Good news from bad news
Category: Life

This week, some students here in Louisville did something inspiring. Here's the story ... the part I am most happy about is underlined.

By Peter Smith • The Courier-Journal • May 9, 2008

Ernie Marx, a face of the Holocaust for many, dies; Survivor shared tragic story often

"I do carry a heavy burden -- the burden of remembering. And a painful duty, the duty of passing on those memories so that the world will learn that it should never happen again."

The heavy burden Ernie Marx spoke of in 1992 was having to relive -- hundreds of times -- the events he witnessed as a child and teenager in his native Germany and later in France during the Holocaust.

Marx died Sunday of cancer at Norton Healthcare Pavilion at the age of 81 -- after spending his final 25 years, telling and retelling his story, hoping it would persuade people to reject hatred and champion tolerance.

"Last week he said to me, 'Will I leave a legacy?' " said his friend Ilse Meyer, also a Holocaust survivor.

"And I said, 'Why would you even ask me that?' " Meyer recalled. "You leave more of a legacy than anyone else that I know. You've educated people. You've never held back … from making sure that it doesn't happen again."

Meyer said she met Marx when she came to Louisville 20 years ago, at Adath Jeshurun Synagogue where he worked as ritual director from 1982 to 1998.

"He had a knack of teaching very complicated historical events and ideas in a very engaging and sensible way," said Rabbi Robert B. Slosberg. "Probably, had he been born at a different time in Jewish history, he might have been a rabbi."

Marx's father was a rabbi at a synagogue near Frankfurt, Germany, that was burned down on Nov. 9, 1938. That was Kristallnacht, or the "night of broken glass," regarded as the beginning of the Holocaust, in which 6 million Jews and others were killed under the Nazi regime.

Marx had turned 13 the day before and was a week from his bar mitzvah when his family was uprooted.

Eventually, his father would be killed at a concentration camp in Auschwitz. Marx was separated from his mother and brother for several years, some of the time in France.

He came to the United States at 22, and since 1982 had spoken to hundreds of Louisville schoolchildren and other groups, hoping his painful personal history would help prevent such an event from happening again.

"He went to church groups, to school groups, he did tolerance education for the FBI," said St. Francis of Assisi School teacher Fred Whittaker, who recalls Marx telling him that once "I was like everyone else, I wanted just to forget."

"One day someone asked him to come speak in their classroom," said Whittaker, whose eighth-graders at St. Francis of Assisi studied the Holocaust with Marx each year. "And he realized that he needed to tell the story."

After that, Slosberg said, "For many people, he became the face of the Holocaust."

Marx took at least 77 groups -- usually of 40 to 50 students each -- to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, where he was an honorary tour guide. He would translate German inscriptions and read Scripture and poetry to students in the museum's prayer garden, his friends said yesterday.

"I don't think you're ever prepared for what you see when you arrive there," said Trinity High School principal Dan Zoeller, who traveled with Marx and a group of students to the museum. "That's why Ernie going on those trips was so important for the kids, because they had a connection, an immediate connection. They weren't just photographs."

"I know a lot of kids are gonna grow up with larger hearts and more open minds thanks to Ernie Marx," Zoeller said.

"This is how conscientious he was," said Meyer, whose sister and parents died in the Holocaust. "He'd go to two or three places a week, tired, worn out. When you talk about things like that, it eats your heart out and you relive it."

In 2002, Marx was chosen among Louisville participants in a relay as the U.S. Olympic torch made its way to the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.

Daughter Judith Bradley said that moment characterized her father's life, "because he ran his lap, he didn't walk it, he ran it. And that's the image -- at 76, here he is, he's running.

"The torch for him was really, truly about carrying this passion for … this idea ... we can dislike others, but hate is just a horrific place to be."

St. Francis of Assisi awarded Marx an honorary diploma in 2005. "After that," Whittaker said, "he'd say, 'I'm the only Jewish Cougar,' " referring to the mascot of the Catholic grade school.

Meyer said she believes Marx's sense of humor is one of the things that helped him survive the Holocaust -- without it, she said, "you die."

Added Whittaker: "I guess a measure of your life is in the end how many people feel they know you. There are so many individuals who met him only one time. Maybe it was only one time to go on a trip to the Holocaust memorial, and yet they feel like they've known him all of their lives. They're his family."

