Sarah Elizabeth Mason is a successful writer and columnist with numerous credits including the Emmy award-winning a&e television series Biography.  She is also the Director of Marketing and New Business Development for DV411, a high tech company in Los Angeles. She founded the Payson Road Organization in June 2000 which has developed into one of the leading resources for Eating Disorder support and recovery online.  She designs and administers the website herself and is a frequent guest speaker for eating disorder advocacy at Senate Briefings and Congressional Hearings in Washington D.C.  read full bio   

Selected Editorial Columns:

More of Sarah's editorials can be found on the Payson Road columns - The Corner, The Voice, The Weekly Catch and The Gripe. 

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January 2003 - from Bostonia Magazine and BU Star Citings

The Fine Points of Comedy 
By Sarah Mason 

“Ha ha, Check!” proclaims a patron at the Border’s Bookstore Café as he makes his move. Engaged in a game of chess, the two players are completely unaware of the comedy show being performed around them. One by one comics come and go. The game continues despite several comedians’ efforts to penetrate the lure of the chessboard by making fun of their oblivious state.

This makes me uncomfortable. So I laugh louder. The comics are funny. That’s not the problem. But they all seem very affected by the crowd’s lagging interest so most of them whip through their act spitting sarcasms and shaking their heads. After all, it is just Border’s Bookstore Café, right?

Not for Bruce Fine (SMG '88), whose tangy and crafty wit is always on. Bruce steps up and adjusts the mike stand down a few notches. He quickly pokes fun at himself as he addresses his 5 foot 1 stature with several strategic jabs. He comes on with a fire and tenacity the others don’t have. He doesn’t care where he is. He’s on stage and that’s enough for him. It’s that combination of humbleness, professionalism and pure talent that has put Bruce Fine at the top of his game – a game he started playing early.

“I was the class clown. I loved pranks, loved making girls laugh, that’s how I got attention. You gotta know your category. I wasn’t the jock, really, except for wrestling, I wasn’t the stud, I was the funny guy. So I went with the funny.”

Going with the funny has done him well. His impressive credits include, MY WIFE AND KIDS, THE WAYANS BROTHERS SHOW, MARRIED WITH CHILDREN, FRESH PRINCE OF BEL-AIR, to name a few. But this successful, comedian, writer and actor didn’t make it to the show overnight. His road to comedy was anything but direct.

The 36-year-old comic was born and raised in Framingham, Massachusetts. He studied Business Finance at BU’s School of Management (SMG). His art was strictly a side gig, “Finance was to please my parents, and myself to an extent. I loved business and felt that it was important to have a good plan for myself. And BU had a good program.”

BU was a family affair for Bruce. Both brother’s Randy and Matthew followed him to SMG. They too graduated with Business Finance degrees and are currently working with Bruce’s father in the Insurance business.

Bruce juggled many extracurricular activities at BU including wrestling which absorbed much of his attentions. He also did work waiting tables at local restaurants, and worked as an extra on several Boston television shows like SPENSER FOR HIRE.  During his Junior year at BU he received his first big break in comedy. “I was at the BU Student Union watching some local comedian and I started heckling him and requesting songs. The crowd thought I was funny. And this comedian said if I came up on stage with him he’d sing WE ARE THE WORLD with me. The next thing I knew I was up on stage doing impressions of Michael Jackson and Bruce Springstein.”

Bruce got a standing ovation for his heckler act and the attention of Boston comedy promoter and booking agent, Barry Katz who happened to be in the audience. Katz took notice of Bruce and asked him to come out and do his heckler routine at the club he managed, Play it Again Sam’s. “I was the set-up guy. They’d plant me in the audience and I’d heckle the comedian and do my thing. I learned the truth about how show business works real fast.”

Bruce went on to perform in several other comedy clubs in Boston including Stitches and Nick’s Comedy Stop. He continued doing extra work on TV shows. He won countless lip-syncing contests (the 80s version of Karaoke), performing a choreographed rendition of “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” with partner, BU alum, Patty Kerkos.

Hot off his successes in Boston clubs, Bruce wasted no time chasing after his dream. He moved to LA immediately following graduation from BU in June of 1988. A family friend let him sleep on the couch. He got a car and cashed in on his waiting experience and got work in local restaurants. Bruce started hitting the local comedy clubs and coffee houses in the Valley where he developed his stand-up routine.

“I didn’t have any formal training in comedy, and I didn’t go to “Comedy College”, like the Groundlings. I learned by getting up and doing it. You don’t know if your stuff is funny and working unless you get up there.”

In 1991 things started to break for Bruce. He won a contest at comedy club in the Valley, “The funniest person in the Valley.” And then went on to win the $10,000 first prize on AMERICA’S FUNNIEST PEOPLE doing a spin on Andrew Dice Clay. He called, “Andrew Nice Clay--Nice Man.” He started getting booked at comedy clubs and he landed a Bud Dry commercial.  As things started to come together for Bruce, he was able to kiss his restaurant job goodbye. And he never went back. He’s been making a living in the business ever since.

“I was doing great, on cloud nine. I was getting booked, doing commercials, TV shows, I was hosting aerobics championships across the country. I’d go on the road without a thought then when the gig was done, stand-up kept me sane cause you could always go out and do it. But after awhile, I needed a steady gig. I wasn’t’ this single guy living on a couch anymore.”

In 1994 Bruce got a gig at an Insurance conference in Phoenix that his father, an Insurance executive, was attending. It was there that he met and fell in love with his wife Shelby whose father was also attending the conference. “We met by the pool. It was fate. And after that I started thinking about wanting something steady.”

Shelby, who is also from the east coast, works with special needs children. “She has a lot of patience. She’s very supportive of my career. She keeps me in line. She’s a wise ass from Jersey.” The couple hopes to start a family this year.

Bruce’s success in the industry continued. Although as he points out, making a living in the industry doesn’t mean it’s time to “sleep easy”.

“I had a lot of close calls. It was between me and another guy for GRACE UNDER FIRE. I got booked on SEINFELD then got cut the night before I went to work. It was always me and another guy for this or that. Even Jack Lemon was quoted as saying he was always worrying about his next job. If someone like Lemon is saying that, you realize there’s no control until you land a regular series.”

Which he did. Bruce’s guest appearances on the WAYANS BROTHERS SHOW and the KEENAN IVORY WAYANS SHOW lead him to a gig as a staff writer for MY WIFE AND KIDS, starring Damon Wayans. He spent two and a half seasons writing for the successful ABC sitcom. Then in March of 2002, Wayans fired the entire writing staff and started over from scratch.

“Comedian stars tend to be on the bi-polar side, they have their swings. And we don’t get any credit for making it a hit. But it was a great experience. And that’s the nature of business. I look at it as it’s not the end of the world, just the end of that run.”

And that’s one of the great things about Bruce Fine – his attitude. He’s tenacious yet impervious to the inequities of the business. He looks at it matter of factly, and keeps moving forward. “It’s an unfair business, in most businesses you work hard, move up and have results. In this business you can work hard and do everything you’re supposed to do and still not get ahead. It took me 10 years in the business to get to that first real big break. But I'm still here.”

Yes he is still here. Bruce is currently working on several projects he’s pitching for television and continues to do stand-up. He’s currently headlining at the Improv at Harrah’s in Las Vegas and is about to kick off a Vegas/California tour opening for Julio Iglesias at Paris, Las Vegas.

Bruce is also actively promoting a new comedy album he produced in the spirit of the Jerky boys stemming from the financial woes of friend and fellow comedian, Mike. The CD is called, MIKE THE DEADBEAT.

“Over the summer I walked into the Improv for a Tonight Show showcase and I bumped into Mike who I worked with before and knew from stand-up. I hadn’t seen him for a couple years. And he starts telling me what a disaster his life has been. He was fired for having back problems. So he was out of work and the phone calls started coming in on his credit cards. He got calls from collection agencies that were just crazy and he started to tape them. And I heard the tapes and said, this is a comedy album.”

It’s an incredibly funny comedy album. The CD is available online at their website, www.mikethedeadbeat.com, What makes it all the funnier is that it's real. Mike’s responses to his credit card reps are hilarious. Telling one customer service representative, “Didn’t you guys know I was a deadbeat when you gave me the card?”

