don't know why Yom HaShoah seemed relatively new to me; I had attended Hebrew school for seven years, during which time we obviously studied the Holocaust in depth. Our temple's cantor and sexton (a name they gave to the man whose only duty was to teach all the bar and bat-mitzvah kids their haftorah portions and rituals) had both lost their spouses and children to it. The sexton survived himself was shot with his family, and survived by playing dead when stabbed with a German bayonet to evoke any movement indicating that he still lived.
Maybe it was just a matter of growing up. I'm sure my childish mind didn't lend itself to deep thoughts about the Holocaust any more than it would have been inclined to attend the community memorial service for assassinated Israeli prime minister Yitzchak Rabin that I proudly attended with a thousand or so others in my community. And I would never have guessed I'd grow up to write a novel based on a Holocaust survivor's story. Three cheers for maturity!
But I still have much to learn. For example, Yom HaShoah's official full name is Yom HaShoah Ve-Hagevurah, the Day of (remembrance of) the Holocaust and Heroism. That's important. There were so many heroes during World War II, Holocaust related or otherwise. It's only fitting that we remember them all, not just those who perished in concentration camps and ghettos. Brevity is our society's watchword, as nicknames, acronyms, and abbreviations become our vernacular to the extent that we no longer remember what the original name or term was.
Yom HaShoah, as the name was inevitably shortened, has been negatively associated with exploitation, making money on the tragedy of others. There's no business like Shoah business.
Books, movies, museums, memorials...all seen as merely commercial enterprises by bigots looking for any excuse to perpetuate the stereotype of Jews as insatiably greedy. I'm sure poor Spielberg never envisioned that kind of reaction when he established the Shoah Foundation to record an oral history of Holocaust survivors.
What surprised me is that there are Jews who perceive Holocaust remembrance efforts as blood money. Shortly after '>Far Above Rubies was first released, I received an email from a New York man asking if he could find the book in his local library. He wouldn't buy it, he explained, because he was a Holocaust survivor and did not want others to profit from the victims' misery.
Needless to say, I was devastated that someone thought I had written that book for purely mercenary reasons (as anyone familiar with the publishing industry can tell you, authors don't become authors to make money!) I hastened to explain that I wrote it to honor and preserve the memories of those who survived and those who didn't. The man assured me that he didn't think ill of me or my book; he just felt atrongly that all associated earnings from that book, no matter how unintentional, reduce its publication to "Shoah business." That included the publisher, printer, distributor, and so on.
Brevity isn't always to our advantage. It can lead to stress, misunderstanding, and sub-par work, among other things. It can obliterate soon-to-be-extinct arts like letter writing, family conversation, from-scratch cooking, and outdoor play. So tomorrow I will remember that I am observing Yom HaShoah Ve-Hagevurah, the Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism. Acknowledge the real-life heroes who cross our paths each day, and remember that heroes can touch our lives even when we aren't looking. And before I say TTFN to go text my BFF about the LOL Tweet I received this morning, I'd like to ask you to take a moment -- a full 60 seconds -- tomorrow to remember someone important in your life: a survivor, a hero, a victim, a friend. We're in this life together.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
A few years ago I took a hiking trip through the Swiss and Austrian alps. Breathtaking, as you can imagine. Dotted all over the slopes were lazy cows, relaxing in the sun and no doubt thinking to themselves, "Oy, tourist season..."
Which got me to thinking. Did those cows ever get bored? Where's the mental stimulation? When I posed the question to our guide, he just laughed and asked if I had been one of those kids who always comes up with impossible questions.
Turns out I was one of those kids. Now I'm one of those adults. So here are a few burning questions I've pondered over the years. If anyone has any genuine answers (with evidentiary support), please weigh in!
- Who invented ballet?
- How do we know what dinosaurs looked like?
- Why does your nose run outdoors in the cold?
- Why do we clap to praise performance?
- Why do we cry from emotion?
- Why are spiders and snakes so fearsome to people?
- Why do women have two breasts when most births are single?
