Before I begin, let me just say thank you to all of my beloved readers. We broke 17,000 today. Best guess: We'll hit 20,000 around October 1st. Why are the numbers meaningful? Because each of you, no matter who you are or where you're from, is meaningful. I am deeply honored that you take, and continue to take, the time, energy and effort to find and read my writing. Without you, my words have no meaning.

Now, on to today's pop-philosophy--in honor of each of you.

Laughing out loud is the most wonderful thing in the world. It's infectious, you know. Really. A 2006 article from the Journal of Neuroscience  discussed how, when a person hears laughter, it activates an area of the brain that actually makes that person (hearing the laughter) happier. Amazing! I think it's why I'm addicted to comedy, having been a stand-up comedian myself while still living in Boston. The first time I stepped on stage, I felt a tremendous high AFTER the audience started laughing. Before they started laughing, I was nervous. Terrified might be a better descriptive. The high wasn't because people were laughing at my jokes (though that was certainly lovely), it was because hearing their laughter made me feel...well, happier.

At the time, my life was not very good--there was a disproportionate "badness" that permeated the very thread holding together the fabric of my existence. Awful stuff. And one day, very suddenly, I woke up and decided I wanted to do stand-up, perhaps in effort to finally "stand up" to all that badness. I wanted to laugh out loud, helping other people do the same.

It was a Monday; I made a call, and got myself on the list for my first open mic night--that very night. Before work, while getting ready, I jotted down a brief routine. The day manager at Nick's Comedy Stop told me on the phone that I only had about three minutes on stage. I arranged for a sitter, and after a long day at work, I went home, made dinner, cleaned up, gave my son a bath, and bundled him up to go to the sitter's. By 8:00pm, I was waiting in the back of the darkened comedy club with some of the funniest people I still know, comedians like Dominic Fig, the vampire-comedian (see, I knew vampires long before I started writing criticism about them), Paul Kravitz, and a name everyone will recognize, Dane Cook. There was only one other woman there--all the other comedians were male. I struck up a friendship with the whole group. They knew it was my first time, and unlike other entertainment venues, where competition is ridiculously steep, these people were more like a family--helping each other with their routines, being supportive, and when one of us was hired as a headliner, taking the rest of us along for the ride.

It was an incredible night. I got on stage and used my signature self-depracating humor that students in college classrooms enjoyed for 15 years. I couldn't believe how quickly three minutes flew by, then four, then five, then Billy, the headliner that night, had to practically drag me off the stage.

When I'm dying one day, that memory, the memory of my first time on stage at Nick's, will be one of the memories that will sustain me before the end.

I think everyone should try being a stand-up comedian at least once in their lives--because, though it's certainly a daunting task, there is nothing that can compare to making people laugh out loud. You're at the top of the karma chain when you do it. Because when you make someone laugh out loud, you're not only making that person happy, but anyone within earshot will feel happier, too. And that, as my grandmother would say, is a real mitzvah!

Though my life has been peppered by severe difficulties like multiple malignant brain tumors, melanoma, loss of mobility, and a plethora of other serious health issues, I've never stopped laughing out loud, or trying to get others to do so...and I never will.

So on your continuing journey through life, make sure you laugh out loud as often as possible--anyone who hears you do so will become happier--and it's not hearsay, it's science!

Until next time, dearest readers....

It's the title of a song by American rock band, Cage the Elephant, but long before that, it was a favorite Anglo cliche born out of Christian idealogy. But then, you have sayings from the same tradition like, "Idle hands are the devil's tools...," so in a nutshell, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Welcome to hell.

By the way, Cage the Elephant lead singer, Matt Shultz--that's right, like Peanuts creator Charles Shultz--was working construction when he met the inspiration for the song and its title. One of his co-workers also happened to be a drug dealer. He'd always come to work exhausted. Shultz asked his co-worker why he bothered dealing and working construction if it was so tiring. The man simply replied, "Ain't no rest for the wicked...."

But that's not really true, is it?

People who are terribly busy, like almost all people in the 21st century, are far from wicked--distracted, yes, but wicked? And they don't rest. I know. I used to be one of them.

The truly wicked get all kinds of rest--in prison. Rehab hospitals. Psych wards. Cushy corporate corner offices with a view. The beginnings of many such rumors, because that what the saying really is, were literally made up to discount the real truth.

The anti-Semetic propoganda from...well, from every century was always used to demonize, villify Jewish people when in fact, Jewish people have been victims of prejudice and hatred for millenia--without provocation. The Nazis are, of course, the most notorious in this century but there hasn't been a single country, world-wide, who hasn't persecuted Jewish people in some way. Except maybe New Zealand. Even Switzerland, who claimed to be neutral during WWII, had no problem taking and hiding Nazi wealth. And it took almost no effort to accomplish the heinous task of spreading hatred--basically, through rumors.

The word "hysterectomy" which is still used today to describe total removal of a woman's reproductive organs, is another great example. It comes from the word "hysterical" and was historically used as a medical treatment by male doctors (because women weren't allowed to go to college until the late 19th century--early twentieth for certain schools like my alma mater, University of Rochester--and closer to mid-twentieth for certain graduate programs like Yale, ahem...) for female patients who were not hysterical at all--they were simply voicing their opinions--perhaps they refused their husband's sexual advances--so they were declared hysterical and were doped up, their insides completely removed. And lo, doctors found female patients to be much, much calmer after the "procedure." Really???  Shocker.