This photo is courtesy of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

Holocaust escapee Ilse Meyer dies at 85

Louisvillian had stroke recently

The Courier-Journal

Ilse Meyer, who lost most of her family in a concentration camp in Poland during the Holocaust but escaped to the United States as a young girl, has died.

Meyer died Saturday in Milwaukee, near the home of her son, Dr. Loren Meyer. She had moved there from Louisville just last week to recover from a recent stroke, said Rabbi Robert B. Slosberg of Congregation Adath Jeshurun, where Meyer was an active member.

"She was a giant," Slosberg said. "She had the unique ability to transfer the pain and heartache of her early years into a life of endless giving."

Meyer was buried yesterday at Adath Jeshurun Cemetery in Louisville. She moved to Louisville in 1986 with her husband, Mike, who died in 1998. His family was killed a year later than hers in the same concentration camp.

"She is probably the most popular person in the Jewish community," Slosberg said, not only for her willingness to share her experience with the Holocaust, but for her energy and thoughtfulness — often remembered in association with her culinary skills.

"I've never met anyone like her ," Slosberg said. "...In my 27 years as a rabbi, I've never had people come to the synagogue and hear of a death and just start crying" as they did Saturday when news of Meyer's passing started to spread.

He said her life story was "remarkable, in that she never became bitter."

"Despite losing most of her family in the Holocaust, she took that pain and transformed it into love," Slosberg said.

Eleven million people perished in the Holocaust, including 6 million Jews.

Meyer was about 14 on Kristallnacht, or "the night of broken glass," during which Jewish homes in her village were ransacked, the men were arrested and the synagogue was burned down.

She frequently described the experience to groups as "like a bad dream."

"When that happened, you knew there was no way out," she said.

But Meyer did escape, moving to the United States with her older brother when she was 15, staying with relatives in Wisconsin. Yet her parents and younger sister had to stay behind.

After leaving Germany in 1939, "I never saw them again," Meyer said. She did not return to Germany until 1983, as a visitor.

She did not learn the specific fate of her family until 2003, when a man from her hometown whom she'd met at a survivors' reunion in 1995 provided her with documentation he'd discovered during extensive research.

Her parents, Meinhard and Kathe Lichtenstein, and sister, Inge, were killed in the gas chamber at Sobibor death camp on June 3, 1942, when they arrived there.

Meyer received a telegram from her father with that same date from Lublin, Poland, assuring her that the family was safe and going to a work camp. The telegram was the last anyone heard from the Lichtensteins.

"When you don't know, you can imagine," Meyer told The Courier-Journal in 2005. "I kept thinking, maybe my sister got away. She was a little girl, she didn't look Jewish, maybe she could hide some place. Then you wonder, were they together? Which one died first? Did they suffer? Where they hungry? Were they cold?

"Now, knowing this, I know they didn't suffer. I know they were uncomfortable in the boxcar, but once they got there, that was it," Meyer said.

Last April, she told a group gathered at Temple Shalom for Yom HaShoah, the Jewish commemoration of the Holocaust: "Wherever I go, I see the faces of those who didn't survive and I hear them say, 'I wanted to live too.'"

Meyer was a tutor for more than two decades at Eliahu Academy until last month, when she became too ill. The school had thrown her a party for her 85th birthday on Feb. 24.

"She just had this determination and will and perseverance," said Shelley Meyers, the head of the school. "It's hard every day to go to work at 85, but she was here, every day."

The students adored Meyer, according to Meyers.

"She is an incredible role model for them," Meyers said. "Just the incredible strength she had as a human being (gave them) a wonderful sense of purpose."

Meyer is survived by her son and daughter-in-law, Sandy, and grandchildren Monica and Phillip.

Memorial gifts may be made to Eliahu Academy, Congregation Adath Jeshurun or the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C.

9:02 AM - 7 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

The MySpace Interview Series
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Blogging

Here's the fun MySpace game the cool kids are playing nowadays, I think. I'm not a cool kid, really, but I do know a few... and so when Linda opened the door, I jammed my foot right into it, sure enough.

So, someone interviewed Linda with five questions. Then she offered to interview anyone who wanted to be interviewed with five questions. Likewise, I'm offering to interview you (even those of you who are the somewhat intimidating smartypants types) with five questions if you want to play, and so it goes...

So, I know no one expects this to be brief (surely). I'll just tell you now: if you want to get five questions, just say so in the comments here and I'll whip some up. Don't expect my questions to you to be quite so awesome as Linda's to me, but I'll give it my best shot, I promise.