Bruce is very passionate about this project and believes that it will be a big hit. “The irony of this is that the comedy of the tragedy could actually help him get his life together. The only way out of the hole he’s in, is the hole”.

What’s so wonderful about Bruce is that he’s never lost his sense of roots or humility. Yes, he’s still a Red Sox fan and often visits home to see family and catch a game or two. He still reminisces fondly about his days at BU and keeps up with college friends. And he still works his routine like he’s just starting out - finding time to get up at those coffee houses and develop his craft. No matter what the venue, you’re guaranteed to get a great performance out of him.

Watching Bruce do his routine, I was transported from Border’s Bookstore to the Improv. I think I even heard a full audience’s laughter and applause. Is he that good? Well, yeah he is. But more crucially, he’s that on.

I asked Bruce what if any his days at BU did to help him prepare for his career in Comedy. He replied sentimentally, “I was a jock living on West campus. It was great. I had a fraternity that way. Being on a sports team at BU gives you more of a community. And I think that definitely helped shape me and give me confidence. I still keep in touch with people from BU. It was great experience.”

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Bruce offers this advice for people just graduating from BU wanting to get into comedy. Here’s what he has to say about the Fine Points of comedy:

Q: New York vs. Los Angeles?

A: If someone asked me that wanted to do stand-up whether to go to NY over LA, I’d say NY for stand-up. I came out in the midst of a writer’s strike. I wanted to go into acting, but there was nothing else to do so I got into stand-up. And I’m grateful cause I love it. But if your goal first and foremost is to be a stand-up comic, I’d say definitely New York.

Q: How do Boston clubs compare to LA clubs?

A: The talent pool is different. The best local comic in Boston is average compared to LA’s best. But there is a lot of talent that nobody’s heard of in Boston. And then there are Lots of actors in LA who are looking for their five minutes of showcase. But they’re not very original or funny.

Q: Would you say you’re an actor or comedian?

A: Comedian first, that’s the purist, that’s where everything came from. My acting, writing all segued from comedy. When they see you write jokes, you come in and pitch ideas, then you’re a writer. It’s a natural progression, if you can write jokes you can write bits, if you can write stories, you can write scripts.

Q: What are the best clubs in LA to get into?

A: The best stand-ups are at the Comedy Store, Improv, Laugh Factory. When you’re ready, try to break into one of the clubs. And whichever one gives you a little bit of love, that’s where you go. For me it was the Improv.

Q: How difficult is it to get in?

A: It’s hard to break into stand-up right now especially in terms of getting into the clubs. The industry’s changed so much – managers became comedy club owners, comedy club owners became managers. Everyone wants to put their guys’ up. What normally would be a conflict of interest in other industries is not in comedy.

Q: So how does someone break in?

A: Go where you can get up. The one constant from when I started to now is the coffee houses, comedy at the bookstores. LA Weekly lists them. And there’s always people who are doing well in the business going up and testing out their material. You need stage time. How do you build muscles - go to the gym work out, six months later you got some muscles. But it doesn’t happen over night. You gotta work at it.

Q: What about Open Mike nights at clubs?

A: Open mike is tough. You only get about three minutes and the audience is full of other comics. It’s not a place to build your material. Don’t do it too early, when people see you not funny, they always remember that. You gotta work in the little trenches till people in the business, professionally jaded people, say you’re funny. Then and only then, can you go to the clubs.

Q: What other advice can you give to people wanting to get into comedy?

A: Don’t expect to make a living in the business right away. Have a plan. Don’t just get a part-time job, get a good part-time or secondary job. When it’s time to work on your craft, you’ll figure it out. Don’t get yourself in a financial hole.

Q: Do you encourage people who want to come out to LA and get into the business?

A: I’m not gonna be the one to tell people not to chase their dreams. But you gotta realize you gotta turn a dream into a plan. Everyone has dreams. Your dreams are not gonna become reality unless there’s a plan of action. There’s nothing magical. Magic happens when the hard work and the breaks come together.

The hard work and the breaks are definitely coming together for Bruce Fine.

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Bruce is currently headlining at the Improv at Harrah’s, Las Vegas and starting January 9th at Paris, Las Vegas, Bruce will kick off a tour as the opening act for the Julio Iglesias, January 9-18th, Paris, January 9-12th. 

For more information about MIKE THE DEADBEAT, visit, www.mikethedeadbeat.com

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July 11, 2005

Match.comeOn!
by Sarah Mason

I have recently forayed into the, somewhat odious world of online dating. Although I've met a couple of very sweet gentleman, the bulk of my experiences have not been favorable. In fairness, I should say I went into it with somewhat of a bad attitude--putting things on my profile like, "Must be ambulatory" or "All my body parts are original, except the fake leg".  Come on, if you can't make a joke out of online dating, you're taking yourself way too seriously. In a way it's a bit of a social experiment. It was surprising to see how much crap both men, and women dish out to get a date with a perfect stranger.

First of all, everybody lies. Woman say they are 20 pounds thinner then they are and men say they are four inches taller than they are. Everybody is and wants someone who is outgoing and outdoorsy. Women cater their profiles to meet these ridiculous and unobtainable ideals that they think all men want. Here's a common thing women say in their profiles, "My friends would say..." Women never boast freely about themselves always through the guise of "a friend" and very unsubtly; "I wouldn't say this myself, but I've heard others think I'm beautiful, loyal, maternal, caring, giving, sexy, domestic, smart, baggage-free, sporty and fun loving". "Fun loving" is a big online dating buzz term.

As far as online dating etiquette goes, men are simply stupid. They use headlines like, "it's all right here" and "every girls dream".  Sweetheart, unless you're George Clooney, Brad Pitt or the hot guy with Samantha on Sex and the City, trust me, you ain't every girl's dream. All men are seeking the "PERFECT WOMAN". You know; independent but maternal, out-doorsy yet domestic, sexy but tomboyish...and feminine, and without fail, ready to give it all up so they can start that family!  Well, my friends would say, that's me in a nutshell. ;)

The protocol of online dating is especially annoying. Most of the men who write me send a very stark, effortless message, something to the effect of, "hey, liked your profile, 555-5555". Call me old fashioned, but if a guy can't put some effort into writing me an introductory email then forget it. I'm not asking for much. I'm pretty easily entertained but at least make me laugh.  Even in a bar you gotta throw out some charm to get someone to give you their phone number. Also, I don't feel comfortable calling some completely unknown person who won't even reveal their name.

Online dating is an inevitable by product of the internet revolution; accessible, efficient, cutting edge but also, detaching, numbing and, (I feel), dummying (my IQ just dropped three points). Technology, in its infinite wisdom, has made us lazier and less intelligent. You don't need to know how to spell anymore...SPELL CHECK! You don't need to know your friends phone numbers by heart because they're all on speed dial in your cell phone. You don't need to write well because email etiquette allows for informality. Online dating follows these same guidelines. You've got someone's profile fully equipped with all their stats, needs, desires right down to pet preferences and bodily art. So, why waste time with intellect and wit!?

Match.com emails weekly reports with profiles of men who match my profile by percentage. Hey bosstowngirl (my handle)! Meet iamanassguy! He is a 76% match. His faith is Catholic, he lives within 850 miles from you, he's not sure if he wants kids someday and he leaves the toilet seat up. Wink at him for free! Where do they come up with these percentages? These stats mean nothing when it comes down to actual interaction. One guy had the nerve to write me and say that he was from Arizona but would be visiting LA for two days and wanted to get together. I wrote him back and suggested he check out the Bunny Ranch outside of Vegas. Another guy asked me to go to Aruba with him for the weekend. I have a strict policy on going to Aruba on a first meet, Jamaica maybe, but definitely not Aruba. Both of those men were 95% matches. I'd hate to see Mr. 34%.

Here is the crème de la crème of all the online dating emails I've received and my response. This is a real person, who actually wrote the following profile statement, word for word.

55 Year old man, looking for woman 18-40

About me and who I'd like to date

Dame Fortune has been kind: fine education, broad experience, world travel & military service; years as CNN war reporter, without a scratch. Now an entrepreneur in the information business, I concurrently author books, articles & lecture on US national security in the Information Age. You will find that I am a Romantic. There is much more...