Prejudice. Abuse. Slavery. Domestic violence. Murder. Oppression. Bullying. All "wicked" and all fairly easy to acheive. You know what's not easy though? Undoing the wickedness of this world. It's all backwards, as usual. Philosopher Richard Rorty called it the "mirror of nature" and the "correspondence theory of truth." Rorty asserted in his 1979 treatise on the subject, that people use language to form new realities in hopes true reality will follow or "mirror" what we say to be true. Scary, isn't it? Reality--just a rumor? Yup.

You can't really trust words then, can you? Not even mine. Like I said earlier, welcome to hell. 

Shakespeare said, "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here...." It's one of my favorite quotes from his play, The Tempest. The play is all about using illusion and manipulation to reveal truth--or create a new one, depending on how you look at it. That's the thing to remember as you attempt to negotiate the tempest that is our reality, don't blindly trust anyone's words. Look to their actions to know an angel from a true devil.

So while there may, in fact, be rest for the wicked--it's the rest of us, or should I say, the best of us, who get little-to-no sleep....

In our fast-paced world, we have lost the art of true observance. It was easy to lose because observance is hard. You have to be mindful, act with deliberation, and disconnect yourself from being linkedin to the twittering facebooks and cyber-myspaces out there. You also have to disconnect yourself from your daily routine. And none of that is easy to do. And I'm not just talking about holidays. Observance of our world is equally important.

How often do you just sit or stand and observe? It was something I was forced to do when I became disabled. For a year, I was in a wheelchair. Even now, though I can walk and stand independently (with the help of multiple appartuses), without much balance to steady me, I often find myself sitting or leaning while standing, and observing. It's amazing what you see when you can't run, or walk.

Even prior to becoming disabled, I was always a keen observer. Most writers probably are, as are most scientists. And I'm a little of both.

Though slowing down is often discouraged through socio-political messages, it's important to at least make a real attempt to do so. While work is certainly a factor, maintaining your home, your family, your social life--by making a time and space for observance, you are also making time and space for yourself.

We feel we must schedule every minute of every day. We feel that way because of all the "hypers" in our world. We are hyper-communicative, hyper-competitive, suffer hyper-masculinity, hyper-femininity, hyper-parenting, hyper-egos, hyper-celebrities, hyper-technology, even hyper-reality...in a nutshell, we live in a hyper-world. And all that hyper-ness only adds up to an increased spinning motion. We are literally running in the same circles over and over and over again, but at hyper-speed. And meds aren't the answer--because you will still be running--you'll just feel better about doing it. No, the real answer is observance. Relearning how to sit down and watch--not react, not speak, not tweet, not text, not check your email or voicemail--just watch, listen and of course, think.

It's true that once you master observance, you will learn things you may not be happy knowing, but at least it will provide a truthful context to your life. At least you won't suffer the jarring shock one day--when you are forced to slow down by age or disease--that you unwittingly wasted precious time, precious life. Believe it or not, Malcolm Gladwell's "power of context" is not just about tipping small business ideas into big corporate concepts, it's about tipping your life into something bigger than you currently imagine. But in order for you to do that, you have to stop. Everything. You have to sit down, and do nothing but observe.

Learning the art of observance will change your life. It will provide answers to questions you didn't know you had. It will bring you back to yourself when you may not have even known you were lost. So how do you begin?

Begin with half a weekend-day. Don't make plans. Don't touch your iPad, iPhone, Blackberry, Droid, or other personal communication device. Walk away from your computer. Leave the dishes in the sink. Grab a chair--any chair--and plunk yourself down. Do it outside. Look up and watch the clouds. Observe the nature in your vicinity, the people, the comings and goings. Try to do this once a month. And by the way, work is prohibited. Use those six hours to just sit and observe. Don't think of it as a waste of time, think of it as regaining your time. Time is a luxury that most of us take for granted. Real luxury isn't in the material items we buy for ourselves, it's in the gift of time--and not time to squander on things that don't matter--time to observe the world, to watch, to listen, to understand.

Observance...make it a habit. Living life to the fullest isn't about spinning your wheels, it's about living. When you're constantly on the move, that's not living--it's just a distraction. Be brave! Take time to look at your world in ways you are otherwise not permitted to see, to understand, to know.

Until next time, dearest readers....

 

*SPOILER ALERT*

"You know I aint that deep...." Once again, Jason Stackhouse is the king of the one-liners this season, and we love him for it. We also love that pure heart, at least as it's conveyed by Ryan Kwanten. Crystal's revealed herself as the werepanther she is. And it's a good thing, too...since she's pregnant. Oops...did I just say that? Yes, yes I did. Surprise!
And this season's other surprise (though not really): Sookie is a fairy! Or alien, as Bill puts it. Eric and Bill continue to vie for Sookie's fairy-affections, making her the pinnacle of a very cliche heterosexual matrix. Welcome to the 21st century, where social progress has gone so far, it now has to peddle backwards!