So here goes my interview, MamA Loves PuppIEs to BigBreckBlonde:

MamA: 1.) You have invited Tom Robbins and Dorothy Parker to your bookgroup. What book from each author do you present to the other...and why?

BBB: Well, Dorothy would have to read Skinny Legs and All, because:

First, the first Robbins book you read is inevitably your favorite, and I'd want my favorite to be her favorite. Then, I want her to tell me what she thinks "this is the room of the wolfmother wallpaper" means. I also want to know which animated object was her favorite; I feel certain it would have been the Conch Shell, but I'm not certain it wouldn't be Painted Stick.

Tom would have to read The Portable Dorothy Parker, and that's not cheating: it is one book. I would want to discuss with Tom whether he was more inspired by the poetry, the short stories or the pay-the-bills work (the theater and book reviews, magazine writing), because I can never choose my favorite and I wonder if he could, or if he'd appreciate them all almost equally on their own merits, like I do.

We would both want to ask Dorothy, I'm sure, if she hated poetry.

The three of us would imbibe in some secret and sacred food and beverage, too, at the bookgroup meeting. I have a feeling that, sufficiently unsober and maybe even a little bit sober, Dorothy would be able to perform a quite inspired version of the Dance of the Seven Veils from Tom's book in her own interpretation -- perhaps in spoken word and not so much the stripping -- that might deliver epiphanies Tom and I might not have considered until then.

I mostly want to know what Dorothy would think about Tom's eternal optimism and ideas about love and what Tom thinks about Dorothy's eternal pessimism and ideas about love. And I'd like to hear them laugh at each other's jokes, because I'm sure that they would.

I want to hear them discuss this passage from Skinny Legs and All:

"Even though the great emotions, the great truths, were universal; even though the mind of humanity was ultimately one mind, still, each and every single individual had to establish his or her own special, personal, particular, unique, direct, one-on-one, hands-on relationship with reality, with the universe, with the Divine. It might be complicated, it might be a pain in the ass, it might be, most of all, lonely -- but it was the bottom line. It was as different for everybody as it was the same, so everybody had to take control of their own life, define their own death, and construct their own salvation."

And then I want to hear them discuss this passage from Sunset Gun, one of the poetry collections in The Portable Dorothy Parker:

6:15 PM - 30 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

The thing’s I’ve seen....
Current mood: inspired
Category: Life

I know I’ve been out of the loop for a while now, but I’ve been being productive on other levels and in different arenas, I swear. Anyway, I thought I would share a few of the upstanding events from recent weeks. They all just happen to be along the lines of reasons women rock.

First, I saw Nema at a baby shower. It was her baby shower.

If you had told me 10 years ago that Nema would be the one at the head of the baby shower table, married and sorta "settled" right now, I would have called you a stupid liar.

(That’s a real picture that I "cartooned" in Photobucket. Have you played with all those new image editors? Fantastic! Carol, you will dig it the most! Anyway, it wasn’t the most flattering photo, so I cut Nema a break... and this way she might not kick my ass if she ever sees this.)

Her dad, Steve, bought the baby a camouflage dress -- complete with shoes, hat and headband (with a bow). The funny thing was, before Nema even opened it, she said, "It better not be a camouflage dress." We all laughed, because where the hell would you even find a newborn camouflage dress? And then it was a camouflage baby dress.

Nema’s from the Appalachian mountains, and she’ll both confirm all the positive and prove wrong all the negatives about every notion you’ve ever held about mountain folks. (I probably said that in an inapproprieate Flatlander way, but I mean well, I promise.)

She’s the kid sister of one of my best friends who has called her "George" since I can remember (and so, then, have I). "George" always seemed to me to really fit Nema. It took me years to learn and remember her real name.

So, Nema went and had a baby girl. She named her after a baseball park. How can a girl not be inspired by Nema?

At the shower, I requested the seat next to Granny and got it. Granny made a gorgeous baby quilt for the new little girl and ordered the low-fat cheesecake with fruit for dessert. She told me I did "a real good job" with my gift: there’s no greater satisfaction or recognition.

I love these ladies: Nema because she’s just awesome, as is Angie. Angie is the kind of friend who drove all the way across the state one night just to spend about 20 minutes with me at the funeral home when my grandmother died. She brought muffins. She knows the rules and she’s not afraid to step up and represent.

Seriously, it had to be at least 400 miles from Morehead to Elizabethtown. It’s just something that I’ll never forget, that kind of dedication from a friend. She knows my whole damn family and I know hers, we go back that far.

