New Britney...

So, we just listened to the new Britney song, "Gimme More," and the three of us here in the office agree...we LOVE it. I mean, I still hate her...but dammmit if that girl can't make some good-ass pop music!

Check out perez if you want to hear for yourself. We prefer the T.I. version!

I Plan to Be Pretentious

This Saturday, GC and I have plans to attend the US Open. Giancarlo will be wearing a seersucker suit, as this is the only time of year he can do so. I play to coordinate in a similarly Hamptons-like outfit, all white...natch.

I know it's not much, but these are the types of plans that make me happy on a Thursday afternoon, when the weekend is oh so close.

I think smooches would be an appropriate sign-off. Smooches!

Cha-Cha-Changes!

So..just as I brought the blog back from dead, it turns out some major life changes happened at the same time.

The very long story made very short, is that I’ve come to the decision to try living alone! I think it’s the right time in my life (thank you Lexapro!) and I’m really excited. When I was looking at my first two apartments earlier this week, I was mentally decorating in my head and picking out color schemes – and I realized that I was truly having fun. So that’s how I know it’s okay. Plus, I come from a family of five, I’ve never lived with fewer than 2 other people, and most of the time it has been 3 others…it will be an interesting experiment for myself to come home to a place that is all my own.

So right now I’m looking all over NYC, but also Astoria and the nicer parts of Brooklyn. I’ll definitely get more space and bang for my buck out in the boroughs…which is awesome, but it will be sad to not be a true city girl. It’s so the Sex and the City episode, when Miranda moves to Brooklyn and Carrie is horrified. I totally get it now. The mystique/allure of living in the city is a hard one to pull away from. But then you view an apartment for $1,450 a month that’s 250 square feet and you come right back down to Earth.

Stay tuned – I’m going to start posting the photos of the NYC crapholes that rent for thousands of dollars every month! It’s crazy!

Sad but True

So the official organization for my profession recently released a list of speakers and panel experts taking part in the upcoming annual convention.

Having been around the block a time or five now, I recognized many of the company presidents and vice presidents lined up to talk.

As I went down the list, my thought process went a little something like this:
- crazy
- ha! What is she doing there
- never sees her kids
- heard she’s a psycho
- I know him, he’s cool
- Yikes! Who would want to work for her
- I did work for her, she’s a nutcase!
- I heard he’s nice

Two things made me sad about that. One, was that it was all true. Second, was that out of the list, I found the men to be the only ones considered sane. I started to wonder why that was. Are new york women especially crazy (yes)…is it the pressure of this industry and the city that makes them that way (probably)…is it trying to balance the demands of a successful professional career with a fulfilling personal life as a female (definitely)…do men have it easier in both those areas (absolutely)…and so on.

I offer no answers. I have no solutions. In ten years time, given that I’m already on anxiety medication now (future post that I haven’t gotten around to yet), who knows what I will be like when there’s a possible kid or two at home. Maybe I’ll be there too. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll live some kind of life in the middle. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, so I’m not going to bother with years down the line…but it was interesting and sad at the same time.

I'm a Video Game Nerd...Who Knew?!

So, if there is one thing I have learned from dating a video game expert, it’s that I missed the video games of my youth. I forgot just how much I loved Jaws and Tetris, Klax and Super Mario Brothers.

The good news is, I’m obsessed just like I was in second grade! Between Wii and Guitar Hero, it’s hard to keep myself focused sometimes.

But I’ve found a mini, pocket-sized obsession that helps curb the cravings – the Nintendo DS, a portable gaming system that includes a little IQ game I can’t get enough of called Brain Age.

The best part about Brain Age is that when you first take it (5 mini games that test your Memory, Analyze, Compute, Identify and Think skills) you see where you’re strengths lie – for me it was in memorization and computing – which is not surprising if you know me at all. Thinking and Analyzing – not really my thing!

But then you can practice to increase your skills in each category until you learn to be sharper and faster. I’m happy to report that about 3 weeks later, I’m not just about even in all areas – basically I’m an f*ng genius!