I seek a unique female: A very tall, daddy's girl/tomboy who has blossomed into a sexy, nubile, sensuous woman with great energy & a charismatic presence. Though she is perceived by some as a Junoesque ice princess, that image melts away if you are lucky enough to be on the receiving end of her wide, incandescent smile. She is highly educated, speaks at least another language fluently and can hold her own against guys in most sports; the kind of girl who shows up at the ski slope in an eye-popping outfit and then blasts down the fall line fearlessly; no whimp this lady! When she walks into a nightclub in a scintillating Versace dress, the place lights up from her presence; followed by the staccato clinks of dropped forks as she glides by on her long dancer's legs accented by a pair of ultra tall Prada heels. If you manage to best her with an unexpectedly cool move, she'll simply toss her long hair to the opposite side, and give a little lick to her sumptuous lips; and then she'll smile that Lauren Bacall smile and her sweet eyes will glimmer a willing message. But the Ice Princess has a secret: she wants to trade it all in for the right man with whom she can have and then carefully raise her long-dreamed-of children. If you ask me why I want her, I'd simply quote Ayn Rand: "The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer; because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achivement, not the possession of a brainless $1ut." Too hard? Not for a guy whose life motto is "No Guts, No Glory."

My response...

Dear No Guts, No Glory,

Thank you for the wink. I am the girl of your dreams! Look no further! Let me address your shopping needs.

1. I'm not very tall, but I can wear platforms. Unfortunately I don't own Prada, will they be provided with the date?
2. I can definitely hold my own with guys, talking about sports. Not sure I'm ready to strap on shoulder pads and a helmet, unless Tom Brady's somehow involved.
3. I could be way off base here but, isn't "sexy tomboy" somewhat of an oxymoron? Add Daddy's girl to that phrase and you've got the making of a felony.
4. I've definitely popped out a few eyes blasting down fall lines, unfortunately, they were mine.
5. Wow, haven't heard the word "nubile" since the Victorian era or in reference to farm animals. I would say, in response...if I were a cow, perhaps I would no longer be nubile, but being human, and in this day and age of modern thinking, perhaps yes! I am!
6. Junoesque...hmmm, that's a tough one. Okay yes, I'm down with Juno. Do you mean the internet provider? In regards to the ice princess comment....I'm no ice princess, but I am willing to learn.
7. I was a dancer for many years so I guess my legs might qualify but I'm not sure either one of them could fit into a Versace dress.
8. Does Lauren Bacall smile?
9. You're looking for someone who is highly educated, speaks at least one other language fluently, but wants to give it all up for the right man so she can raise those long-dreamed of children? That's me! Before we get crackin on the long-dreamed of kids' education, could you learn how to spell achievement...and wimp?
10. I love the Ayn Rand quote. Here's another one, "It is not advisable to venture unsolicited opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their exact value to your listener." -Ayn Rand

If you'd still like to meet, send an email to, junecleaver2005[@juno.com]

Oh! If it doesn't work out with us, I've got a cousin who is almost 18. You might have to wait a couple years for her to be highly educated, as she's only got the high school diploma.

:) Good night sweet prince!

Fondly,

Your Sexy June

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March 10, 2003  

Armageddon Sick of All This Crack TV
by Sarah Mason

Armageddon suggests a piece about war.  I think there's enough commentary on that right now.  I'm preoccupied with an even greater downfall--the collapse of television as we know it.  Although, I suppose it does somewhat relate to the big picture of world deterioration.  

There are several who might argue, (I can think of a few former professors), that television's decay began the day it was incepted.  I prefer to be a little less sanctimonious.  For one thing, I'm a television fan.  Have been all my life, since the day I was introduced to Sesame Street. Yes I'm a Sesame Street kid.  Proud of it.  Instead of babysitters I had Ernie and Bert.  Lately I've found myself increasingly reminiscent for earlier days when television had something intelligent to contribute.  I know that point is arguable.  But let's look at this not so much as comparing apples and oranges, but comparing, apples and say, larvae.  Just keeping it in Reality TV perspective.

Turn on any channel these days and you'll be hit in the face with a big gooey reality pie.  The particularly disturbing part of the scenario is that when the pie hits you, you like it!  You're confused for a moment and feel sticky but then a little piece of the fluff hits the corner of your mouth.  You can't help but take a nibble.  It's not that it's so yummy.  It's just so intoxicating.  One small taste is all you need to become a junky.  Then the guilt sets in.  Days later, when you've had a chance to tune out reality and focus on sanity you have your epiphany.  "Oh my God! I was raped!"  It's true, like many other Americans, you have become the unsuspecting victim of reality date rape.  And this drug is far more potent then Roofies.  Do you honestly believe that with a clear mind and a steady pulse you'd watch Joe Millionaire?

Although, all of these shows are trite and poorly manufactured, some are more odious then others.  Take for example, ABC's new reality show, The Family, in which family members compete for a fictitious dying relative's estate.  George Hamilton is the host.  That should be enough to stop you outside the front door.  But if that's not enough, here's the set-up:

Ten members of a middle-class clan are placed in a 40-acre estate. There they are waited on by persnickety servants, including a butler, a chef, and a social secretary named Ringo, who quips, ''Decorum is out the window with this group.'' The family members know they're being spied on by a ''secret board of trustees'' that will ultimately select a $1 million winner from among them. But they don't know the secret board members are actually their servants.

This is the actual description from the ABC website.  The word, persnickety, is enough to make me run away.  In an attempt to make the show "lively and exciting", says one ABC exec, they pick a Big Fat Italian Family from none other than, you got it, New Jersey--now that's good television. Of course we don't expect any of these reality shows to actually go out on a limb and present interesting fresh characters.  Do we?  I mean, why do that when stereotypes are almost as cheap as the production value of the shows.

The Family is contrived and ludicrous but I'd have to say Are You Hot takes the prize for most distasteful.  This is the show where men and women, with either really large egos or none at all, parade on stage in teeny bathing suits to be scrutinized by Lorenzo Lamas and company.   His name alone is enough to produce a gag reflux.  Besides all the obvious objections, Lamas is exceptionally vile.  His big "step-out" moment of every show is to point a laser at a woman's ass citing her imperfections.  This show makes me ashamed to have  worked in television.

One of the things that I find especially jarring about this whole reality craze is the fact that people are becoming famous for the simple fact that they're on television, no accomplishment, no talent.  That's where I can tolerate American Idol more than the others.  At least these folks are attempting to pursue a dream.  It's a little more impressive than being submerged in a tank of cockroaches and worms for 10 minutes. 

But let's face it.  It's all drek.  Even Idol has all the worst combinations of convoluted exploitation and labeling.  There's Simon the bad guy, Paula the sweet damsel in distress, Randy, Switzerland-from-the-hood, and the contestants as the undeserving heroes. 

As a writer, I'm particularly slighted by the sudden lack of opportunities "real" writers, actors, directors etc. are afforded.  The networks are clearing their schedules of all serious television, drama or comedy, to make way for crack TV.   Of course they are!  We're watching it.  It's cheap, so cheap we can all afford to lose our dignity. Who needs dignity when there's Lorenzo Lamas? 

Despite it all,  I still love television.  At least, I love the potential of television. I love the moments of greatness that have inspired me through which I trace my life; the last episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, the night Carson said goodbye to the Tonight Show and Bette Midler sang out the show as Carson looked on with tears in his eyes, the Thanksgiving episode of Cheers when they end up in a food fight, Steve Martin's King Tut routine and a million other SNL moments, the last Newhart when Bob, as the Vermont innkeeper wakes up next to Emily Hartley (Suzanne Pleshette, his Bob Newhart Show wife) and realizes his life as hotelier Dick Loudon had all been a bad dream, the death of Mark Green on ER.  That still makes me cry.  There's too many great moments to choose from.  But that's the point, there are many.  And  I  believe the possibility for great television still exists.  It's out there somewhere, suspended in reality.  

Okay so the world is in complete chaos.  We don't know which way we're going or if we're even going.  Our brains and emotions are hopelessly fried.  Our spirit has somewhat diminished.  We can't handle anything too intense and we're utterly vulnerable to the kind of degenerates that pray on the weak and downtrodden (reality TV producers).  So what?  Do we throw our arms in the air and simply give in?  Do we get outraged and protest?  Or do we exercise a little thing, I like to call, free will?  It's your choice America.  But choose wisely.  For the true reality gives life, the false reality takes it away.  