Sharon is the kind of mom who wants you to act a lady, and she’ll send you $20 in the mail if she suspects you might be short on grocery money (It’s funny how many friends’ moms I know like this). Granny reminds me of my own grandmother, whom I still miss. She is a lady. And one time she put Nema on the church prayer list for something that absolutely mortified Nema. So you have to love her.

Then, continuing down the update road of inspiration: just a couple of weeks ago, I saw Hillary Clinton in Louisville.

Hillary Clinton came to Kentucky to campaign. Our primary, which is nearly dead last in the country, is most likely going to actually count this year. I think that pisses a lot of people off.

Note that Hillary seems to be genuinely smiling. I was, too, because look how close I got! For me, this was the closest I believe I’ll come in my lifetime to what people reportedly felt when the heard John F. Kennedy in person -- inspired and empowered.

After listening to her speech and watching her deliver it, I could not be MORE for Hillary. I left that gymnasium on a natural high, nearly praying for her to win. Hell, I might even have uttered some kind of psalm on the walk back to the car.

I know several very intelligent people whom I normally admire who are leaning more toward Barack Obama. If there’s some idea besides "we’re gonna change things" (but don’t ask me exactly how) or "I’m tired of Bushes and Clintons in the White House" (the most lazy excuse, possibly ever), then carry on.

Otherwise, I’m begging you to vote for Hillary if you haven’t already. Whatever you do, please consider contributing to the end of the misogynistic asshole routines out there now, calling for her to drop out of the race.

If she were a man, no one would be saying that. My money says that the people – not just the men, but many of the women, too – at the top of the politico and journalistico food chains would be hot-airing all over themselves about what a great, exciting, invigorating race this is.

Later, that same day, I saw myself.

What I’m doing in that there photograph is trying to self-portrait me and Jen, after she’s been giving me all these pointers for looking sexy and not having a double chin show up in photos (literally, a double chin and freakish facial expression, yes, even worse than that one) which made me shriek when I saw the first pictures we took that evening.

Her pointers are, like, "Put her head down and look up with your eyes. No! Don’t furrow your brow! No! Just look up with your eyes!"

I’m never very good at listening to her advice, as you can see. Luckily, Jen and I have been on a hard-core self-improvement kick lately. Also, luckily, Jen’s witnessed me transform myself, physically, in the past, and she’s a pretty good motivator.

So we’re just gonna call this a "before" picture, and move on.

Then, last weekend, I saw a new human baby girl.

Now, as you might suspect if you are an astute reader of the Paging Pollyanna blog, I’m not one to ga-ga over little babies and shit like that.

But holy mother of god, how cute is this little spitfire?

My girl Frenchie made this little miracle (well, that guy she keeps around, Phil, helped, I suppose). They have two boys, too -- both adorable little gentlemen -- but at LAST there’s a girl to root for!

Hell, let’s see her again:

She didn’t want to open her eyes too much for me, because she was only a week old and was kind of way over me interrupting her napping and feeding schedule.

But she did get good and fired up once and show me she’s got some powerful lungs and can throw an adorable little fit. As Frenchie put it, "Oh yeah, I forgot how you like to get them worked up," which I deny. I just like for them to talk to me about what’s on their little baby minds.

Finally, I saw "The Biggest Loser" last night.

It was down to the last four contestants, two guys and two girls. To everyone’s shock and awe, the girls just beat the shit out of the boys! No one thought it was possible, but THEY DID IT!

I can’t even begin to tell you how inspired I get by these two women. And I had to go walk a mile and a quarter after we finished watching the show (at about midnight), because that’s the bet I made with my friend watching with me (a blog about that whole ordeal is in the works): "If these girls pull this off, we’re going to go walk," is what I said, exactly.

They pulled it off, by god, and we sure did drive to the park at midnight and walk the track.

So Allie and Kelly, pictured above, all before-and-after, have set it up for there to be a first female winner in the history of the show (which is in its fifth season, I think). This is the first time I’ve watched it, thanks to Jen. She got me hooked. Then, I got at least one more person hooked.

So, if you’ve never seen it, tune in to the finale next Tuesday on NBC and ROOT FOR THE GIRLS!

NOTE: Then another Superwoman, MamA Loves PuppIEs, sent me these unbelievably brilliant interview questions (the insight is uncanny) yesterday. I’ve been digesting them, trying to think of answers worthy of the questions. I’ll get those up soon.