But seriously if you want to prevent Alzheimer’s and just get sick of Su Do Ku sometimes, pick up a Nintendo DS. And if you are really serious, get Guitar Hero, because it’s the best game ever made.

No big deal, but our band name is The Eyetalians, and our debut album “Ready…Set…Dago!” should be in stores once I master Free Bird on Medium.

R. Kelly and Transvestites! Not Together

R. Kelly Should Just Disappear

On my way to work this morning, I saw a number of R. Kelly “Trapped in the Closet” door hangers all over the ground. While I was grateful they were actually on the ground and being walked all over, I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone really cares about R. Kelly’s new video. Does anyone still like R. Kelly? Does anyone think this ridiculous “Trapped in the Closet” series is interesting or anything more than R. Kelly further diving into the deep end? I’m officially adding R. Kelly to my list of “people I don’t give a flying f*** about.”

Friday Night …Transvestites!

After another awesome Death by Roo Roo Show at the UCB, GC and I decided we wanted to play Guitar Hero…again. So we loaded up on some Sparks and beer, just like real rock stars would, at a bodega near the theater.

While inside, we both immediately noticed an attractive, older woman with amazing legs looking through the alcohol section. She was noticeable because she had gray hair and glasses, but was in a silver mini-dress that just screamed LOOK AT ME!

We had already drank two beers each, so we were feeling like we should say something, when her friend came over with a bottle of Voss water and remarked how it would make an excellent dildo. I think the surprise that registered on both our faces was blatant, because silver mini dress looked over at us and said to her friend something about how she had a number of ideas on how she could make that happen.

I don’t remember exactly how we got to talking to her, but we got to talking to Silver Mini Dress who turned out to be SO NICE. She was an in-transition transsexual, named Jasmine, in the process of becoming a woman. She was going to be part of a documentary called “There Are No Mistakes,” and was also working on getting her own talk show. We also discussed her tattoo idea, which would be to inject colored silicon under your skin so that you could push it into different shapes every day, and have a new tattoo whenever you wanted. All of this information came out in approximately 3-4 minutes.

And then we proceeded to play Guitar Hero until 6:30 a.m., me on bass, GC on lead. Improv Comedy, Transvestites and Video Games and a sunrise bed time – perfect Friday night!

The Ten...and McWigger!

The Ten

I didn’t hear much in the way of previews for this movie, which is a shame because it’s Nick-Cannon hilllllarious (am I right, Chappelle fans?) Before you go watch it in the movie theater, which you should, first check out the trailer at: http://www.apple.com/trailers/thinkfilm/theten/.

If you don’t think that’s funny, then don’t go see the movie. But if you are mildly amused, go see the movie.

But don’t go see the movie if you aren’t willing to do the following:

1.) Make fun of the bible
2.) Laugh at rape jokes
3.) Obsess over how funny Paul Rudd is

If you can do the above, go see the movie.

McWigger Run-In!

I don’t know how he does it…but he always manages to pop up when I’m by myself.

I had no cash this morning, so I had to stop at McWigger’s coffee shop because you can use your debit card there. Of course, the last five times I have gone, I’ve been with someone and he is no where to be found. The very first time I go alone, he’s sitting at the counter talking to Hockey Scout.

I noticed them at the counter, but I decided to pretend to be in a pre-coffee morning daze. However, when adding milk and sugar to my heroin substitute, I caught sight of a dog wearing a rain jacket. I had to look up and check it out further, and while doing so, I made eye contact with Hockey Scout. He waved and I said what’s up, which prompted McWigger to turn around. Deciding to be cordial, I said “What’s going on, long time, no see.” To which he replied, “How have you been?” I replied, “Oh you know, just working. Same old, same old.” And he replied, “Well, it could be worse.”

And then I screamed, “Go FUCK yourself!”

No, just kidding, I didn’t say that. I just said, “Yeah you’re right. See you all later.” And then I left.

All in all, a pleasant exchange. It seems so long ago that I was getting stabbed with my own pen while trying to do the Soduku puzzle in peace and getting change thrown at my head, and let’s not forget getting yelled at in the bank, but I guess it was only a year ago.