Tara's learned that Jason killed Eggs, and, that Andy covered it up. What she seems to be forgetting is that who killed Eggs doesn't matter--he was waving a giant ritual-sacrifice knife around. He was crazy. A murderer. Yes, he was manipulated by a mad maenad but Jason, who's always showing up in the nick of time, essentially saved Andy from an unpredictable, even if reluctant, killer. Andy's not a dirty cop--he knew that with Jason's other run-ins, shooting a man in the back of the head would not have boded well for otherwise innocent Jason Stackhouse--who, along with Andy and Sam, were the heroes of season 2, saving the ENTIRE town from the madness Maryann the maenad spread like a delusional disease.

Among the other inequities explored, Russell Edgington's need for closure with Talbot. Denis O'Hare is a god--that's all. Consistent down to the very lines on his 48-year old face, O'Hare manages to carve a deeper human than most "real" people from the fictional 3000-year old vampire of Russell Edgington.

Speaking of inequities and secrets revealed, what is wrong with Arlene???  Sure, she has no memory of her crazy sexual exploits with Terry during the Maryann thing from last season, but still...honey, do the math. It's Terry's baby--and because of your own blinding shame, you will destroy that lovely, if dysfunctional, man's only shot at normalcy. I'm so glad Jessica told Arlene to shove it.

Jessica and Hoyt--together again. Looks like blood is thicker than Merlotte's beer. Tommy doesn't seem like the type to take rejection well. Stay tuned for more on that front!

And what about the Sam-reveals? Sam, a cold-blooded killer???  That poor man--you know, it's not easy being abandoned at 15 after you learn you can shapeshift into a dog. The things Sam had to do to survive are unimaginable. Didn't we always wonder where he got the money to start a bar like Merlotte's? To buy income property like the apartments where Arlene, Terry and Tommy live?

The complexities of the human condition are well-played out in the characters of Sam Merlotte and Russell Edgington. The difference between the two is that Sam attempted to remove himself from the horror--he had what scholar Joseph Campbell called the necessary "transformation of consciousness" to become a hero instead of a villain, despite his past. While Russell Edgington, who faced equally difficult trials to survive his 3000-years, never had that transformation. He could only master one of his worlds--the world of horror--which, in some ways, makes him the more vulnerable character. Sam Merlotte, played well by Sam Trammell, overcame a great deal to master both of his dual and dueling worlds. After meeting his biological parents this season, the audience recognizes Sam's hurdles included his own genetics! Trammell makes Merlotte very relatable. We just hope there's a payoff coming for Sam that is less comeuppance and more just desserts.

Holly is a witch...yada yada yada...oh, that's Seinfeld. Right. But Holly IS a witch, again--no surprise there--though it was supposed to be one of the episode's big reveals.

Nelsan Ellis's Lafayette...good stuff great, my Snapple of a man! Magic is in the air for he and Jaguar-Jesus. Could Jesus be one of the cats Ruby Jean was worried about coming to get her "sonshine"???  It's always the quiet ones....

Only two episodes to go...have we seen the last of Alcide Herveaux? Heck, no!

Until next time, dearest readers, stay thirsty for TruBlood! 

Isn't it interesting how, as children, we are scared of the dark--of what's in the dark--most of which, we have derived from fiction: Werewolves, boogey men, demons, vampires, walking dead--mummys or zombies--take your pick. As we become seasoned adults, we're no longer worried about the fictions waiting for us in the dark--we're more worried about the others...people, waiting in the shadows, usually to rob us, harm us, or lord power over us in some way. These are the kinds of changes in perspective that can evolve over just a few decades of life. Imagine what can change in your perspective in four decades of life? Five? Six? Seven? Maybe even ten.

On the edge of my fourth decade, one of the changes I've noticed is that I'm constantly wondering why, when the world is so big, so full of true wonder, people continue to want to make it small? One of my nephews, who is newly five and will be starting kindergarten next month, has suddenly decided that the biggest thing to worry about are those darned werewolves that seem to be hiding in the shadow of every tree after the sun travels west and sinks in the sky. I wonder if someone 35-years my senior would consider my worries equally innocent, equally naive?

I would imagine so. Because I can also  imagine that in  another 35 years, I will simply no longer care about people's general disposition to wrap themselves up as tightly as possible, as if yearning once again for the safety and closeness of the womb--where there truly was one God--and when you could no longer eat and drink of her body and blood, she cast you out into the world. Naked and cold, and totally helpless, all you could do was scream. You were then subjected to all kinds of humiliations; completely dependent on others for everything, fear became a constant companion. Even as babies, we understand the limits of the human condition.

And we are limited. It takes a certain level of intelligence to understand those limits--one of my favorite sayings from Albert Einstein was about his view on stupidity--it is different than genius in that it has no limits.

I was lucky enough to have watched a documentary about Katharine Hepburn recently. It was made in 1992. She died eleven years later, at age 96. What struck me was how much I related to Hepburn's perspectives on life--in the film, she was more than twice my age today. If you're a regular reader, you know that my four decades has been over-full of adversity, from abuse to neglect, from cancer to disability--the road over the last four decades has been a long one. I would imagine my perspective at Hepburn's age, should I be lucky enough to live that long, will be more akin to someone closer to 120 years than 80. And I'm not alone.