CUT TO: 

A young woman sitting on a LARGE RED living room COUCH flipping channels with a remote control switcher.  Every channel she stops at is showing REALITY TV.  

She pauses for a moment.  Sighs.  Then shuts the television off, walks over to her patio door, opens it then walks out and sits on her balcony staring out at the beautiful blue sky sheltered by palm trees. 

END SCENE

She chose, wisely.

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November 4, 2002

The Partly Cloudy Voter
by Sarah Mason

I must credit Sarah Vowell for letting me borrow part of that title from her recent book, The Partly Cloudy Patriot. Sarah Vowell is a commentator for NPR and a writer. She's incredibly funny and the book deals with her ambivalent relationship to American history and citizenship in the wake of 9/11. Patriotism was a term lost back in the Eisenhower days until September 11th dusted it off and put it back on the shelves. This book is very poignant and witty and touches many raw nerves for all good GenXers who are born skeptics.

GenXers refers of course to the book, Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture by Douglas Copland, defining a generation born approximately between 1964-1970, for which I find myself right smack in the middle. Copland labels this generation "postponed" and "indifferent.

Thus, patriotism never featured prominently in the hearts of most GenXers. In fact, growing up, I was always embarrassed by anything patriotic. It was something my parents and grandparents referred to sentimentally at cocktail hour. And often it wasn't even my own grandparents reminiscing it was our summer house next door neighbors, friend's cousin's grandparents. But like most Americans after the tragedies of 9/11, I bought my little American flag for the car and my lapel pins. The flag didn't stay long but I still have the pin. It's a cool one - an apple with an American flag pattern for NYC.

When things got back to normal, so to speak, most of us not born into the concept of patriotism went about our merry way scoffing at politicians and being completely unresponsive to the legislation process. However, we still manage to complain and demand justice whenever some idiot politician screws it all up.

But despite all my cynicism, I've voted in every election I've been eligible to vote in. The first being the Bush/Dukakis election in 1988. I just missed out on the Reagan/Mondale election of 1984. The election was in November and I was due to turn 18 that following January. I was pissed! I had to pay taxes! Why couldn't I vote? I'm sure the taxes on my aerobics instructor job weren't all that hefty. But still, at that young age I felt the desire to be part of the system.

My parents were very political, liberal I should say. Being academics in Massachusetts it was hard to avoid. Politics were served up at our dinner table every night of my childhood. Both my parents were politically active in the sixties, marched on Washington, sat-in, the works. In fact, they were politically active in the 50s in the dark smoky cafes here beatnik poets and Jack Kerouac crusaded.

My mother is an Anglo/Irish literature professor and also teaches Women's Studies and my father teaches World Religion and Islamic History. At supper, most of my friends sat around with their parents eating meatloaf and discussing the complexities of the boys high school soccer game and why Coach Mahoney blew it by not putting Andy MacAuley in the game. At our house we ate zucchini crepes and thai food and talked about the Middle East crisis. At the time I hated it! That hostage crisis was so far away from us - wasn't it?

Ayatollah what? Ayatollah you I wanted Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner mom! Can we please have normal food??? I wanted to talk about local politics such as who got the lead in the senior class musical.

In retrospect, I feel that my parents gave me a unique gift introducing me to diverse cultures and opinions. I met so many fascinating people. My parents always had folks in from other countries - and not just Canada. Mystical places like, Turkey, Iraq, Bangladesh, Egypt, Kenya. It was like eating dinner at the United Nations.

Funny how at the time, you really don't value those things. I remember one of father's colleagues from India, Dahud Rahkbar (pronounced Dowuud Rockbar), a professor at Boston University. He used to invite my father to lunch and Dad would drag my brother and I along. Somehow my sister always got out of it, piano lessons or something like that. Wait a minute, I took piano lessons! Anyway, we ate kneeling down on an Indian floor rug. The food was incredibly spicy and strange - definitely not spaghetti-o's. Halfway through the meal Dahud would take out this instrument called a Drone that he would play and sing along with. The sound from both the Drone and his mouth was so shrill and bizarre, completely foreign to any music I was a kin to. I want to say it sounded like a crying lamb but that's just speculation. I could barely contain myself from bursting into tears of laughter. And my brother Paul was no help. He would provoke me by making faces and every time one of the adults looked at him he would snap out of it. But there I sat guilty of giggling. My father would often have to excuse us and say he had to take me to the bathroom. But Dad was so cool. I would be so scared walking out the door expecting him to yell but instead the minute we turned the corner, he would burst into laughter himself. And he appreciated that stuff! Eventually so did I.

Somewhere between the naan and the lamb tikka masala and the intriguing conversations flying around the room, my political conscience was born. They spoke of turbulent times and misunderstood faith. At the time, I couldn't grasp any real understanding of these discussions. But I was able to see the world from a new perspective because of the new philosophies I was exposed to. I met Israeli's and Palestinians - not as political figures but as guests in my home, real people with real stories and humanity.

As a teenager you really don't know what your own politics are. So you naturally follow your parents lead. Even today, I think many people struggle to define their own politics. I found myself somewhere between my parents liberal views and the conservative rebellion I had in response to them. Am I political? I'd say I have a political conscience. I vote, and I'm proud of it. I consider it a birth right and an obligation. If you get up every day and breath, you need to vote. Because somewhere out there someone is doing something that affects that air going into your lungs. But my commitment to voting doesn't negate my qualms about politics. I've certainly been jaded by all the bullshit. I'm not sure if it's actually anything new or if we just have much more access to information. Regardless, the soft lighting effects and make-up have been removed and all we've got left is an ugly reminder of our own worst fears and insecurities. But I remain passionate about my beliefs. Even if that belief is the principle of participating in the democratic system.

Like most good GenXers, I tend to write my own politics based on the issue as opposed to picking a political camp. Which is completely contrary to that of the baby boomer generation or even my brother and sister's generation which was the tail end of the boomers. The party was the key. People straddled one side of the political fence and chose their candidates accordingly. Ahh but things changed in the wake of the technological boom of the 90s and insurgence of dot-commerce. Thus a dance was born called the non-committal. And Generation X was on that dance floor steppin out!

I read somewhere that about 40% of American voters are diehard Republicans. The other 60% are Democrats, Independents, uncommitted, None of the Above. A much larger percent of that 40% ritually come out to vote. So, if you aren't part of that 40% and you think you're vote doesn't count, think again. Every vote counts. Regardless of what political party you sway toward, cynism won't change anything.

The problem inherent with Generation Xers, and many others in this country today, is exactly that, cycnism and passivity. Yet there's also protest. People spend hours howling at the picture of the moon on their Sony flat screen monitors but don't get up and do anything about the injustices they bitch about.

So what do we do about it? Do we stand in our pool of apathy proudly claiming superiority as we watch American Idol and sip Bud Light? I say, nah.

What happened in Florida during the 2000 election should have been enough to motivate even the toughest critics to get out and vote. But it didn't. I fear that the politicians in their complete ineptitude and total self-indulgence have only increased the lack of motivation to participate in the process through endless scandals and mud-slinging campaigns. Nobody takes them or the process seriously anymore. Which is sad. Because, as I said before, I'm really not convinced that anything new has been uncovered. We just have better tools for digging.

Even if you are disgusted by the antics of our political leaders think about it this way; this is your one and only chance to use your voice in such an all encompassing way. Yes! One person can affect change because as we saw in Florida, just a few votes can make the difference.

Tomorrow is a crucial election for the make-up of the Congress. The Republicans and Democrats are fighting for their political life as they hope to swing the balance in their direction. Whatever your political convictions may be, pick up your damn latte a little early and go to the polls. If nothing else, you will know that you're part of something bigger than yourself. If you're an American, you were born with the right to vote - that's worth so much. Believe me there are many immigrants out there in this country deeply concerned with the political tides who don't have the right to choose their own fate. So choose yours! That's a powerful thing. No matter what the outcome, you've taken a stand away from indifference and complacency. And to me, that will ultimately beat those idiot politicians at their own game. Don't let anyone or anything take away your power and your right to choose the world you live in.