For all those who may not be familiar with the McWigger Chronicles, go to the homepage of my blog at www.lialand.blogspot.com, and go back in the archives to this time last year. You’ll be equally horrified and amused.

I'm Back...and Think Obama May Be Behind in the Polls

(Cue music. “Try Again” by Aaliyah and Timbaland.)

It’s been a long time, I shouldn’ta left you…(left you) … without a dope blog to read to. Read to …Read to Readto….and you get the point.

I’ve taken a long hiatus from blogging. I sit at a computer the better part of 9 hours Monday through Friday. I sent out roughly 75 – 100 professional emails every day (in addition to 10 or so personal, and Gmail chatting)…so you can imagine that the last thing I want to do at the end of every day is go home and type some more.

But…since I find myself writing blogs in my head all the time, I figured I should get back on the horse…whereas the horse is a keyboard…but I’m not physically on the keyboard or anything, but my fingers are. And I’m typing and not actually riding my computer, or anything like that. Just regular typing.

Anywho, the point is, I see and hear too many funny things to not be blogging. Really, I’m doing it for you people! And even though the book is still something I want to write, it’s kind of right now in a holding pattern that I’m hoping will spring to life if I’m blogging again. (I’m still counting on your financial backing, Kaplan.)

So to begin again, I think I’ll start with a story that combines good old New York City racism with the elderly population that lives in my community.

My story begins last Saturday. It was a warm and sunny 125 degrees, and GC and I were in the midst of freeing him from C.U.N.T. (Claudia’s UpperWestSide Neighborhood Territory. Get your minds out of the gutter!) Walking, ever so slowly and delicately in front of us, was a little old East Village woman.

For those of you who may need clarification, old East Village women tend to clothe themselves in house dresses, complete with mis-matched socks AND slippers, handkerchiefs firmly in places on their hair, Eastern European lineage firmly asserted via glaring looks and body posture.

Walking next to her was the typical East Village girl.

For those of you who need clarification on her, she’s about 5’9” and if her hair is brushed, it’s probably somewhat frizzy. Her sunglasses are large and she’s probably wearing the same (or a similar) house dress as the old East Village woman, but she bought hers at a “vintage” store and paid $300 for it. She also probably has on slouchy socks and ankle boots.


So..our cast of characters complete, GC and I walking and talking behind them…when out of nowhere, our characters interact.

The little old woman stops, spins and turns to the hipster, grabs her by the arm and asks, “ARE YOU GOING TO VOTE!?”

The hipster turns, broken out of her iPod/emo revelry says, “What?”

The old woman, looking annoyed, repeats, “I SAID…ARE YOU GOING TO VOTE?”

The hipster replys, “Um, yes I think so.”

The old woman yells, “GOOD! BUT DON’T VOTE FOR THE BLACK ONE!”

I thought GC’s head was going to snap off, the way he threw it back and laughed. It was totally absurd. I should also mention at this time, that the woman was very hunched over, and using a walker.

The hipster, annoyed to have been bothered with such trivial matters as our presidency, moves on without so much as batting an eye. GC, however, not so much.

Without missing a beat, he turns and asks the old woman, “Are you going to vote?”

And she looks at him completely blankly, like she didn’t just ask that question of someone else 10 seconds prior. She says, “Huh?”

And GC says. “Are you going to vote in the next presidential election?”

And her eyes get clear for one second and she exclaims, “Oh yes…!”

And he asks, “Who are you voting for?”

And she proclaims “Hilary Clinton!”

And he says, “Not the other Democrat?”

Her eyes got dark and she said, “No. We need a woman in the White House. The other one seems fresh.”

And then her eyes clouded over once more. And we turned to go. But, the little Eastern European woman is not voting for Barack Obama because he “seems fresh.” I wasn’t sure, but now I can firmly state, that racism is alive and well in the elderly, female Eastern European community of New York City.

Greece is Burning

I'm back!