It’s a twist on the old tag blog thing — only a little more interesting and challenging. You’ll have a chance to test my journalistic creativity (which scares me a little, after getting HER questions for ME. Most of the time she’s more inspiring than intimidating, but I am not sure about that this time.)

10:11 AM - 19 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

How to pull off a titillating, fair and balanced threesome
Current mood: disappointed
Category: News and Politics

Good morning, gentlemen and (a few) ladies. Congratulations on yet another long, tiresome, evening of hot and heavy talking out of your butts while doing a piss-poor job of objective journalism.

I have an innovative and exciting proposal to make to you, but first I must ramble for a moment. You'll forgive me, and I'm SURE you understand as rambling is your gift, most of you covering the election.

This presidential election is the most exciting thing to happen in politics since… since… well, since the Democrats took back Congress and Nancy Pelosi became Speaker of the House. And she's from San Francisco, for god's sake: does it possibly get more polar opposite from Newt Gingrich and his Contract with America? *shiver*

Didn't journalists and "political experts" predict that the Democrats couldn't really pull that off in 2006? I'm fuzzy on that a little bit, truthfully; and it doesn't matter, because who cares what the journalists said? All that really matters, historically speaking, are those election results.

Anyhow, it's yet another embarrassing time to be a journalist this morning, after watching MSNBC last night, as a bunch of painfully, obviously slanted journalists/"experts"/panelists started making up reasons for Hillary Clinton to graciously drop out of the race before she takes the Democratic party and fucks it over and bites its head off like the praying mantis that she is, fatally wounding the poor old fellow that was just trying to have a little intimate fun with her in the first place.

(Note: come to find out this morning when looking up the praying mantis — it's not spelled preying, by the way — that this particular behavior, although it has been documented in nature, seems to have been blown out of proportion as a result of laboratory observation, yet remains a sort of urban insect legend. Hmmm… too much laboratory observation: something to think about.)

I'm new to this MSNBC thing, frankly. A friend of mine has got me nearly addicted to it for election coverage this year, though. (I think this might be the first election season during which I've had cable TV at all, come to think of it.) "What will Keith Olbermann say?" I sometimes wonder to myself now. I never thought that would happen.

So, here's who I hate: Chris Matthews.

Hardball? Are you fucking kidding me? Could he BE more in love with Barack Obama? Could he BE more threatened by Hillary Clinton? No, he could not be more of both. It's painfully obvious in his facial expressions, if not his slanted questioning and commentary and, at least last night, unfair allocation of time/coverage. This is a go-to guy for Americans who don't believe Fox News? Good fucking lord.

Here's my proposal: you people OBVIOUSLY need something new to focus on. You need something creative, innovative, new; a little something to send over to graphics and art to get yourselves excited about — all new maps, charts, numbers, etc.

What we need for this presidential election coverage is a new color. Gone is the old red state-blue state routine. That is SO 2004, anyway.

It's 2008. Get with the program. This is a three-way (and frankly I'm almost shocked that I haven't heard any of you using that term for it's clever, bad boy euphemism).

So, let's give McCain his red. Let's give the golden boy Obama his boyish blue.

As for Hillary, we could go with white — the suffragist color, appropriately enough, as it seems we seem to be fighting patriarchy and sexism all over again, in many ways. Plus then, we'd have red, white and blue — how much more American and patriotic does it get than that?

Or, we could take a line from Tina Fey and give Hillary the black — and then you can go to town with your gloom and doom and cloud of darkness and demonic possession and all that silly business coverage.

I'll tell you, even Charlie Rose kind of let me down last night. He had a table full of freaks is what he had, save one newspaper columnist from Cleveland who kept trying to point out that the Democratic party will not be fatally wounded if Clinton stays in the race. But the folks at the table just ATTACKED everything she said after she put that out there. They seemed to make it clear that if Clinton wins the nomination, Obama supporters will just throw up their hands in disgust and all this feel-good enthusiasm and hard work will have been wasted, disenfranchising entire races and generations.

Well, I'm firmly behind Clinton. But if Obama gets the nomination, you bet your ass I'll vote for him. I don't hate him. I admire the man. But, seriously, if the 3 a.m. phone call does come through and the shit's hit the fan somewhere, I DO want Hillary Clinton to be the one taking that call because I have more faith in her leadership.

You can bet your ass she's tougher, too. I cannot begin to imagine what she's been through to get to this point: a woman with one foot in the front door of Oval Office. Infuckingcredible. I really never thought I'd see it in my lifetime.