Got any burning questions of your own? Let me know, and I'll include them in the next round.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Most of us know by now that an author's success is part skill, part determination, and part luck. The mystique of the published author rarely translates in real life to major celebrity and glamour. Consequently, my book signings at Borders are very different from, say, Carly Phillips.' Because I'm not a household name -- yet -- I don't have an entourage ushering me to a skirted table with stacks of books, bottled water, and extra Sharpies. Well, actually, that's not true; I did experience that kind of luxury during autograph sessions at Book Expo America: water, Sharpies, and my very own flunky to keep the books coming and opened to the proper page for signing. And these were heady experiences (complete with long lines of people waiting for me) that I hope to repeat often in the years and books to come.
For now, book signings are more grit than glamour, marathon "hand-selling." A scheduled bookstore signing means long hours on your feet (sitting down is a no-no), greeting people who often make a wide berth around you to avoid the Suck Zone, that fearsome periphery by the author's table believed to ensnare passers-by who pretend not to see you. It means delicately balancing the right amounts of small talk with soft sell. An author shouldn't appear flagrantly cocky nor whiningly desperate. Personally, I never liked the kind of smarmy, false gregariousness so often used by various salespeople. I like to think that my smiles are genuine. If they are returned, I may go on to ask how that customer's day is going, or what she likes to read. If I am ignored (usually by Suck Zone avoiders who have braved the limits of safety by actually entering the store), I keep smiling and rejoice that I didn't employ specious personality that becomes embarrassing when rejected. I answer dozens of questions from customers who think I'm a store employee, always remembering to invite them back to my table after their rest room visit.
The real hardship of book signings lies in communicating my author identity without the benefit of a bull horn and carnival barker. Browsers seem to lose their observation skills, as they never realize that the person standing at the author's table, alongside the sign that says Meet the Author, and behind the candy jar that says Compliments of Author Cynthia Polansky, is the author. I have not one but two posters of my novels, both with my photo, displayed prominently. I wear a nametag that says "Cynthia Polansky" on the badge, under which hangs a satiny ribbon that vertically proclaims "Author." And still I am asked, "Do you know the author?" "Are you connected with this book?" Or, after talking with me for a few minutes, "Oh, are you the author?"
These people obviously did not spend enough time with Where's Waldo?
Glibness aside, I enjoy the people I meet at book signings, whether they buy my books or not. There's always interesting conversation, a few laughs, maybe a shy glance from an awestruck child who is too young to know that I'm technically not in the "awesome" category of writers (but it's all subjective, right?) And I'm able to share my books in a personal way that simply can't be accomplished in a back cover blurb. I guess that's what hand-selling is all about: a passion for the work you've created, and a desire to share it. There will always be those who fear the Suck Zone, but I do my best to lure them into a false sense of security. All you signing authors out there, take note: chocolate works better than cleavage.
I'll be luring innocent travelers into the Borders in Terminal A of the Baltimore-Washington International Airport on April 24 from 9:00 am to 1:00 pm.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
Among my list of burning, albeit random, life questions is, why the fly? What possible use is this creature in the grand scheme of things? This is a creature who seeks out manure, garbage, and decay for his crib. No wonder he's always rubbing his little legs together. Yes, he's food for spiders and other predators( including zappers, sticky paper, and pesticides, thank goodness), but I daresay the latter would find something else to put on the menu if flies were 86'd.
So now there's a medical use for flies, or at least, their larvae. Maggots are increasingly used for wounds that won't heal. They eat the necrotic flesh, clearing the way for healthy tissue to proliferate. I guess Theodoric of York, Barber-Surgeon (Saturday Night Live vintage role for Steve Martin during the '70s) wasn't so off base with this medeival prescription. Cupping, another medieval remedy where heated glass vessels about the size of a modern juice glass were applied to the back, leaving quasi-burn circles where the ill humours were sucked right out of the patient's body. Are leeches next?
Factoid: flies seek out decomposing corpses to lay their eggs because the putrifying body fluids contain mega-nutrition for the maggots. Cremation, anyone?