Sorry that it's been such a long time sine I posted. I know how bad I suck. I"ve just been super busy at work and to be very honest, I now spend so much time talking and typing on the job that it's the last thing I want to do when I get home.

However, right now I'm on vacation, and I wanted to send an update on Annette's and mine's greece vacation. So far, so good, we're both minimally burned, pretty well tanned and learning that we can sweat from places neither of us even knew were capable of producing sweat(eyelids, elbows, etc.). It's been a pretty steady 90-100 degrees, which is great when you're at the beach...not so much when you have a 40 pound back pack on your back and are trying to buy a phone charger at 12:15 p.m. so you can run back and catch the 12:30 bus to a hotel whose location is not quite clear.

However, that was really the only semi-anxiety-ridden half hour of an otherwise very relaxing week. Our agenda is pretty much sleep, eat gyros, walk to see the sights, take a nap, repeat. In varying order, but that's more or less it.

Except today, we rented a four-wheeler to see Santorini and I drove up and down mountains with (and without) guardrails, leading down to 250 foot drop offs. After my 15-minute get acquainted session with the ATV, I gunned it and now have an ATV on my Christmas list. But seriously, we were able to see the whole island of Santorini and 3 of its 6 or so main beaches. Including Red Beach (red sand) and Perisi (black sand.) That was pretty cool for me since I'm used to Florida white sand. It's sad to both AG and I that this is now what's interesting and not the crazy party scene. Which doesn't exist really in Santorini, but does in Ios, which was our first island stop and will be the subject of an entirely different, future post.

We're here for one more day and then we move onto Naxos, then back to Athens for one night and then I'm back in tha N-Y-C.

Anyways, that's the short version, I'll throw up the longer version on my blog soon, which will include the Athenian hookers, Ios douchebags and the older Greek's men preference for one certain redheaded Cuban that have also been an integral part of this trip.

Whatever Life We Get is Bonus

After what can only be described as an emotionally insane week, I've finally felt my brain start to rest a bit. Not sure where this all came from, but I guess from time to time, we're all allowed to flip out about where our life is at, where it's going and how to maximize it as best we can.

I think my freak out was due in no small part to the four year anniversary of my college graduation having been on May 3. One of my best friends, who has been in college the entire time since I left, just got her first job and is making a very, very significant amount of money more than I am. Which is frustrating because though her four years have been filled with studying, and I'm not going to say that was easy and stress free, I've spent the last four years working hard, getting stressed and recently realizing that I no longer care to be super successful at what I've chosen to do and now it's time for a chance. Granted, she is going to be a P.A., and so she rightfully should make more money, but it didn't stop me from kind of taking a good look around and saying can I do more? Can I do more without working myself into the ground? And will I be happy? Big questions like these stress me out because they have no answers. But I've finally calmed down.

Yesterday, I was on CNN.com and came across this article. It really just proved the point that though we all have problems, they could always be worse. Maybe I am freaking out over some things, but at least those problems can be solved. Not everyone's can. And at least my problems have to do with the experiences that come from life, and being in love, and working hard and following my dreams. Not everyone gets those chances.

Whatever life we get is bonus

Editor's note: The following post is written by Miles Levin, a young cancer patient profiled on tonight's "360." Miles' personal blog can be read at www.carepages.com, page name "LevinStory."

Through his blog, Miles has talked about cancer and life with tens of thousands of readers around the world.

Looking through my living room window, I suspect being outside would feel wonderful, but I really wouldn't know. As I write this from my bed, my entire body feels saturated in a sticky, toxic nausea, with chemotherapy pumping through my 18-year-old veins. Like Michael Jackson's moonwalk, chemotherapy has this strange way of moving a person another step towards life and death at the same time.

Twenty three months ago, I was diagnosed with stage IV rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare pediatric muscle cancer affecting only 350 children a year. With odds like that, and with a 20 percent chance of survival, I can only deduce two possibilities about the universe: God's plan is evident in every little shifting of the breeze, or it's totally random. I don't see how there could be much middle ground.

