Monthly Archives: November 2009

All things fiesta

I love giving dinner parties. We do it a lot at our house. I must say, though, I’ve never given a formal dinner party, complete with dresses and suits and appropriate decor and every fork in place. Must do that sometime.

Well this week is going to involve a huge dinner party, and the shopping needs to be done tonight after school. Meeting BFF Kay for coffee, then to the market. (Have I corrected my thesis yet? No. But 1 December is a lonnnnng way off, yes?)

When Mavis comes over to bake pies with Johanna and me tomorrow, I will play my two favorite Christmas albums (JT and Sinatra) and we will all be in the holiday spirit.

Speaking of JT…his 1992 New Moon Shine album is one of  two (besides the Fabs) that I listen to on a regular basis, without fail. It is always in my truck, on my iPod, and on my hard drive. I recommend it highly. Not a single bow-wow on the whole project. Amazing. The other, of course, is Stephen Bishop’s Careless. As close to perfection as I’ve ever heard. Ah, wistful memories…

Have yourself a good Tuesday. Think about how great your life is; be thankful.

RF, waxing wise

Say thankya

I appreciate this week a lot.

  1. It’s short, schoolwise
  2. I get to see family (Johanna flies in from Austin this morning, yay!)
  3. Mavis, the daughters and I get to tear it up in the kitchen
  4. I get out my Sinatra and James Taylor Christmas CDs
  5. I can watch the Lions lose instead of the Browns
  6. I get to start wrapping all the gifts that will arrive over the next couple of days
  7. My v-jazz group has a gig on Sunday; should be some fun
  8. The thesis gets its finishing touches, then off it goes for the final time, never to be thought about again in my lifetime
  9. I get more time with Jake and Justin
  10. No 5 a.m. alarm going off (except the one in my head, which I can choose to ignore)

Now that’s a dandy week, say thankya. What’s your vacation look like? (RD and Greg, I know your answers: every week is vacation…)

Here’s to the start of a fantastic — hopefully short for all of us — work week.

FO

RNF XXIX

Random Neuron Firings

Just about everyone is tired of jawing about the potentially criminal circumstances surrounding Michael Jackson’s death. Ready for some closure, I’d think — especially for his family.

But I read an article this morning on where Dr. Conrad Murray got the propofol that ultimately killed the singer, and once again I marveled at how anyone could actually receive that drug and function with any normalcy afterwards. FYI to those who have never had surgery: it takes you a LONG time to wake up after propofol. And when you first come to, the feeling is like no other.  One doesn’t just wake up, throw off the blanket and say, “Welp, time to start the day!” Rather, you feel like somebody laid a school bus on top of you. You can barely move or think; you struggle to form words. Sometimes you get sick to your stomach; other times, you just fade back into unconsciousness for another hour or so, and nothing that anybody might do would shake you awake. Propofol decides; not you.

So again, I have to wonder: why on earth would Jackson choose to use that drug to go to sleep? You don’t sleep with propofol…you black out. I think there’s a big diff.

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Oasis of the Seas - the world's largest cruise ship

I just…I can’t…I mean…never. No way, no how. *shudder*

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Since Facebook added a status function, Twitter’s pretty much passé, although as a running headline service, I’d say it’s better.

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I am 99% finished with Christmas shopping for my family. No joke. Ozzum.

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Prof sent my thesis back — only minor corrections to make. The finish line is ever closer…

Have a fab weekend, fiends. I’m off.

Image credit: Reuters

A cautionary tale

Confession: I like Nicolas Cage. Always have. There’s something about him — the dopey cuteness, the “aw, shucks” mannerisms, the 3-foot-wide grin — can’t explain it. He’s just always been cool (unlike some of his movies, unfortunately).

So it bothered me when I learned that he was suing his former manager for swindling him out of millions. According to Reuters:

In a lawsuit filed in Los Angeles Superior Court and first obtained by celebrity web site TMZ.com, Cage said he had now been forced to “sell major assets and investments at a significant loss” because of the actions of his business advisor and accountant over the past seven years.

The lawsuit said the advisor had also failed to alert Cage to the fact that his money was running out, and had over-extended his lines of credit with banks.”

Well that is awful. Seriously. It has to be unnerving (I’d think, at least at first) to entrust your entire financial health to someone else. Talk about trust, yeesh. It’s probably not outrageous to say that financial handlers are right up there with surgeons. Some folks put their lives in these people’s hands; sometimes it doesn’t work out.

So I had me a pity party for Nic. But whoa, stop the press – who is that? Why, it’s the ex-manager, firing back with a countersuit. Seems there’s a dark side to this sad scrilla saga…

[Ex-manager Samuel Levin] countered Cage’s claim that the actor was left in the dark about his finances.

“Levin repeatedly warned Coppola [Cage’s real surname] that he was living beyond his means, urged him to spend less, and warned him that financial disaster loomed if he continued to spend uncontrollably,” Levin’s filing said.

“Levin described the folly of several other well-known entertainers who compulsively overspent their way into bankruptcy, and warned Coppola ‘it could happen to you,’ ” the filing said.

Cage should have known about his debt because “he signed every check for every monetary transaction throughout the relationship,” Levin said.

Now that’s a man making an awfully big claim. Is it true? (And do big fish really “sign checks” anymore?) Remains to be seen. But there is obviously a bigger question: Who made the nutjob buy all this stuff — and why on earth could he have possibly thought he needed it? This makes Imelda Marcos look like Mother Teresa. Behold:

“In 2007 alone, Cage’s ‘shopping spree entailed the purchase of three additional residences at a total cost of more than $33 million [including two castles in Europe –Two? CASTLES?]; the purchase of 22 automobiles (including 9 Rolls Royces); 12 purchases of expensive jewelry; and 47 purchases of artwork and exotic items,” Levin’s filing said.”

You have to read the whole article. It’ll knock you out.

So back to the issue. Was Cage so consummately clueless about the absolute simplest principles of financial management (e.g., money in must exceed money out) that he actually believed he could afford a Gulfstream jet, a flotilla of yachts, and no fewer than 15 personal residences? Honestly, who could afford to live like this besides a sheik? I guess we’ll find out in February when the case goes to court in LA.

The “cautionary” part of this tale, I think, is that we all wear the results of our choices. In other words, if Cage signed check after check and never once thought to ask, “How’m I doing financially?”, then he’s as much to blame as Levin. Don’t spend like there’s no tomorrow, and then blame others when the well runs dry. Doesn’t matter if you paid someone else to take care of the bills; you’re still responsible for running them up. Don’t pretend you’re not an adult. Just like everyone else in this world: make the choices, live with the consequences.

This series of events is especially unfortunate, given that Cage reportedly changed his last name to avoid unfair treatment by filmmakers who tied him to his famous uncle, director Francis Ford Coppola. Presumably, he wanted a square deal; to work for what he got and make it on his own. And now all this.

Ah well. All fine and good for me to pontificate from afar, here in my own little castle. But I try to keep all things modest, lest I be revisited by Kaptain Karma. He’s realer ‘n Santa Claus, believe it.

FO