What other creatures have questionable purposes in the food chain? Let me hear from you!
www.cynthiapolansky.com
This week I am pleased to present the work of New York poet Irene Brodsky, who has graciously agreed to be a guest of Crossing Polansky. Enjoy!
"IN MY DREAMS"
I love him
He doesn't know it
My heart sings
He can't hear it
My hand reaches out
He will never feel it.
I have no right
to love him
as I do,
For I'm not free
I belong to another
What more can I say?
Maybe someday?
If things change,
he will come to me.
'Till then...
I'll cry myself to sleep
and see him in my dreams!
Irene Brodsky
Chayarochel@aol.com
Author of Poetry Unplugged (Outskirts Press)
www.cynthiapolansky.com
It's been ten years (really five, in technology years) since the eBook first appeared on the scene to change reading life as we know it. I'm talking way back, before Facebook and Twitter, when DOS was still a viable part of our techno-reality. I was still hunting for a publisher for Far Above Rubies when my then-agent hooked introduced me to a man with a vision: treat eBooks with the same respect as we do print books, and the industry will sit up and take notice. He started an e-publishing house that considered only agented submissions. Their eBooks were inexpensive downloads available in eReader-friendly formats. eBooks were, as they say, the wave of the future.
Many predicted it wouldn't last, this newfangled eBook nonsense. eReaders were strange, pricey, cumbersome gadgets that didn't work well in bright sunlight's glare. PDF downloads were cheap and easy, but reading an entire book on your PC monitor? Besides, nothing would supplant a real book, the way a hefty hardcover felt in your hands, the convenience of reading a paperback at the beach or in the tub, the beautifully designed dust jacket or parchment pages converting your particle-board bookshelves into a dignified library.
eBooks kept a small cult following but faded into relative obscurity. All but the strongest e-publishers folded, and the print publishing industry -- whether they'll admit it today or not -- breathed a collective sigh of relief.
But the times, they are a-changin' and Americans were bitten by the "green" bug. Suddenly eReaders became the perfect alternative to pulp, and along came a little device called Kindle. So what's different now? Certainly an endorsement by Amazon doesn't hurt. Perhaps it's just that the eReader's time has come. eBook Week is a good indication. But don't be surprised when the next generation of cell phones boast an e-Book application. You won't even need to use the built-in GPS to find a physical book store.
Celebrate eBook Week with paranormal women's novel Remote Control, available electronically from Echelon Press, Fictionwise, and of course from Amazon Kindle. Visit www.cynthiapolansky.com
Im keeping with the multi-genre, "blog-about-everything" theme of Crossing Polansky, I'm pleased to announce the addition of a new gadget:
Beyond Easy Street. This feature joins Typo of the Week as another illustration of my eclectic interests, and is a collection of really odd street names around the USA. I'm not talking double-entendre here; I mean seriously unusual names, such as Lovely Johnson Lane here in Annapolis, Maryland, or Knight Arnold Road in Memphis, Tennessee. See what I mean?
Because a picture is worth a thousand words (or maybe a million, in today's economy), I'll need digital photos of these street signs to post here. That's where you come in! Since I'm probably the last person to own a cell phone that doesn't have a built-in camera, it should be pretty easy to snap a picture of any interesting street sign you come across. Let's see how many we can find in our own backyards and share them with the cyberworld for a chuckle or two.
To kick things off, I'm offering a free gift to the sender of the first street sign photo posted* on Beyond Easy Street. I'll need small JPEGs (I'm not that computer-deft to handle anything else) that clearly show the street sign, along with the city and state in which it's located.
Email them to author40@verizon.net.
But please, don't take pictures while you're driving! I can't afford a lawsuit.
NOTE: I reserve the right to decline posting any photos/names I deem inappropriate (my blog, my rules)
www.cynthiapolansky.com
It's one thing to know that your mother loves you unconditionally, that you can be yourself with your parents and take up residence in their empty nest should the need arise. It's quite another to take all that acceptance for granted and make no effort to remember that parents deserve courtesy and consideration, too.