I remember my first chemo round, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. The agony was stunning. I've long since learned to go ahead and cry. How could this have happened? Yet as with anything that happens, it happens, and then suddenly you find it has happened, and more things keep continuing to happen. Chemotherapy has instilled in me a visceral understanding that all bad things will pass in time ... but that all good things will too.

I set out on a 19-month course of treatment, chronicling the journey on an online blog. Little did I know that my little Web site intended to keep extended family and friends informed would find readers all across the country and even the world, including such countries as Japan, Australia, Germany, Brazil.

My journey became our journey, with treatment finishing last December. For a brief, hopeful month in January, it appeared to have been successful. My scans were clear. But, as is so common with cancer, there were still sub-detectable rogue cells lurking in distant corners of my body. Within weeks, they swarmed forth again and my body was infested once more.

A recurrence of my kind of cancer has been hitherto incurable, although I still cling to a slim ray of hope. But in all likelihood, I am in the last few months of my short life.

Unlike many cancer patients, I don't have much anger. The way I see it, we're not entitled to one breath of air. We did nothing to earn it, so whatever we get is bonus. I might be more than a little disappointed with the hand I've been dealt, but this is what it is. Thinking about what it could be is pointless. It ought to be different, that's for sure, but it ain't. A moment spent moping is a moment wasted.

I accept what is to come, but I cannot rid myself of a deep mourning for all those experiences -- college, marriage, children, grandchildren -- that will probably never be mine to celebrate. What solace I do find is in the knowledge that I have done everything I can to transmute this terribleness into something positive by showing as many people as I can how to endure it with a smile.

I don't believe you can ask for any more, but if I could ask for something, it would be to be able to go outside into the glorious spring air, feeling healthy and blissfully clueless as to how lucky I was for it, if only just for an hour.


Oh and I promise to stop the serious posts soon!

American Idol vs. the American Presidency

You know I'd have to do some research, and quite frankly I'm just too tired and lazy right now to do it, but I have a feeling that more people voted in last night's American Idol than probably voted in the last presidential election. Anyone care to do the research I don't feel like doing?

If so, I think we figured out how to increase voter turnout in 2008 - bring in Earth Wind and Fire and donate 10 cents from every presidential vote to children in Africa!

Is UF Trying to Kill Me?

I keep getting these amazing emails reminding me how awesome Gainesville is and how I should return to school. The last thing I need in the middle of a busy work day is a reminder of how responsibility-free and incredibly awesome my college days were. Emails like this do not help! Even if the University of Florida is the greatest academic and sporting institution in the universe!

Dear Lia,

Great things are happening in Gator Country! We're at the top of our game, and we're not just talking about basketball and football! It is the loyalty and commitment of alumni like you that will ensure that we stay there.

Please take this opportunity to watch this dynamic presentation and come back to Florida!

Thank you,

The University of Florida

My Celebrity TV World is Blowing Up!

Rosie O'Donnell is leaving The View (why can't it be Elizabeth? Unless Rosie is getting her own show. That will be the only way this is acceptable.) Heather Mills was voted off Dancing With the Stars (which I don't watch, but eagerly scan the gossip columns each week hoping for a leg incident, which is sick, but necessary) and for the first time, Idol was Sanjaya free last night! Love it b***tches!

In other news, I am back in the gym so that my five pounds heavier frame can get back down to its fighting weight in time for Greece. In the early morning sunlight the other day, I got a good look love handles and immediately decided enough was enough. So I've cut back on portions (sigh) and started working out again.

And next Thursday, I head off to Las Vegas for a little fun and sun with the fam. Mostly fun. Things are looking up!

UFC - Who Knew?

So...spring is here and with it, my motivation to get back in the gym and maybe see the abs that had just started to peek through before Christmas came and wreaked its havoc on my routine and waistline.

Today, when I was running on the treadmill, the guy next to me turned on the Ultimate Fighting Championship at the same time that Good Vibrations came into my headphones (compliments of GC and his gift of early 90s dance music). As it turns out, watching huge men kick and punch each other in the face, along with the combination of Marky Mark (followed by Kriss Kross = kick ass!) is just what it takes to make you want to run like 77 miles. Alas, I only ran one because that's my maximum...but goddamit if it wasn't one of the fastest miles ever.