Because of the nature of our 21st century society, more and more people are burning out of life at very young ages--and not just figuratively. Cancer is on the rise. Cancer death is on the decline but it's a false statistic--as medical technology improves, so do the windows of survival. However, cancer has no cure. Many simply don't connect that a lack of cure and remission mean two different things. Remission is when the cancer is sleeping, in effect. It's not gone. The term "cancer-free" is ridiculous. It's a falsehood. One is never "cancer-free." Cancer evolves at the cellular level--are you aware of something I'm not? Can doctors now examine every cell in every part of your body? Of course not. The "treatments" for cancer are little more than extended band-aids. And cancer is only one of our major social problems burning the life out of people.

I worry about the world. It's such a terrific place--and I know there are horrors that are unthinkable as well--but the wonders...oh, the wonders! Yet, unless more people can begin to see through the eyes that have seen 80 years of change, or at least the equivalent of it, what is to become of us?

An impossibility paired with an improbabilty doesn't evoke much hope, does it?

That's another change that's suddenly gripped me in the last five years, fear. Lots of it. I've seen too much to remain naive. I've lived too long to be innocent. All that's left is fear. And hope...fear's twin. You only hope in the midst of fear. Never the twain shall part. I finally understand an old professor's disdain for my love of hope--and yes, we were studying philosophy. Hope makes us feel better but we then fail to recognize why we needed it in the first place. Hope is an illusion. But it's my drug of choice, I suppose. For, if we live, and HOPE to live long, we will certainly be afraid--if we've even lived a day we should be--and so, in that shadow of what is constant fear about one thing or another, our amazing brains, in an effort to survive, provide us with the right chemical IMBALANCE to issue hope into our psyches.

When my nephew confided to me about the werewolf problem, I told him that I was an expert on all things supernatural--a doctor of it, in fact--and that I knew, without doubt, that there are no real werewolves or monsters of any kind. But heroes are real. "Like Superman?" he asked, wide-eyed.

I answered an unwavering "yes."

Dreamtime is an Aboriginal term that refers to a time before time, a time outside of time and a place where all time exists together and at once. Dreamtime sounds a lot like spacetime in this way. There's no beginning, no end. It's a cycle. Dreamtime helped to connect the Aborigine peoples of Australia to each other, the animals and the land. And it seems that the origins of Dreamtime, and dreams in general, may connect the rest of us, too.

A great deal of Dreamtime mythology exists, including a creationism story about a great snake that came up from the Earth, causing rivers to flow behind it in its wake. All the people and animals sprang forth from the snake. It would sometimes appear as a man, as a woman, or as a man with a woman's breasts. Speaking of the snake was done quietly, as there are many legends about it swallowing whole tribes because one child was crying. Much of Dreamtime mythology is depicted through Aboriginal art. Aboriginal art has a distinctive flow, usually including small dots that tend to swirl in concentric patterns. It's quite beautiful, fluid, and conveys a sense of magical realism that is simply beyond words. But that's consistent with dreaming. Dreams are too fluid to describe in concrete details, the kind of details that the hard structure of language conveys best. No, if I were to describe a dream, it would have to be through visual images of some kind.

Aboriginal Dreamtime is consistent with the experience of clairvoyance--images or themes may be "fuzzy," as if from a dream, because of the fluidity of the images; they tend to blend together and change quickly. In some ways, it's best described as watching events through a window into another dimension, but as if all you see is filtered through water.

Of course, Vedanta, the oldest philosophy known to man and the basis of the Hindu religion, refers to "maya" or "cosmic illusion" often--and as previously written in other blog essays, "maya," a Sanskrit word, also meaning "water" in Hebrew and Arabic--both of which derive from Sanskrit. When you look at objects through water, those objects are distorted, as if in a dream. The word "maya" also figures in to many other cultures and countries worldwide, the most well-known is the Mayan people--whose language was called "Maya." "Maya" figures in to Aboriginal culture as well--with many significant places and names, even languages, including the word "maya" such as the Aboriginal language, Bandimaya. Nigerian culture also includes a language called "Maya." "Maya" is also the name of a more obscure language spoken in Brazil. The transnational connections involving "maya" are seemingly infinite.

"Maya" is an archetypal human word that transcends time, space, geography, and culture. And its connection through all of it seems to be a shared description of what the Aborigine's called Dreamtime--whether translated as distortion through water, illusion, or as a place where all of time coexists--"maya" and dreams seem to be synonymous with one another. Translating dreams has been popular for many millenia. Psychology tells us that our dreams are manifestations of our hopes, fears, goals, emotions, and desires. Our brains use dreams to work through a variety of issues. But perhaps dreams are more than just simple psychological manifestations. Maybe the Aborigine's had it right. Maybe dreams are a space where true reality exists--where we glimpse things from the continuum of space and time, things that existed before time, even outside of it.

As you lay your head down tonight, before going to sleep, place a piece of paper and pen next to your bed. Before speaking to anyone in the morning (or whenever you wake up...), jot down what you dreamt about. It's interesting to review this information later in the day, when your head is more clear. You may be surprised at what you learn about the nature of not only your reality, but the reality of others as well.