While working out the other morning, I listened as one tired woman bemoaned the past month she had been unable to come to the gym. Her daughter, grandchild, and granddog (grand meaning size as well as relation)had moved in with her while her military son-in-law was deployed overseas. So, quarters are tight for a while; no big deal. After all, it's not as though she had octuplets to add to the six children already living in her mother's house. And I'm sure Mom would have said the same thing a month prior -- before the tornado-stricken bedroom that would put a teenager's to shame. Before the fecal specks on Mom's white bedspread, all the more infuriating because Mom had gone to the trouble of securing a changing table for the duration of her daughter's stay. Before the hair and dirty pawprints contributed by Daughter's bull-in-a-china-shop Great Dane. And before the skyrocketing utility bills exacerbated by Daughter's apathy toward lights ablaze in empty rooms.
Home should always be a soft place where you can fall, not your dirty laundry, dirty dishes, poopy diapers, or dog slobber. Adult children unhampered by physical or mental disabilities are not entitled to use their childhood home as a free crash pad with maid service. As Mom so eloquently put it, children forget that their parents have dreams, too. For 18-22 years, your parents are obliged to feed, clothe, educate, and nurture you. Beyond that, assuming you've developed a healthy life of your own, they don't owe you. You owe them for all they have done and continue to do. If your parents are generous enough to welcome the disruption of an adult child/family, be prepared to live by their rules, no matter how archaic or inconvenient you find them. Say thank you every day to Mom and to the universe that blessed you with such a haven.
www.cynthiapolansky.com
When I titled my blog "Crossing Polansky," I didn't expect people to get it right away. It has nothing to do with the average person's intelligence, but with the average intelligent person's repertory of trivia. So when a friend I'll call "Alan" told me that "Crossing Delancey" was the catalyst for his love affair with his wife, "Lisa," I knew I would have to share their story here:
The movie "Crossing Delancey" came out in November 1988 (saw it in the theater with an old girlfriend). I met Lisa on a blind date in August 1989, and took her out a second time a week after Labor Day. After the second date, I could sense that there were no "sparks", and was resigned to the fact that it would be a cordial and polite goodbye. I decided that I did not want to call her again.
About that time, "Crossing Delancey" was on HBO. Lisa saw the movie, and had previously dated a doctor who had a boat and other material items that I lacked (in addition to money). She was impressed at my character and sincerity, and after seeing the movie she equated me to the pickle man. A few days before Rosh Hashanah [the Jewish new year], she called me to wish me a L'Shana Tovah [Hebrew for "happy new year"]. I was delighted and pleasantly surprised that she did.
I was invited to a friend's home for dinner on the first night of Succot,[Jewish holiday where families and friends dine in an outdoor shelter with an open roof called a sukkah] and I asked her if she wanted to be my guest. She was more than glad to accept, and she came to my neck of the woods in Randallstown for the first time. On the night of Succot, it was picture perfect, mild, no clouds, lots of stars, and a beautiful moon. Eating on the deck of my friends' home, the atomsphere was magic. There were two close families at that meal, and people kissed each other warmly wishing everyone a "Chag Samyach" [Hebrew for "happy holiday"]. It was magical, and at that moment, we knew we were meant for each other.
Without the movie "Crossing Delancey", we may not have gotten together again. Thanks Amy Irving and Peter Reigert!!
* shidduch is Yiddish for match www.cynthiapolansky.com
View Next 23 Posts
I wasn't necessarily a fanor follower of Dark Shadows, but I remember the times. There were a lot of good shows back then. Mostly, I remember 1969 because that was the year I was drafted into the Army. Talk about dark shadows!
Congratulations, Irene. I am a big fan.
Irene: very nice tribute to the show I remember and still love. Dark Shadows RULES! And I can't wait to see what Burton and Depp do with it...!
Special thanks to Dennis S. Martin and Dianne Borsenik for responding to my Tribute to Dark Shadows.
Mr. Martin and Ms. Borsenik are wonderful poets. I am very fortunate to be associated with them!
love
irene brodsky