But convincing men their penis will not shrink if a woman is in charge is no small task. Convincing the journalists that maybe a few people other than middle-aged women might vote for Clinton is no small task.

I'd like to say, by the way: long live Jack Nicholson. Listen to that ad, gentlemen. And by all means, play it some MORE.

And Tina Fey you are a genius. "Bitch is the new black." Hell to the yes.

Finally, I have to toot my own horn, with a blast from the past, a blog I posted March 24, 2006.

6:22 AM - 31 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

This one’s for you, Amy Bee
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

A week ago today, the unthinkable happened.

The damn roof caught on fire, where I work. Fire. At work.

Just pretend you can't see part of the name and whatnot, please. And, as a technicality, the roof itself apparently did not catch fire, but there was a fire ON the roof.

Now, many people have muttered -- granted, a little under their breath, probably -- that this whole building could just go to hell, burn in hell, rot in hell, and other colorful, creative variations thereof.

Currently, there are probably no less than a dozen theories about how, exactly, this building is the portal to hell -- kinda like that apartment building in Ghostbusters. I'm just sayin' -- Amy Bee and I used to wonder at our desks (back when she still worked here, with me, day in, day out, before she left me here, day in, day out, without anyone to truly appreciate my awful attitude and snide, cynical observations -- no guilt or anything, sweetie) what day, exactly, it would be when we saw the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man moseying on down Broadway on his way to get us, at last.

But I digress.

Knowing it would bring Amy Bee some small bit of joy, I snapped a few photos, for posterity, near the beginning of the ordeal to share with her.

Here's one now:

Realize, that one cannot -- or SHOULD not -- joke about emergencies or disasters here, where I work.

I'll tell you why.

There are still plenty of people here who remember Sept. 14, 1989, when a disgruntled employee came through the building with an AK-47 and shot 20 people, killing eight of them and then killing himself. There is at least one person I know still working here who actually got shot that day.

SHEERLY out of respect to them, I never joke about that kind of thing. It's not a joke. Plus, I like to live my life as if it's stupid and irrational to get that pissed off and angry about a job. Depressed I will get and how, but homicidal, no, not so much.

Not that I've never been screwed over, passed over, pissed off, etc. But I tend to write vitriolic, snippy stories and essays (generally not for public consumption) when that happens, not grab an AK-47.

Christ, I'm digressing again.

Here's how that little slice of a Friday went down, for me personally.

I go next door to grab lunch -- to go -- and bring it back.

Standing, waiting at an elevator with a coworker who happens to sit near me upstairs, we both notice a security-type employee rush by, jump on the freight elevator and say "There's a fire on the roof."

Coworker and I look at each other.

Me: "Did he just say there's a fire on the roof?"
CW: "I think he did just say there's a fire on the roof."
Me: "Huh. I wonder why there's no fire alarm?"
CW: "Yeah."

So we get on the elevator when it arrives and go back upstairs to our desks. (Hey, we've both been clerks here around a decade; spryful action and rational logic are obviously not some of our outstanding features).

Then, people start calling. (Answering phone calls from the public is one of the more mundane -- yet also furtile ground for writer's fodder -- parts of my job.)

Callers: "Did you all know that your building's on fire? There's smoke pouring up from the top of the building."
Me: "Well, we heard there might be a fire on the roof."
(Me and Callers think telepathically and simultaneously): "But, you're still inside there, answering the phone?"

After about five or 10 minutes of live television station coverage and the arrival of the fire department and the shutting down of the street out front, they did eventually evacuate the building as a precaution.

There's been a LOT of bru-ha-ha about that whole "why didn't we evacuate immediately" thing, so I'm not even commenting, lest it come back down on my head.

But I do feel free to report that at least 10 minutes passed between the time I heard "There's a fire on the roof" and they made an announcement to evacuate the building.

Let's see that freaky smoke footage one more time:

So, there we are, evacuated across the street.

Now, on to more pleasant things....

This hales back to the days of Paula Mae and Amy Bee -- Clerks of Steel.

At some point, we decided that our shitty little, depressing cubicles should be decorated for holidays -- specifically, Halloween.

We did such a spectacular, blowout, comment-getting job decorating for our first Halloween, that we had to keep up and top the momentum for Christmas.

And thus, traditions were born.