So rock that vote!

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September 16, 2002

Letting the Truth Hang Out, the Jamie Lee Curtis Way
by Sarah Mason

Lara Flynn Boyle, Calista Flockhart, Portia de Rossi, Selma Blair, the list is endless; actresses who by our definition, I say our meaning, the real world,  would most likely be diagnosed as clinically anorexic.  However, in the realm of a world called, Hollywood, these women are diagnosed as actresses. 

Okay, yes it's true, the camera adds 10 pounds.  I've encountered many of these women in person through my experiences as an event planner for AFI and I can tell you, the 10 pounds the camera adds is about 20 pounds short of a healthy body weight. Hollywood executives and agents don't rush their clients into treatment centers when they become dangerously thin. They reward them with more money, prestige and opportunities regardless of how detrimental it is to their health.  

Sunday night, September 15, Dateline NBC ran a story featuring actress Jamie Lee Curtis discussing a topic most of Hollywood is unfamiliar with, the truth.  She posed for a magazine photo shoot without make-up, without touch ups, revealing Hollywood's "true lies" about what we see on the big screen and the little page.  

For those of you unfamiliar with Jamie Lee, Halloween, Trading Places, A Fish Called Wanda and True Lies, are just a few of her credits.  She is known not only for her showbiz roots (father is Tony Curtis, mother is Janet Leigh) but for her incredible body--a feature Hollywood has enthusiastically promoted.   With these pictures, Jamie Lee Curtis did something no other actress would dare to do.  She let it all hang out, the good, the bad and the ugly.  This was quite daring especially for an actress whose body has contributed to much of her notoriety.  

Granted, compared to the average person, she still looks incredible.  But the picture shows that she's not perfect.  She has flows like every other woman does.  This is not something most actresses choose to disclose  Jamie Lee revealed not only the truth about her body but the truth about her character, honest, graceful, compassionate, principled and genuinely beautiful. 

In addition to acting, Jamie Lee Curtis is a critically acclaimed author of children's books.  Her latest book,  I'm Gonna Like Me: Letting Off a Little Self-Esteem, helps children find their path to self-assurance by following a self-actualized girl, and boy, throughout the book on alternating pages.  What makes her work and dedication to this message so much more poignant is the fact that she is living the message. 

Wouldn't it be incredible if more actresses put aside their vanity and used their power as celebrities to make a positive contribution to building young girls' self-esteem?  I would rather see real bodies, flaws and all, then a million air brushed pictures that I will never look like.  I admit watching Jamie Lee dance around in her underwear in True Lies made me feel jealous and unworthy. I thought, my God what an amazing flawless body she has.  I wanted to throw my bag of Fritos at the screen!  Discovering that it's all an illusion was a huge relief. Not that it should take a revelation such as this to validate oneself,  it shouldn't.  But it helps put things in perspective.

Do you think these actresses-on-the-verge of an anorexic breakdown are truly happy?  Are any of us happy struggling with an eating disorder?  At least, (and this is at very least),  when you're diagnosed with an eating disorder you're able to admit there's a problem and seek help.  Can you imagine how these actresses feel, not only being alone with their eating disorders but being convinced that what they are doing is normal and necessary for them to further their career?  Maybe Hollywood will never face reality, but we can choose not to be hypnotized by false images of beauty.  We can be real.  

So thank you Jamie Lee for having the enormous courage to step up to this plate.  I hope others follow and  I  hope Hollywood rewards, not condemns you for this move.  You're helping so many people find their truth by stepping into yours.  

For more information about the magazine article and Jamie Lee Curtis' children's books, please visit, Total Jamie Lee Curtis.

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August 20, 2002

Orthopaedically Challenged
by Sarah E. Mason

Does the expression, orthopedically challenged mean anything to you?  Well, sadly, it does to me.  Not only does it have meaning, it's my bio header.  I've had a long and industrious career as an orthopedic patient.  Here's a few of the highlights.  

In the last five years I've broken my right knee cap, dislocated my shoulder which resulted in surgery, had surgery on my left knee, moved a cot into a corner of my physical therapist's office and most recently, dislocated my shoulder again while vacationing in Italy.  All that doesn't even begin to cover the zillions of injuries for the years prior.  The majority of these injuries have inane circumstances attached.  I think I should tell the story of how this last "challenge" occurred because it really says it all.  

My first day in Rome was definitely eventful.  The airline lost my bags.  I was conned by an Italian cab driver who viewed the word vulnerable as meaning, "Rob This Woman Now".  And to add injury to insult and humiliation, I dislocated my shoulder.  

While walking down the street in search of a store to buy replacements for my lost luggage, a man on a motor scooter grabbed my purse strap and attempted to pull it off my shoulder.  What he was not aware of was that the purse was attached to my belt.  So when he pulled, I went with him and fell onto the street.  However my arm apparently fancied a ride on that motor scooter so it went with him and pulled itself clear out of the socket.  

So there I was face down on the streets of Rome - now there's an image.  I picked myself up trying to avoid other motor scooters and found my way to a medieval Italian hospital.  They sat me down on a rusty metal table with dirty sheets and confused me with loud hand gestures and unrecognizable terms like stupidogirla!  

In my broken Italian I told the doctor what had happened.  I think he was a doctor although, he quickly left me to empty out a bedpan--which in retrospect explains a lot.  I asked him to put my arm back in the socket.  I must not have translated it correctly because I think he put my arm on the other side of my body.  At least that's what it felt like.  He put his foot with his stylish leather shoes (yes it's true, all Italians have beautiful shoes) into my armpit.  The next thing I knew I was lying on the rusty table with some kind of brown goo smeared across my shoulder and chest.  How did I miss that?  Did they rub it on me after I passed out?  And what was it?  Because it sure didn't smell good and it wasn't making the pain disappear.  

Somehow I managed to get out of there with all my appendages still attached to my body.  However, I'm not completely sure my left arm is in the right place.  Or if it is in fact my left arm. 

My vacation was not a total bust.  After I got through all that calamity I had a wonderful time exploring Italy.   But this story illustrates my point, I am orthopedically challenged.  I prefer this term to the alternatives, cursed, clumsy and dimwitted.     

Last week I was skimming through an article in the New York Times when I saw the words, orthopedic surgery,  and of course anything with the word orthopedic in it peaks my interest.  The article concerned CryoLife, the nations largest processor of donor tissue.  The Food and Drug Administration recently acted against CryoLife by ordering their shipments to be halted and cadaver tissue sent to surgeons by CryoLife since Oct. 3 to be recalled.  The FDA had serious concerns over whether or not CryoLife's cadaver tissues were contaminated.  

I'm reading along and then I get to the part that really grabs me,  "Such tissues are widely used in orthopedic surgery to repair knees and other muscular or skeletal injuries." *   Okay, excuse me???   Dead people's tissue are used to repair knees?   

Science and I are not friends.  In fact, we wouldn't even sit at the same lunch table.  As I ran after the school bus I'd missed daily, Science made faces at me out the window.  And they weren't happy faces.  In fact, I think that's where I learned the expression - moonshine.  Subsequently,  this information was quite surprising to me.

Suddenly I had a brief and ridiculous loss of clarity as I started to imagine cadaver tissue being inserted into my knee.  I wondered who it was from and did they have better knees than I.   Hoping it was Marilyn Monroe's not Ted Bundy's.  This went on and on until I remembered that I never actually had my tissue replaced.  

Oh yeah!  Okay.  Movin on.  Keep reading.  It's a very intriguing article.  Not so much because of CryoLife and their shenanigans - corporate greed and misconduct?  Wow, that's a shocker!  I can already picture the Law & Order episode being penned to correspond.  What engaged me were the details of the procedures and how surgeons use the tissue.  Although, I guess I have an ulterior motive for my fascination. 

Even more curious though--the very same day I received an article written by a former high school friend who's family recently filed a law suit against a biotech company that had allegedly supplied contaminated donor tissue to the orthopedic surgeon who performed her brother's knee surgery.  Her brother developed a very serious infection after the surgery and the family is seeking compensation.   Their case has not been settled and I don't want to comment on the details but it was incredibly bizarre that this fell into my lap twice in the same day.  