Stephen King is a Genius!

Stephen King is one of the most fascinating people to me. I once read that he reads, on average, 80 books a year, and his career is obviously to be envied by any wannabe novelist, like myself. One of the things I've come to enjoy about Stephen outside of his own work (of which I'm not a huge fan but can definitely appreciate) is his perspective on the outside world, that he gives in his columns for Entertainment Weekly.

The following is his take on violence in creative writing translating into violence in reality. As someone who would rather write for a living, I did think about the implications of writing something that may be disturbing to someone else. What might happen to the creative process? Stephen King articulates and I agree.

And one of these days, I'll start generating original thought on my blog again. Sigh.

EDITORS' NOTE: In the wake of the Virginia Tech murders and subsequent reports that Cho Seung-Hui had raised alarms in the English department with his writing, we asked novelist and Entertainment Weekly contributing editor Stephen King for his thoughts on the links between the creative process and violence. Where, exactly, does one draw the line between imagination and disturbing expression that should raise red flags?

I've thought about it, of course. Certainly in this sensitized day and age, my own college writing — including a short story called ''Cain Rose Up'' and the novel RAGE — would have raised red flags, and I'm certain someone would have tabbed me as mentally ill because of them, even though I interacted in class, never took pictures of girls' legs with my cell phone (in 1970, WHAT cell phones?), and never signed my work with a ?.

As a teacher, I had one student — I will call him George — who raised red flags galore in my own mind: stories about flaying women alive, dismemberment, and, the capper, ''getting back at THEM.'' George was very quiet, and verbally inarticulate. It was only in his written work that he spewed these relentless scenes of gore and torture. His job was in the University Bookstore, and when I inquired about him once, I was told he was a good worker, but ''quiet.'' I thought, ''Whoa, if some kid is ever gonna blow, it'll be this one.'' He never did. But that was in the days before a gun-totin' serial killer could get top billing on the Nightly News and possibly the covers of national magazines.

For most creative people, the imagination serves as an excretory channel for violence: We visualize what we will never actually do (James Patterson, for instance, a nice man who has all too often worked the street that my old friend George used to work). Cho doesn't strike me as in the least creative, however. Dude was crazy. Dude was, in the memorable phrasing of Nikki Giovanni, ''just mean.'' Essentially there's no story here, except for a paranoid a--hole who went DEFCON-1. He may have been inspired by Columbine, but only because he was too dim to think up such a scenario on his own.

On the whole, I don't think you can pick these guys out based on their work, unless you look for violence unenlivened by any real talent.

Your Problems Are Not That Big

It's dawned on me today that given yesterday's tragedy at Virgina Tech, my problems are not that big. If my biggest problem is that each morning I have to wake up and go to a job that doesn't stimulate me, like 8 trillion other people in America, then maybe I'm doing okay afterall. I'm not saying its right that the mass of men live their lives in quiet desperation, but sometimes the universe shows you that things are worse. That there are people in this world who need help. That there are bigger things outside of your window if you can stop being concerned with yourself long enough to pay attention.

Reading the transcripts and stories of whats beginning to surface is absolutely heartbreaking. You can't help but put yourself back in your own college classroom, wondering what it would be like if you were taking notes one second, and dropping to the floor in the next wondering what the hell is going on.

What breaks my heart most is that the media is already trying to make a story out of blame. That the cops didn't act fast enough during the first shooting to lock down the campus. Having come from a large university myself, I know for a fact that if a shooting took place in a dorm, at 7:15 a.m. no less, when 95% of students are still asleep, there would have been no way to shut down an entire campus immediately. The second shooting occurred in the 9:30 hour, when 85% of the campus would still be asleep. Further, without knowing any facts of the case in the dorms, there is no reason the police should have shut down the campus.

I remember on 9.11 I was working at the gym, closing it up after it was determined that school would be closed that day, and as late as 2 p.m. students were coming into work out. When I told them the gym was closed because of that morning's attacks, many had no idea what I was talking about. They hadn't turned on the news or signed online that morning. I imagine it was very similar at Virginina Tech. On large campuses, news travels slow. And never underestimate the bubble that most students live in for four years.