Until next time, enjoy what dreams may come, dearest readers!

*SPOILER ALERT*

True Blood 3:9

Oops, I did it again???  The American Vampire League (AVL) visits Fangtasia to get the skinny on the whereabouts of that pussycat Magister but bite off more than they can chew with Eric's coup d'etat against Russell Edgington, played masterfully by Denis O'Hare (and, my FAVORITE character this season).

Russell and Talbot: RIP 8.15.2010 OR, we can call it, "My lover is a bloody puddle of goop in an antique crystal jar I carry in the pocket of my velvet smoking jacket." More on that later....

More forced foreshadowing and symbolism with the oh-so cliche Sookie and Bill subplot--we see the blood washing off their bodies and swirling down the shower drain...geez, you don't have to hit us over the head with a hammer--we get it!

My favorite lines this episode were from Jason and Crystal: "Could you not make me a rapist?" And her response, "I'm sorry, it was the best I could think of...." Sort of says it all, doesn't it? Ah, Jason, I hate to interrupt your Crystal (meth)- euphoria but are those whiskers coming out of your face? I can see the invitation now, "Jason Stackhouse and Crystalmeth Norris wish to invite you to join them on the day of their shot-gun wedding..." and by shotgun we mean in both the literal and figurative sense.

Sam & Tara; Sam & Arlene; Sam & Tommy---Sam's stretched a little thin this episode. But again, as a mother of a young man close to Tommy's age, that scene where Sam kicks werepanther-ass is EXACTLY how a person in Sam's position should feel, does feel, and would feel. Plus, Calvin Norris had it coming.... ;)

Next, we have a more philosophical question: If a panther is tied to a tree in the woods, and no one is there to see it...oh right, the person who is there will get their wind-pipe crushed.

Have a Holly jolly Christmas, it's the best time of the year...for witches, that is! Look out world, Holly and her band of merry witches are in town...but the real question is, WHY???  Oh, I know, but I won't tell you. And yes, it does have something to do with the biggest, craziest supernatural beat down in the history of the show I referred to in my last review. Stay tuned!

Scrapbooking DOES have a purpose...who knew? Sookie sees a pattern emerge surrounding her identity while flipping through Gran's old family scrapbook full of newspaper clippings and nostalgic pictures. Aw. Back to reality: Enter Hunter, half-wit Hadley's telepathic son. His idiot-mother unwittingly put him in harm's way when she revealed her own fairy heritage to her vampire lover. Sucks for Hunter. Hmmm, is his name symbolic of his future???

Bill may be able to walk on water in Fairyland...but death becomes him. He's no savior.

"Everything ends, even the immortals...." Oh, Eric! So dramatic...or is it a foreshadow about the death of the show? Well, we know we have season 4 in tact, I'm hoping to see the HBO series see at least four more seasons to follow but my guess is, we may be maxing out at six. Fingers crossed we get to season 8!!!

Tommy Merlotte was right! Hoyt Fortenberry IS a dick...and Jessica IS too good for that soppy baby-Huey. C'mon TB-writers, give Jessica her due! She's AMAZING...I want her to be happy, don't you???

And, you heard it here first--Franklin lives! Well, at least until Jason Stackouse's wooden bullet met Franklin's heart in an explosion of more bloody vampire goop. Tara will not be putting Franklin's bloody remains in a crystal jar but if she could bottle-up, Jason, she would....

Best line/moment of the show:

"Why would we seek equal rights, you are not our equals--we will eat you, after we eat your children.... Now, it's time for the weather, Tiffany?"

After Russell Edgington de-spined the hapless anchorman on national TV, forcing that horrid Nan from the AVL to stop drinking her lover's inner-thigh in a limo, he tells the world the truth about vampires. Isn't he wonderful?!?!?! Russell, I like your energy! Denis O'Hare, you play that character as if you yourself have lived through many lifetimes...my guess is, you have. I'd like to nominate Denis O'Hare for an Emmy for Best Supporting Actor in an Ensemble Cast. Hopefully, O'Hare gets his day in the sun.

There are only THREE episodes left of season 3: What will happen next? And where is this all leading for season 4? If you'd like the answers, keep reading my reviews and if you're so inclined, check out True Blood & Philosophy: We Wanna THINK Bad Things with You (Wiley 2010) available in bookstores EVERWHERE!

My next review for TB 3:10 will appear by midnight, August 23rd. Until then, stay thirsty for the REAL True Blood!

 *SPOILER ALERT*

True Blood 3:8

"I enjoy a good head-ripping as much as the next vampire...." Eric was just full of wit and wisdom in this episode. My other favorite was where he told Russell that brash and foolish was equivalent to brave and uncompromising. Moral relativisim anyone???  But we all know that Eric is willing to do ANYTHING to get what he wants, and I mean ANYTHING! Including, of course, the king's royal consort, Talbot...cough, cough.

Arlene+Renee+Terry+Baby=Disaster but I did like the visual transition between scenes where a living red head embraces an old soldier juxtaposed with an undead redhead, also embracing an old soldier...kudos to director Leslie on that!!!