Naturally, I was very concerned about this whole thing.  I wanted to know more.  So I went back to the article in the New York Times and did a little research on the web regarding some of these procedures but had a tough time weeding through the medical foreign language.  Does Amazon ship Medicine for Dummies?

I decided the simultaneous arrival of this letter and the article appearing in the NY Times had to be a sign.  But a sign of what?  It's too late for me to go to med school.  I don't even like cutting up my grapefruit in the morning.  So, surgeons out.   Maybe some divine power is trying to say something to me about why I keep having orthopedic problems. 

Then I think way back to all my orthopedic injuries, one sticks out immediately.  I was 15 and attending dance camp for the summer.  It was an intense program.  We rehearsed about 10 hours a day.  The program was held in Boston so I had to take the bus and subway in every day from the suburbs.  I waited for the bus at the end of my street.  My mom was so anal about time that she would literally throw me out the door a half an hour earlier then I needed to leave.  So I would sit for seemingly endless hours waiting for the bus to arrive.  I had a habit of sitting on top of one of my legs and curling my foot underneath me.   This one morning, I was really early.  I sat listening to my walkman.  When I saw the bus rounding the corner I got up and my foot went completely limp.  It had fallen asleep while I was sitting on it.  So of course I didn't want to look like an idiot with a noodle leg so I did the only logical thing a teenager of my high aptitude could conceive which was to bang my foot against the telephone poll.  I banged that sucka like I was trying to hit a bell on the top of the poll.  The bus came and I limped on with the noodle leg and foot and went and sat in the back.  When the bus stopped, I  got up to walk and fell flat on my face.  I had broken my foot.  I had no idea how hard I was kicking it because it was asleep.  So hard that I literally broke it.  Damn!  I guess I did hit that bell!

Yes, this is a true story. And sadly, dance camp came to an end for that summer.  Of course I embellished the details of this escapade when retelling it to my friends.  I think the most absurd story I came up with was that I broke it while kicking a shark that was attacking me.  

So what does all this mean?  That I'm doomed to lead a limpy life?  The broken foot story would suggest that I have indeed brought this on myself by carelessness or stupidity - even though they were accidents.  I guess some would argue, there are no accidents, everything means something or happens for a reason. 

Louise Hay claims that knee injuries are a result of not being able to move forward in life.  But I don't believe any of that crap.  I've moved forward many times in my life.  Therapists have told me, let me see if I can get this straight....that...the repeated injuries are symbolic of my need to handicap myself because of the guilt and fear I harbor about surpassing my mother (my mom had polio which resulted in paralysis of her legs).  Well, I'm not fallin for that either.  Maybe there was some truth to it when I was younger.  But I'm seeking a more tangible answer.   

I know what my orthopedic would say, something far more logical--I don't build up the muscles in my knees and shoulders enough to protect them from further injuries.  I admit, this is true.  But when I was a teenager, this wasn't the case.  So how do I explain the long history of orthopedic problems given the fact that for the most part, my limbs ain't that bad.  

My conclusion,  I really don't know.  I'm not a philosopher, nor scientist.  I'm just a writer.  Epiphany!  My entire history in ace bandages and knee braces has been an elaborate and subconscious delivery method of material.  My screenwriting professor did say, write what you know.  You just can't make up anything as imaginative as the stuff that really happens - especially in my case.  So actually, I should be grateful.  Thank you God for giving me humility, lack of grace and no ability to maintain equilibrium.  

Luckily I have a great orthopedic, and I should add, a great orthopedic team  (when you've been injured as much as I have, it becomes a team).  There's many hard working and talented players in my orthopedic folly's.  

The experience in Italy completely unnerved me.  I was really scared.  But my doctor's nurse returned my call to Italy right away and reassured me that all would be fine.  Okay, who would do that?  So I am extremely fortunate to have such wonderful professionals (and people) on my side.  And, thankfully, I have health insurance. 

At the very least, I know I'm in good hands should future catastrophes occur.  However, it would be nice to clean the slate of all these orthopedic mishaps once and for all.  I won't hold my breath, but I think I should start doing those physical therapy exercises on a more regular basis.  Who knows, maybe the good doc is right.  Nah.  That would be WAY too easy!  Plus, if all this ends, what am I gonna write about!?!  I'll have to start making up actual stories.  That's no good!

Maybe my brother had it right all along with his introduction of  me to his friends when I crashed my bike after riding down the steep hill next to my house.  I landed in the middle of street with my limbs wrapped in and around the bike like a precooked pretzel.  I broke my wrist and sprained my knee.  These were my brother's actual words.  "Oh, that's just my little sister Sarah, she was a stuntman in a prior life who died prematurely. So every few months she goes out and breaks something just to feel at home in her body."

*NY Times, August 16, 2002, C2

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November 28, 2000

And My Creed Came Crashing Down 

by Sarah Mason

I had something truly brilliant to tell everyone.  No really, I did.  Last night I had such a hard time with my muse.  Probably because, I don't have one.  I wasn't particularly inspired by anything.  But then suddenly, I knew what I wanted to say.  And it was dazzling, and witty.  I spent hours weaving the fine lines.  And at about quarter to four in the morning, I finished.  But somehow, I must have pissed off the Gods.  My computer screen froze.  I couldn't figure it out.  Not that I'm a computer guru but it didn't make any sense.  No problem all night.  Then crash!  I lost everything.  No hard copy saved.  I had been writing live on the site which I'd never had a problem with before.  I would save as I went along.  But I didn't this time.  I was duped into trusting my machine.  What was I thinking?  Had I learned nothing from anything?  Or was I just tempting fate.  I don't know.  All I could think of was, what would my therapist say???

I didn't know what to do.  It was really gone.  Normally in a situation like this I would drop kick the laptop across the room and start swearing like a truck driver.  Or maybe I'd go to the gym (despite the hour) and sweat out my fury on the Stairmaster.  Something, anything loud to get my frustrations out.  But all I could do was cry!  And God dammit, I'm not a crier!

So, I just sat there for awhile crying and eventually dragging my husband out of bed to try to save my sorry ass (he's a computer specialist).   He fought valiantly but lost.  

My first instinct was to frantically try to piece together what I had written.  After all, it was brilliant!  And of course the only brilliant thing I would ever write.  Then while scratching out phrases on a left over cocktail napkin I stopped.  And I sat back on my couch and just stared into nothing.  I knew I wasn't gonna piece this all together.  I glanced over at the Romany Spell Book a friend had given me as a joke and seriously thought for a moment if I could conjure up the lost words.   But I didn't have the right mix of candles and horseshoes.  Then I realized something, no epiphany, just a thought, I can write something else!  Yeah, I am a writer, right?  I mean, was I so lacking in confidence about my talent that I believed  I would never turn out anything worthy again? Yeah, I guess in some ways I was. 

What was this brilliant article about you ask?  Well, I had been watching VH1 Behind the Music tell the story of Scott Stapp lead singer of Creed, a rock band rooted in spirituality that recently hit it big with their second Album, Human Clay.  Scott's father was deeply religious.  He blamed the bible for the restrictions he imposed on his children.  He once banished Scott to his room for a week for failing to brush his teeth the correct way.  I tuned into the program while channel surfing because a phrase caught my ear.  "We can't have any mavericks doing things their own way."   That just pissed me off.  Who the hell was this fool?  When I discovered the show was about Creed I was instantly attracted because I love their music.  If you close your eyes, you'd swear Stapp was the reincarnation of Jim Morrison.  But with a higher spiritual light streaming from his poetry.

So, I talked about the plight of the wayward Maverick and compared Stapp's journey to mine.  Both of us suffered restrictions imposed on our desire for creative expression - as many of us do.  It wasn't particularly profound, what I had to say.  I just liked it.  

When I was in college, David Mamet came to speak at one of my screenwriting classes.  He was honestly a bit of an ass.  Not very encouraging.  He speaks in abrupt sound bites like his dialogue and spoke very dismissively.  But he said something that I've never forgotten.  He said, if there's anything stopping you from being a writer, let it. 

I took that very seriously.  And there's never been anything stopping me so I don't know why it should now.  Because the truth is, there's always something to say.  And say it well.  The hardest thing to do as a writer is to let go.  You become protective of every word and phrase like it's your newborn child.  The real skill lies in the faith you have in yourself.  And the knowledge that there will always be another brilliantly flowing aphorism. 