The clerks (even, sadly, without Amy) always decorate for Halloween and Christmas. (Okay, we might have missed a Halloween or two since Amy left, just because sometimes I don't feel the love without her).

It even caught on in other departments.

To illustrate what I mean, I give you this year's decorations... in photos... a little Xmas present from me and Jesus Henry to Amy Bee so far away.

I thought it might make you a little bit proud and happy.

Here's one of Josh trying to play like he doesn't want to be in the picture. Yeah. ;) He's totally taken over the acrobatics portion of the decorating projects, though, and so deserves a little shout out!

And this year marked the return of the tomato-cage xmas trees... totally pimpified.

Amy Bee, brace your self, honey. You're gonna cheer or yip or something ... here is my Paula Mae Tree 2007:

Yes, that's a feather boa. Meee-ow. It's practically screaming for Marilyn Monroe to sing "Happy Birthday" to the baby Jesus, no?

Here's another I did for me. It has all the green tinsel and some of the ornaments I used when I did that Christmas tree on the wall of my grandpa's nursing home room, just a couple of weeks before he died there.

He got a big kick out of it because, as he liked to comment, all smart-alecky: "All those little old ladies come by here all day and they just go 'oooh.... ahhhh.... Ain't that the prettiest thing you ever did see?'" Because he loved to tease me. And I loved to tease him. And I haven't touched or looked at this stuff ever since I took it off the wall of that room, several years ago. But I'm kind of okay with having it near me this year. It even cheers me up a little bit.

That first dating column also came out the same week as his funeral... more bittersweet stuff. (You see why I also needed the boa tree with the lightball on top!) He REALLY got a kick out of ME writing a dating column (as did Amy and I!) when I told him about it.

Okay... good freaking lord, I've gotten nostalgic.

Here's a couple more tomato-cage trees, too.... that don't mean crap, really, only I think the blue one turned out pretty stellar.

And THEN I remembered when we started all this decorating at work business, Amy Bee. I am pretty sure it was the same year we "self-published," as gifts, "In a Nutshell: The 2002 (Some Newspaper) Freakcall File."

So I dug my copy out and found some of my favorites... just as a little extra sprinkle of something sweet for this "Happy Holidays to You" blog.

These -- for those on the outside -- are our actual documentation from some of the phone calls received by us in a newsroom somewhere one year.

Seriously, sometimes you hang up the phone, look up and say out loud (because you think you're not going to be one of those people who ends up talking out loud to themselves, but after you do this job for a while you realize that you were wrong about that), "Did that just really happen?"

All names are fictitious. The calls are absolutely not fictitious.

7:45 a.m., April 22
Caller: "Can you tell me the names of all the newspapers in the United States?"
Clerk: "No."

Distraught female calls: She has been all over our web site and just could not find a listing of afternoon tea times. Do we know when they are?

Serious caller: "Yes, I'd like to know if there's someone there who can interpret the editorial cartoons for me."

Honest mistake: "Yeah, I already used my paper to start the fire in the stove and I forgot to look at the Lotto South and Powerball numbers. Could you give those to me?"

Elderly lady: "Is Connie there?"
Clerk: "I'm sorry, who?"
Elderly lady: "Connie."
Clerk: "At the (newspaper)?"
Elderly lady: "Oh shit fire. I must have the wrong number. Honey, I'm so sick, I don't know my behind from a hole in the ground. I'm sorry."

And, for the education of the general public, I give you:

"The Top 10 Opening Lines"
to use when calling your local newspaper,
because we love these the most.
(*Listen, people. Don't hate us. This job makes you cynical.)

10. I need to know why the personal ads aren't in the paper today. (Interpretation -- I am: a.  just that desperate; b. a psychotic, homicidal maniac looking for a victim right this minute; c. so bored in my marriage that I need to find a fling to keep on breathing.)

9. I wrote this poem that I thought you might want to publish.

8. I have a story idea...

7. I was reading that story in the paper today and that happened to me once...

6. My teenage daughter...

5. Hi, I'm calling from a public relations firm and I just needed to update a few names on our list. (Interpretation: 25 names, titles, phone numbers, fax numbers and e-mails for people who've been gone from here at least 5 years; all available to the astute PR person in the "staff list" portion of our web site.)

4. I was talking to a reporter earlier today and I didn't get his name. Do you know who it was?

3. I just wanted to call and tell you all that I think _____ ... (fill in the blank: you're too liberal, you don't have copy editors, this would have never been in the paper when (former media patriarch & city legend) was in charge).

2. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. (You think I'm kidding, but I'm not)

1. ARE YOU AN INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER?

Happy Holidays, everyone. Especially you, Amy Bee.

5:13 PM - 46 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

High and mighty, down and dirty, and thoughts from point A to point B
Current mood: jubilant
Category: Life

I am utterly obsessed with the theater lately.

I've never studied theater; never really acted or directed or anything like that (unless you count the old church pageants of yore, both Christmas and Easter); never tried my hand at being a playwright (I love that word so much for its screwy spelling); I've not read very many plays; I've not even been to see all that many plays.

But I believe I am on the verge of an addiction comparable to my addiction to books and the occasional bourbon.

I would go so far, right now, as to say that at least one good reason to remain in Louisville is the affordable and outstanding theater here… if I were to pursue and develop this relatively newfound obsession.

I am just beginning to learn my way around its intricate web, this theater community.

I'm feeling the subtle and artistic differences between the Pamela Brown and the Victor Jory theaters at Actors. (I know who those people are now, too). I'm looking forward to whatever might be next in the MeX experimental, nearly-hidden corner of the Kentucky Center. I anxiously await the next new startup company's production at the irrepressible and stalwart Rudyard Kipling. I am wondering why I have yet to experience the Thrust Theatre at the University of Louisville. What the hell have I been waiting for, exactly?

I'm not sure what it is, exactly. I just know that I have yet to leave a play not feeling as if I've not just had an amazing, intimate, personal, monumental experience. Some are more powerful than others, of course, but they all leave a mark, an impression, and stick with me.

I think the catalyst for this new theater-going passion may have begun with "Love, Janis" at Actors Theatre of Louisville a couple of years ago. Literally, when Liz and I walked out of the theater, we and all the other people we passed by were about 10 times more alive than we were when we walked in the place. I mean, you just had this undeniable feeling that you had to… absolutely HAD to… go out and do something to conquer the world the minute when you left the theater. Unforgettable.

A couple of weeks ago, Liz and I returned to Actors to see a production directed by the same man, Randal Myler, apparently dubbed the "king of the bio-musical," according to my program.

This production was "Fire on the Mountain," not so much a singular biography as the biographical lot of coal miners in Appalachia.

Sitting close to the front and off to one side, when the show opened with a solo that was a little out there, I looked around at the rest of the audience. There was a palpable "prove it to me" attitude on most faces, as if they were not going to buy this "bio-musical" business and were just not all that impressed with the whole affair and maybe they should have just stayed at home on a Wednesday night and watched television and damn it why did they subscribe to the entire season this year anyway.

It took about three or four songs for me to be won all the way over, but by then I was a goner. In particular, once "Momma" played by Margaret Bowman, came onstage, I was eternally enchanted by her apparent on-stage reincarnation of my great-grandmother.

When the entire cast did an ensemble accapella version of "Where the Soul of Man Never Dies" up at the "church," I nearly cried. Okay, a couple of tears actually did escape, but very covertly. It was that beautiful.

By the time one of the miners started singing "Daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County, down by the Green River where paradise lay" I looked around at the rest of the audience again and there was not one noticeable blank stare, not one "prove it," but instead a packed house of enchanted and fully engrossed, friendly and… yes, I'll say it… joyful expressions.

"Mississippi" Charles Bevel was a blues legend in the eyes of this audience by the end of the show and Molly Andrews, who performed that opening solo to the sour-faced skeptics, was the Liza Minnelli of Louisville by its close.

I went back to Actors this evening to see "Hedwig and the Angry Inch," another music-centric production.

Once again, I left the theater amazed, this time more by the star, David Hanbury. This was virtually a one-man show. That anyone can command the stage, actually the entire theater, as he did for an hour and a half flat-out amazes me. Every time, I cannot believe there is such talent and charisma lurking around in regional theater.

There were some inspiring lines in this play, too, that I wish I had written down; the kind of lines that made me want to take out my notebook on the spot, lines that should be cross-stitched on downy tie-dyed pillows for us all to toss on our most cherished piece of furniture – our places of rest and refuge, be they beds or sofas or chaise lounges or easy chairs or what have you.

All I remember is that there were more than a few lines casually thrown about the thing concerning love and understanding that I found quite profound. I will need to locate this script so that I might commit them to memory, I believe.

I also learned this evening that if you show up right before the show you can get an "empty-seat-filler" ticket for $20. If there are empty seats, you get