Jessica and Bill: Reunited and it feels so good...to both be miserable and codependent. I love Deborah Ann Woll's portrayal of the truly "good" person that Jessica Hamby is--I'd wager Woll doesn't have to stretch herself too far to play the role--well, outside of the seductive suckling on werewolf flesh. Whatever she's doing, she's doing it well! Kudos to Raelle for writing Jessica such a great part in this episode.

Alcide and Sookie--love at first fight???  Hmmm, do I smell an engagement on the horizon? Yeah, I do. And it wreaks of weretiger. Poor Alcide, he's the dishiest underdog (or underwolf) ever...I'd like to say he finds happiness in the future, but I'm afraid the truth is stranger than the fiction here.

The tenderness between Lafayette, played to the nines by Nelsan Ellis, and Tara in this episode is really touching. Family really is thicker than watered-down (Tru)Blood.

Sam Merlotte takes on a young pup OR we might better call this part of the review "why 20-year olds suck." As a mother of a young man about the same age as the newly named Tommy Merlotte, I can tell you with total certainty that the way the character is written is consistent with reality. Twenty-year old young men LOVE to push buttons. They have a way of finding those buttons all-too-easily, particularly for whoever the dominant parent role-model is in their life. I see Sam's frustration building, and with good reason. God bless that character--I wish there were better things on his horizon.

Ruby Jean is Lafayette aka "La-La's" mother. She's pegged as schizophrenic but as Jaguar-Jesus tells it, that doesn't diminish her perceptive intuition. She escaped the prison of her private mental institution to protect "La-La" from "vampires, witches, cats, and dogs." 

Never dismiss the ramblings of those you think are "crazy"--us "crazy" people are often more lucid than those who claim sanity. La-La will be in the middle of the biggest, craziest supernatural beat-down in the history of True Blood this season. Because his character should have died in season 2 a la Harris's Sookie Stackhouse novels, it's hard to predict where Lafayette will land. But because Nelsan Ellis brings incredible power to the role, hopefully, he lives to tell his tale in season 4. 

It was interesting that writer Raelle chose to have Ruby Jean, the latest True Blood prophet, later say in the episode, "TV's all faggots and murderers and hoes, Jesus...." Commentary on the show itself, or a double-entendre criticizing the TV audience, some of whom complain about True Blood as being nothing outside of what Ruby Jean says about TV? For the record, let me just say that True Blood is a visionary production created by Executive Producer, Alan Ball with a host of great production crew, directors and writers as well as a terrific ensemble cast. To those people who don't get it, I say, who cares???  Art is subjective and art that imitates life, like True Blood does so well under the thinly veiled supernatural sub-text, is always the first to suffer mass-criticism by opportunistic fools who somehow believe themselves one step closer to heaven by "calling out" perceived "evil." Those individuals are the people who should be institutionalized--even Ruby Jean's character has more clarity than that! As Ruby Jean says in TB 3:9: "...God does love fags." And, fangs.

Once again, kudos to Leslie's directorial action. Sookie and Tara are shown lying in the sunshine together, holding hands. The scene was visually beautiful and I truly appreciated Leslie's vision here.

The forced foreshadow of Sookie looking through her "Bill & Sookie" photo album with nothing but blank pages following the one "happy" picture tells you everything you need to know. What's next for Sookie? Or, is the better question, WHO'S next? She and Eric have a long-term relationship in the series but there are a few other supernatural suitors in between. All I can say is, for a small town waitress, Sookie is the hottest thing since the creation of the green fairy...oh wait, she is a fairy, but not drinkable...oh wait, she is drinkable...never mind....

Bill and Sookie have crazy break-up sex--or is that make-up sex? Well, either way, Sookie got to dominate Bill after his supposedly unwitting mis-step that nearly cost Sookie her life...that also bought Bill a ticket to Fairyland and now allows him to walk in the sun...what was it Eric said about Bill again? Hmmm....

Hadley, not the brightest penny in the jar, but because of her share of fairy-blood, she's the pet of a vampire queen who figures royally in to the next season. Sigh.

One last prop before I close to director Leslie, who has Hoyt juxtaposed with Jessica--one in ecstasy, one in misery...beautifully done!

All in all, a very satisfying episode! Check out my next review on TB 3:9...it's a real killer!

 Yes, it has been just 11 days since I willingly, willfully went off the tech-grid that basically rules hours upon hours of our waking day. You may be wondering how I survived--and what I did with ALL THAT TIME. Well, I'm about to tell you:

Day 1: I get up earlier than usual--which is pretty early (insomniac, remember???). I head downstairs and on auto-pilot, sit at my desk to check email, my author-site, my author page on facebook, and my author account on Twitter...but oh, that's right, I'm "off the grid." Nothing to check.

Thoughout the day, I found myself wondering what was going on in cyberspace--even as I went about doing errands, cleaning, reading, cooking--I found it difficult to be mindful in my tasks, and, in myself. Even without being "on the grid," I was still somehow attached, as if tethered by some invisible electrical cord that every once in a while sent a little zapping shock to my system to initiate a reboot. But all my system read was "error" as I continued on, determined NOT to fail in my daunting task. Eleven days off the grid should be easy, right? Right???