I think we all struggle with this one.  Especially those of us with an eating disorder.  We've lost faith in ourselves.  We hide behind food and fear.  The trick is learning how to take that leap of faith.  Not to be too attached to what we put out remembering we can always put out more.  In this cyber world we now live in, nothing is tangible, really.  And everything is expendable.  I think my father less the fool now with his old Smith Corona and pad of paper.   

If I was feeling Freudian I guess I would have to cop to the fact that I brought this on myself.  And perhaps I wanted to lose the article.  For what reason, I don't know.  Maybe for nothing else but to remind myself that I am a writer.  So sorry, Scott Stapp.  But I think you're gonna have to declare your Creed without me.  Somehow, I don't think that's a problem.

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November 9, 2000

Florida or Bust
by Sarah Mason

I'm a registered voter.  Every election I try to do my best to take the time to read the booklets they hand out describing in detail the initiatives proposed by the state.  I watch Meet the Press, listen to NPR, read the newspaper.  And I've always thought that I was in the minority with these rituals. Well, at least in Los Angeles.  And in fact, I probably am.  But somehow the last couple days has given the country a political conscience and awareness the likes we've rarely seen.

Would you have ever believed that the fate of the country lay in the hands of a state that's governed by Mickey Mouse, has the largest number of inmates put to death, a population largely made up of retirees and is the number one pick of thousands of college students to embark on a week of beer and wet t-shirt contests?  

Shame on you Jeb!  What are you doing to your brother?  Weren't you supposed to hand Florida over on a silver platter?  

The Bush Brothers remind me of  the Miser Brothers - aka Heat Miser and Snow Miser. If you remember the Christmas special, The Year Without a Santa Claus.  One brother, Snow Miser presided over the North Pole and he was mean and scary and froze people when they tried to pass by or spread a little sunshine.  And the other brother, Heat Miser ruled the South Pole and made sure that it was green and sunny everywhere and zapped people with balls of heat when they tried to spread a little snow (guess the producers didn't watch too much National Geographic).  But sooner or later they piss everyone off so much that their mother, Mother Nature, has to step in.

Well, they both may rule Sunny states and Barbara Bush ain't no Mother Nature but nevertheless, it's a frightening similarity.  They both rose to fame on their families coat tails and dance around screaming ineptitudes and zapping people smaller than them.  And one of those little characters may just be the next President of the United States. 

Frankly, I'm not surprised by the quirks in the Florida voting procedures.  In fact, I think this is probably standard fair.  If it weren't for the closeness in the vote nationwide, we'd never have known!  It's probably happened every election.  Inefficiency doesn't just rise up on the eve of an election.  It's birthed and nurtured.  It festers for years before arriving at its place of bureaucratic mildew.

What I don't understand is the bewilderment of the two parties.  They're shaking their heads, crying out, The will of the people is not being adhered to!  And saying things like, the country is telling us that they want less government, they're something wrong here!  It's injustice!  Let the people speak!

First of all, 50% of the population of this country voted in this election.  That's hardly the will of the people. And what will?  That 50% is divided essentially right down the middle.  And its not because we want less government, its because we want a different government.  

The two candidates spent $3 billion a piece to reach only a quarter of the population each.  Yes, something is wrong here, we don't like either one of them!

Why were no third party candidates included in the debates?  Yes, I know what the statutes say - must have a certain ridiculous percentage of voter support as determined by idiots.  But you can't deny the message that's being asserted by this historic election.  And not just now.  It's been brewing.  In 1992 Ross Perot got 33% of the vote.  That's certainly nothing to sneeze at even if you do want to sneeze directly in his face. 

I have to ask myself what's wrong with this picture when I'm listening to Jesse Ventura and thinking to myself, wow, he makes sense.  On a recent Larry King Live the illustrious Governor of Minnesota affirmed that the reason the third parties have no chance is because of the lack of campaign reform.  If $3 billion dollars is the price of attention of 25% of the American people, then how can any real viable challengers step forward?  Ventura's explanation for the lack of effort to bring about real campaign reform is because the Democrats and the Republicans don't want a third party.  They want to keep it as it is.  Just the two of them.  And you know what?  He's right.  That's exactly the truth.

Of course the old fart Republicans and the old fart Democrats argue this point saying that the reason there's no infusion of a third party is because government works the way it is.  Yeah it works.  It works for them.  They're living in a big white house in DC and in their respective states chugging martini's and caviar while we slugs work 10 hour days just to pay our taxes.  Okay, okay.  But you get the point.  

Even Mario Cuomo, who I've always secretly wished would run for President, agreed with Ventura's statements.  Okay, see how scary this picture really is? 

You gotta hand it to Ralph Nader for what he's accomplished regardless of what you think of him or the platform of the Green party.  And hell, Pat Buchanan, at least stays the course and sticks to his message however to the right of Attila the Hun it may be.  

I think the American people do want a change but are given no real opportunity to execute it.  And right now we're all caught up in a whirlwind of constitutional ego.  

If it weren't for the great state of Florida we'd all be back at our jobs, searching the web for Christmas gifts and planning our Turkey dinners.  Some would care.  But not many.  It would all blow over in a matter of days.  For the reality is, half the country, (or should I say, a quarter) of the country voted for the lesser of their evil, and the other half for the lesser of theirs. 

What incredible power has been bestowed upon Florida as a result of incompetence.  That my friends, is the story of America today. 

So here's a song going out to our good friends in the Sunshine state who've made it all possible for us to tune out our every day lives and tune into the governing of our country.  And since we're rounding Thanksgiving time, we'll sing it to the tune of  Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant.

You can get anything you want in the great state of  Florida  - septa President
You can get anything you want, in the great state of Florida
Come on down we'll make the sunshine
Can't count your ballot cause we're sippin moonshine
But you can get anything you want, in the great state of Florida

That's all folks!  I'm on my way to Palm Beach with a big bag of Turkeys.

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September 4, 2003

Sarah Mason's article, If Man Had Wings was originally written, August 2000 and published in Boston Magazine but was recently updated and published on Boston.com, the Boston's Globes online magazine.  Here is the updated version followed by the original version. 

If Man Had Wings
by Sarah Mason

If we had wings, we wouldn't have to stand in line at airport security for four hours and be strip searched by large short women with aggressive metal detectors and a curious infatuation of our shoes.  If we had wings, we could rise above it -- literally.  Our sights would be limitless.  No city unreachable, no airport tax applicable.  Think of the time we would save.  And that is the whole point these days isn't it - to save time?

Of course we'd have to create an elaborate air traffic control system that would require billions of dollars in spending and hours of political ass kissing, rubbing, finagling and maneuvering.  But wouldn't it be worth it?  Don't we all want to fly?

Admittedly, I'm not a good flier.  Even before September 11th it would take at least three marguerites to get me strapped down in my 2X2 inch coach classic easy chair.   The new airport security has proved little comfort, total headache.  So it got me thinking--God gave bird wings, why not man? 

I've decided to hold man in judgment for his missing appendage.  We will embark on a trial, a petition presenting the facts and determining a resolution.  Here is my version of the hearing of man's petition to God for wings.

God appears at the Gates of Heaven and grants temporary entrance to two mortals, Donald Rumsfeld representing man and the Dalai Lama representing nature.

Rumsfeld's entourage is stopped at the gate and forced to wait in purgatory alongside Richard Gere who is accompanying the Dalai Lama.

God appears to the court of heaven in a form that the two mortals can accept, Elmer Fudd.

The court cloud is filled with angels who look like mortal men and women with the exception of the high angels who cannot be viewed by mortals. They must appear, as forms man will accept.  They are, Sylvester as the Bailiff, Foghorn Leghorn as the court guard, Tweety Bird as the court reporter, Bugs Bunny as every member of the jury except for Michael Jordan as the Foreman.

Bailiff

All rise for the honorable God.  

Case number 000-000-000-1, Man vs. the Law of Nature

Donald Rumsfeld representing man. The Dalai Lama representing Nature.

GOD

Mr. Rumsfeld, do you have an opening statement?

RUMSFELD

Yes I do God.  