In any case, I remain glued to the ongoing coverage and updates and today, find myself, a little less concerned with my own miniscule problems. As we all should.

Hanging on by a thread...

I think the nor'easter (and I hate that word, I think it should just be northeaster and as a matter of fact, i've been pronouncing it that way out of spite) has finally invaded my brain. Yesterday was lovely when I got to lay in bed all day and watch movies with GC, but the rain is not quite as fun when you have to walk through it to get to work. After GC left, i tried to do my taxes (now filing for an extension), watched the sopranos and entourage and then literally twiddled my thumbs for three hours. I didn't feel like going to sleep. The Sunday night dread of the work week ahead kept me up in an attempt to try and extend the weekend as long as I could. Because it was an amazing weekend. And that's why I was all the more annoyed that the rain finally got to me and started to bring me down. A little bit of rain on the weekend can be nice, as it was during the day. But when it comes down relentlessly, and you can't go outside because of it, that's what you have to draw the line.

It got me thinking about this article I've been trying to begin writing about happiness in your 20s, in the 21st century. The fact that I had Sunday night dread really irked me. I feel like I'm getting too old to feel this way. I'm not saying I'm ever going to wake up on Monday morning going "Hooray! It's time for work!" but must I dread the feeling of waking up in the morning? According to some of the interviews I've been conducting too, I'm not alone. Is it just where I'm at right now? Is this just a fact of life? Isn't there a better way?

I can't wait for the rain to clear up so that my thoughts get cleared up too. I'm at work and I'm not dying...and to think I stayed up until 1 a.m. thinking about it. Crazy.

Best Article on Imus Yet

Since you can't help but follow the Don Imus story...here is what I think is the best article yet on the matter. Roland Martin consistently puts out some of the best opinion columns and this is no exception. Happy to know that at least one member of the media is not letting Mr. Moral Compass himself, Jesse Jackson, or Media Scandal Ambulance Chaser Extraordinaire Al Sharpton, influence their opinions on this. Though the Don Imus "scandal" is no doubt a long time coming and well, well overdue...this is really the issue, in my opinion, as well.

Roland S. Martin
CNN Contributor

Editor's note: Roland S. Martin is a CNN contributor and a talk-show host for WVON-AM in Chicago.

No one would have thought that when Rosa Parks opted not to give up her seat to a white man in 1956, a dozen years later blacks would have the full right to vote, the ability to eat in hotels and restaurants and see Jim Crow destroyed.

We might look back in a few years and come to realize that the removal of Don Imus from the public airwaves put America on a course that changed the dialogue on what is acceptable to say in public forums.

The downfall of a long, successful and controversial career, on the surface, took eight days. But for Imus, this has actually been 30 years in the making. He has used his sexual and racial schtick to pad his pocketbook. Only this time, he ran up against a group of women who presented such a compelling story, his bosses couldn't ignore the reality of his sexist and racist rant.

Although the National Association of Black Journalists led the fight to oust Imus, there is no doubt that it was that moving news conference by the Rutgers University women's basketball team that cemented the demise of Imus. Vivian Stringer was poised and strong in demanding that America look at the 10 women and see them as the real face of Imus's slurs.

And that is really the issue we must focus on. So many people tried to make this a race issue. But for me, that wasn't the primary point. I never wavered from the attack as one of a sexist. It didn't matter that he was trying to be funny. He insulted a group of women who are already accomplished.

Then again, that happens to women every day.

Sen. Hillary Clinton, a New York Democrat, is smart and talented, but to many, she's nothing but an opportunist. She's called too aggressive, not cute and is slammed regularly. But she should be praised for being a woman who has achieved a lot in her career.

Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice is portrayed as a bumbling idiot, but her academic credentials are impeccable. You can disagree with her ideology, but to question her womanhood is silly.

Women all across this country have to play by a different standard. They often make less than men, even when doing the same job; are accused of being too tough when they are the boss; and are treated as sexual objects.