Day 2: I get up, again, earlier than usual. I decide that if I'm going to be off the grid, I'm going WAY off the grid. I spend the rest of the day distracted by my new plans and in preparation for what's next: A road trip.

Day 3: On the road again...just like the song, but without the charm of the Southern drawl that so endearingly accompanies those lyrics. I haven't thought about the "grid" at all--at least, not in two days. It's refreshing. I'm able to be more mindful...at last. I have meaningful conversations with my family. It's nice. But by the time I get to bed that night, I find myself thinking of several of my beloved student family who I keep up with on Facebook and through email. I'm worried about a number of them and felt a twinge of guilt that I would somehow miss something terribly important in their lives and forever regret it. That night, I dream that I'm a healer and my actor-friend, Jill (who I also keep up with on Facebook), introduces me to people who need my help. One of the people in the dream, an older woman, asks me to lay my healing hands on her--she doesn't want me to help her verbally, she wants me to physically connect with her in order to find and heal her inner wounds. The dream strikes me as odd but is consistent with my new venture of trying to connect while off the grid.

Day 4: I baptise myself in the ocean. For hours. I don't want to leave. I feel safe and warm and alive and...totally connected to the natural world. I don't think about the grid at all. Later, I visit with family and friends and laugh and talk with ACTUAL people for hours upon hours. It's a good day. I see the sunset. And later, I look up at the night sky and see a meteor burn up in the dark heavens above, among other shooting stars.

Day 5: More time with family. Still rising early--excited to live a full day of actual life, not virtual life. I feel stronger, healthier, more balanced. I'm not sure why but it feels too good to question. In the evening, after a wonderfully full day connecting with people I care about, a passing thought strays from a far corner of my mind that I'd almost forgotten about...almost.

Day 6: We're halfway there, not that I'm counting; I am conscious of the fact that I will have massive anounts of emails to catch up on, I'm concerned about my blog audience, about publicizing my work, about getting more work...it's impossible. I can't do it. But I have no computer. Wait! What about the iPhone? No, out of juice. I don't have the power cord to recharge it. Thankfully. Strategically placing myself WAY off the grid was a GREAT idea. I go about my day connecting with people, nature, and being fully present in every moment thereafter. That night, I dream about my grandmother. She tells me she's getting ready for her coming out party and has to find the right outfiit. No, she wasn't gay. She died last November. Her unveiling is in October. We just had a family conversation about it six days ago. I'm processing grief--without the distraction provided so aptly by the grid, I'm able to think and feel more deeply. Live more deeply.

Day 7: Always one of my luckist numbers, seven. Still getting up early, I go to breakfast. I eat blueberry pancakes. I'm not worried about getting back for my self-made schedule of computer-related work. I'm not worried about much...well, there are a few things, of course, and I find that one of those things--a rather big thing that left me extremely damaged--is in my immediate consciousness. I fret about it most of the day. I go to bed feeling angry and sad. I have terrible nightmares in between drifting in and out of semi-sleep. I "wake up" at 3:30am and begin the next day more tired than ever.

Day 8: Dog-tired, I go about my usual activities--cooking, cleaning, organizing life for my family. I'm not connecting fully with anything because I'm distracted by my anger and sadness--something I fought hard to push to the back of my mind, using distractions like the grid as a means to lull me into a cyber-stupor. Without my cybor-valium, I'm thinking and feeling a bit too much. BUT, because I'm not on my cyber-valium, I recognize it. Having diagnosed the "problem," I refocus my energies and become more present in the moment. I connect with people, nature and my family. Later, my son and I go out for ice cream...even our little dog. She likes vanilla, and for the next 24 hours, she smells like vanilla, too.

Day 9: I take a walk. I meditate. I feel good. Whole. Wholesome. And worthy of the gift that is my life. I know there are only a few days left before I go back to the grid and I mindfully decide to not think about it until day 11 comes to a close.

Day 10: I watch the sunrise. I take time to think about my goals and how to pursue them...all. I review my ten-year plan and make mental tweaks here and there, hoping to improve my own efficiency toward meeting those meaningful ends. I breathe deeply.  Perhaps for the first time in almost 23 months.

Day 11: I pop up like a daisy after sleeping (mostly) through the night. I shower, get ready, organize a drawer, take out the trash, write 11 thank-you notes, and head out for some errands. I watch and rewatch episode 3:8 of True Blood--having taken myself WAY off the grid, I did not get to see the show last week and know that I need to watch it to prepare for tonight's new episode so I can review both on my blog...and there it is. The rather sad end of my social experiment. Having taken myself totally off the grid, I spent every moment of the last 10 days reconnecting to myself, my family and others, along with the natural world. Now, I find myself taking hours of my time even BEFORE I sit down at the computer in preparation for reconnecting to the grid.

Perspective is everything, dearest readers. And now, I've gained some. I hope this experiment gives you the courage to do the same at some point. You can live without email, without Facebook, Twitter, MySPace, LinkedIn, or whatever it is that tethers you to the invisible world of the grid. You can live without it AND you'll even LIKE it! You can LIVE a REAL life with REAL people. Technology is not meant to take up most of the waking hours in a given day. It's meant to only aid us in our efforts to financially support ourselves, our families, and connect and reconnect with far-flung friends.