America, we have a problem with sexism. Don't try to make this whole matter about the ridiculous rants made by rappers. I deplore what's in a lot of their music and videos, but hip-hop is only 30 years old. So you mean to tell me that sexism in America only started in 1977?

Now is the time for this nation to undergo a direct examination of the depths of sexism. My media colleagues shouldn't go just for the easy target ­ rap lyrics. That is no doubt a logical next step, but sexism is so much deeper. It is embedded in our churches, synagogues, mosques, schools, Fortune 500 companies and in the political arena. We should target our resources to this issue and raise the consciousness of people, and expose the reality.

Don Imus should not be the period. He can be the comma. Civil rights organizations, media entities, women's groups and others have an opportunity that they can't pass up. We have the chance to seize the moment to begin a conversation ­-- an in-depth one ­-- that has the opportunity to redefine America along the lines of race and sex.

I hope and pray that we have the courage to do so.

My iPod Was on Fire!

Am I the only one who sometimes gauges how good their day will be by the songs that your iPod randomly plays in the a.m.? I only get 7 or 8 songs door-to-door for my commute to work, so I take very heavy stock in the songs that I choose to play.

Today may have been one of my best random shuffles ever! In order, the songs were:

- I've Got Friends in Low Places, Garth Brooks
- Wind It Up, Gwen Stefani
- The Sweet Escape, Gwen Stefani
- Stutter, Joe featuring Mystikal
- Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield
- Gotta Get Through This, Daniel Bedingfield (and sidenote, does anyone know if they are bro and sis?)
- Take Me Out, Franz Ferdinand
- Lubbock or Leave It, the Dixie Chicks

and had I not arrived at work by this time the next would have been oldie but goodie, Foolish by Ashanti (and sidenote, what the hell ever happened to her?)

Maybe shaping up to be the best day ever!! We shall see.

The Sopranos..the Beginning of the End

In celebration of one of the greatest TV shows to ever eminate through the airwaves and into my world - the Sopranos - I unintentionally engaged in a day of all things Italian.

Hungover from a very quick, very awful Saturday night, mostly spent over the toilet in my bathroom with only a vague recollection of how I got there...I dedicated my entire Easter Sunday, not to Jesus, as I probably should have, but to Tony, Christopher, Carmela and company.

It began when I noticed that James Gandolfini was the guest on Inside the Actor's Studio. I gave it my full attention, realizing that Gandolfini is a complicated guy with a lot of anger...and pretty much born to play Tony Soprano. After I finished, I noticed Michael Imperioli, whom I recently spotted out in NYC and had to keep from screaming and running over to him, was the guest on Conan O'Brien. So I watched that. Followed by reading on EW.com a review of the 10 best Soprano episodes ever.

When my stomach was well enough to consider food again, it didn't strike me as much coincidence that the only thing I had to eat in my house was manicotti. So I cooked up some pasta, heated up those m'cots...and ate as I watched episode 1.

I was so happy today when the review on EW.com echoed my feelings. I watched the whole episode with my heart in my throat. The writing on The Sopranos is unbelievable. You never know what's foreshadowed, what double meanings lie beneath words and actions. And the sadistic yet sweet nature of Tony makes him one of the all time great characters ever to appear on television. His gentleness with his niece juxtaposed with his fight with Bobby, his order for Bobby to kill for the first time, his taunting of Janice...is amazing.

Even last year's episodes where Tony hovered between life and death and nothing "happened" and everyone complained, I loved those episodes. It's so hard to inject symbolism and meaning into TV, yet David Chase and company do it every time and so seamlessly...mixed with humor and violence...it's freaking amazing.

So anyways, I can barely wait for the next 9 Sundays to come and go so that all of our questions can be answered. Will Tony ever go to jail to pay for his crimes? Will Carmela die? Will AJ go over the edge? Is Christopher out of Tony's good graces forever? Who's the next to get whacked? Where the hell is Pauly Walnuts, I want to see him! So many questions!!!!!!!! I love it!