When Facebook is your homepage, you have a problem. I know because I had that same problem.

Hopefully, my perspective will be a lasting one--I won't allow myself to get distracted by the grid in the same way again. The grid is a tool, that's all. It would be weird to walk around with a hammer all day, wouldn't it? You wouldn't wander the streets with a wrench, would you? But we think nothing of whipping out our blackberrys, droids, iPhones, iPads, laptops, cell phones, pda's--part of it is a show of status or ego, but there's another part, a more insidious part--the part that takes us away not only from the people and things we care most about, but from ourselves. We lose ourselves to the grid and justify it with a myriad of reasons, only a few of which are even remotely reasonable and none of which require the kind of time, energy, effort, and frankly devotion, we all give.

When we find ourselves loyal to cyber-space, we betray everyone and everything else around us. Be true to yourself. Shakespeare said it more than 400 years ago, and it's still relevant today. For, the person who can be true to the self, will always be true. Whatever you get out of cyberspace, out of the grid, it's not worth the loss of you--of your integrity. Try to limit your time to an hour a day--if you can't do that, go cold-turkey...like I did.

Speaking of which, my hour is up...what about yours??? Until next time, dearest readers, until next time....

We're all so plugged in these days that between updating your own website, your MySpace, your Facebook, your Twitter, maybe updating LinkedIn or reading a few new messages there, and of course, going through the plethora of emails in a given day can take literally hours...and we're not just talking two!  It can take me up to six hours depending on the email content, necessary responses, reading updates on Facebook from students, friends and family--and that doesn't include reading any messages or having the occassional "chat" with a friend whose also online, LinkedIn updates/messages, tweeting with Twitter...it's never ending...if we allow it. Sure, we have iPhones, iPads, Blackberrys, Droids, and other electronic paraphenalia to make it "easier" to attend to all our technological connections and responsibilities, but still...6 hours?!?!?! And I KNOW I'm not alone.

If you spend even HALF that time in a given day dealing with your techno-responsibilities, when do you have time for yourself? For your family? For your friends? And I'm not talking about posting on their wall or sending them an @reply on Twitter....

With this website and my frequent articles, I spend EVEN MORE time online. The other night, I was up until 2am doing exactly what I'm describing here. If you're like me, you may also use these techno-outlets to publicize your work in some way, or yourself--increase your networking to increase your networth, so to speak. That's just the excuse we use. We justify our ridiculous commitment to what Jean Baudrillard called "hyperreality" because it is ridiculous...and deep down, we know it.

Jean Baudrillard, a French sociologist and by all counts, socio-political theorist, was so concerned about the growing devotion to the virtual and hyperreal as technology evolved, he felt it would create what he termed an "integral reality," or a reality based on the artificial. Like me sitting in front of a lighted box for six hours in a given day when only about 17 of every 24 hours are hours I'm awake. That means that between the moments where you have to do meet your physical needs, which can take up about three or so hours in a give day total, and the time spent in the hyperreality on the techno-grid, we're really only looking at about 8 productive hours--and if you work--that's the end of your day. No time to talk to your spouse. No time to read to your children. No time to be alone with yourself in the quiet of a pleasant summer evening as the sun sets in the distance. And yes, the sun does still do that...even if you're in some darkened little room clacking away on keys until all hours.

It's hard not to get caught up in the techno-grid. It is lovely to connect with SO many people in SO little time. If you pick up the phone to talk to someone, you may get the same kind of communications in that one hour that you could have delivered to potentially hundreds of other people...and on Twitter, you can make that thousands. Tempting, tempting...a little TOO tempting, if you know what I mean.

Our lives are short. Even trees live longer than humans (if left alone, of course). On average, a person has about 75 years or so...even if you live to 100, some of that time will surely include so many physical and even cognitive losses, you will be more limited than you may be today. And no, I'm not getting morbid. This is reality. Human reality. So why then, if we barely have 8 decades of life to live, would we choose to spend SO MUCH of that time interacting with essentially no one and nothing???  You know that life is about shared experience, don't you? With actual people, right?  It's not about green paper, or gold and silver metals or whether or not a particular company is losing value in the market. It's not about sitting in your cubicle. It's not about making copies of the memo for a meeting. We only do those things to LIVE actual life--but what happens is just the opposite.

We're tired after our time spent making monry to afford living life. We're so tired, we don't want to call someone and spend an hour talking. We don't want to sit down with our family and start a conversation. Those things appear to be a "waste of time" in our hyperreality where we can just plug into the grid and talk to hundreds, even thousands--and within a much shorter time frame. But we're cheating ourselves. Everyday.

Even now, I feel the pull of the actual people in my house. Each of us clacking away in our own spaces, on our own machines, artificial light filling our faces.

So I'm going off the grid--not forever, just for a short time. There are SO many blog articles now, you can probably go for months and still have fresh material to read. My next new entry will be on Monday, August 16th. Well, at least that's what I'll try for. We'll see how this experiment goes. In the meantime, try to do the same...at least for the upcoming weekend. Go off the grid and get into REAL life again...not just for a few hours...but for a few days.

Good luck, dearest readers...until the 16th!