Rumsfeld rises to address the court.  He walks over to the Bugs jury and gives them a nod.  Then quickly asks Jordan for his autograph before proceeding to address God.

With all do respect God; you put man on this earth.  Yet you restricted his potential by refusing him the ability to fly.  I stand before you, a wingless being pleading the legitimacy of man's right to bear wings - a right that all men should and must have, a right that you yourself have the power to grant.  

Let's look at the facts, birds fly but what can they really do with that gift?  Not much.  Gather a few bugs, worms maybe, some crumbs off the street.  But do they add to the economy?  Do they better the world God?  I don't think so.  And how do we know these birds aren't part of a terrorist plot by the likes of Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden?  We can not be too cautious when it comes to the safety of the American people.  I've told the President on more than one occasion, we've gotta get these birds.  Look into their eyes!  You can see their murderous intentions behind those fake feathers.   How hard do you think it would be to stash a weapon of mass destruction under their wings?  

GOD

Mr. Rumsfeld, can we keep to the business at hand please?

RUMSFELD

Oh, yes, sorry, your God.  I'm a very passionate man.  

GOD

I'm flattered. Move on. 

RUMSFELD

Yes, your God.  

What we're asking is simple.  Give man wings, on a trial basis.  One man/woman will be elected recipient.  

Reading from a sheet of paper

Some nominees for the job suggested are, Arnold Swarzenegger, Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf, Venus and/or Serena Williams,  the five guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.  If nothing else, they might be able to redecorate the sky.  Oh and George Steinbrenner is very eager to go.  But that's been a hot debate.  We're thinking about Rush Limbaugh for a test dummy.  He blows so much hot air we figured he had special connections with wind conditions.  Michael Jackson begged us to let him go but we were afraid he might fly around from house to house convincing 10 year-olds he's Peter Pan.

The trial period will last for an estimated six months of earth time.  At which time, you can determine whether or not we've proven our worthiness to receive wings.  If you feel we're up to the task, the wings will be distributed to the U.S. military, some other nation's military personnel (tba) and by lottery to those existing humans without wings.  Some countries will be excluded--to be determined by the U.N. as the U.S. never does anything on its own accord.   Newborns will automatically get wings, with some exceptions (tba).

We anticipate after the initial nominated humans test out their wings we will need to set up training facilities. So, we've set up a preliminary international "boot-camp".  The U.S. was hoping to repair its recently damaged ties to France by including French volunteers in the training program.  But when we put Swarzenegger in charge of their training, they thought his accent was German and surrendered. 

The terms are negotiable, however we would like you to consider our input on which human will receive the trial pair of wings. 

Thank you.

GOD

Dalai Lama, please proceed.

The Dalai Lama slowly rises and walks to the center of the court cloud.  He takes from his robe some white feathers.  Placing them in his hand he let's them fly into the atmosphere of heaven.  They float upward into a funnel shape then disperse amongst the crowd.  

LAMA

Man cannot accept the gift of wings until his soul becomes one with peace.  Feathers are gentle and fragile.  Man is fragile but not gentile.  

He nods his head and returns to his seat. 

God/Elmer shakes his head, and then addresses Rumsfeld.

GOD

Frankly Rumsfeld I think you’re an ass.  I can't believe I had anything to do with you.  One of those little mysteries of heaven I guess.  This whole argument is crass, insubordinate and stupid.  Man has trouble reaching his potential to raise a smile on his face let alone a pair of wings.  Are you kidding me?  Grant man flight???  So he can do what?  Cause pain and destruction in the skies by faster and multiple methods?  No way.  My reasons for "denying" man wings have been proven over and over again throughout man's history.  And what a pompous little twerp are you to assume the position of presumption with me.   Man's potential is not measured by his appendage or lack of.  It's measured by the purity of his soul that has yet to be exhibited.  

Rumsfeld abruptly stands up.

RUMSFELD

Your God, this is outrageous!!!

GOD

Back off Rumsfeld or I'll lock you in a room with Hillary Clinton, Arianna Huffington and Gloria Alred for eternity.

Rumsfeld shrieks and immediately turns pale. He sits down defeated.

DALAI LAMA

Thank you God.

GOD

Hold on there Lama.  Am I even your God?  What are you doing here?  I'm moved by your convictions, courage and spirituality.  But man you are weird!  Enlightenment doesn't have to mean, lose all sense of reality.  Don't you have a book deal?  Get yourself a new tailor my friend.  

Man's petition for wings denied.   And one more thing Rumsfeld.

RUMSFELD

Yes God.

GOD

You slap a set a wings on Steinbrenner and he'll be heading down south faster than you can say Beelzebub. 

Next Case!

Slams gavel on desk

end scene

And there it is.  If we had only hired Johnny Cochran.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If Man Had Wings - August 21, 2000
by Sarah Mason

If we had wings, we wouldn't have to sit in an airport terminal for four hours squashed between large women with leopard luggage and three-year-olds toting sticky food and aggressive Barbie dolls.  If we had wings, we could rise above it -- literally.  Our sights would be limitless.  No city unreachable, no airport tax applicable.  Think of the time we would save.  And that is the whole point these days isn't it - to save time?

Of course we'd have to create an elaborate air traffic control system that would require billions of dollars in spending and hours of political ass kissing, rubbing, finagling and maneuvering.  But wouldn't it be worth it?  Don't we all want to fly?

The recent problems with the airlines have prompted me to examine this question.  God gave bird wings, why not man? 

I've decided to hold man in judgment for his missing appendage.  We will embark on a trial, a petition presenting the facts and determining a resolution.  Here is my version of the hearing of man's petition to God for wings.

God appears at the Gates of Heaven and grants temporary entrance to two mortals, Alan Dershowitz representing man and the Dalai Lama representing nature.

Dershowitz' entourage is stopped at the gate and forced to wait in purgatory alongside Richard Gere who is accompanying the Dalai Lama.

God appears to the court of heaven in a form that the two mortals can accept, Elmer Fudd.

The court cloud is filled with angels who look like mortal men and women with the exception of the high angels who cannot be viewed by mortals. They must appear, as forms man will accept.  They are, Sylvester as the Bailiff, Foghorn Leghorn as the court guard, Tweety Bird as the court reporter, Bugs Bunny as every member of the jury except for Michael Jordan as the Foreman.

Bailiff

All rise for the honorable God.  

Case number 000-000-000-1, Man vs. the Law of Nature

Alan Dershowitz representing man. The Dalai Lama representing Nature.

GOD

Mr. Dershowitz, do you have an opening statement?

Dershowitz

Yes I do God.  

Dershowitz rises to address the court.  He walks over to the Bugs jury and gives them a nod.  Then quickly asks Jordan for his autograph before proceeding to address God.

With all do respect God; you put man on this earth.  Yet you restricted his potential by refusing him the ability to fly.  I stand before you, a wingless being pleading the legitimacy of man's right to bear wings - a right that all men should and must have, a right that you yourself have the power to grant.  

Let's look at the facts, birds fly but what can they really do with that gift?  Not much.  Gather a few bugs, worms maybe, some crumbs off the street.  But do they add to the economy?  Do they better the world God?  I don't think so.

What we're asking is simple.  Give man wings, on a trial basis.  One man/woman will be elected recipient.  

Reading from a sheet of paper

Some nominees for the job suggested are, Arnold Swarzenegger sorry, I meant Sylvester Stallone, oops no, I meant....eh, let me see here.  He was in that film with the jumping and the wires. You know, the red pill or the blue pill, Matress, Matlock.

Fumbles through the papers.  God interrupts.

GOD

It's The Matrix you idiot.  Keanu Reeves.  

Dershowitz

Oh yes, Keanu Reeves.  Also, Christopher Reeve, Madonna... but we understand that she might cause some controversy for you given her moral behavior and the excommunication.

GOD

From the Catholic church? Oh please!  Those damn Catholics think I'm gonna let them in if they sit in a little box and ask me to forgive them for all the times they said F*CK. 

The jury breaks out laughing. Dershowitz continues.

Dershowitz

Okay, well moving on to...Oprah Winfrey, Alan Greenspan and either Hillary or Bill Clinton.  But that's been a hot debate.  Oh and of course Tom Hanks.

The trial period will last for an estimated six months of earth time.  At which time, you can determine whether or not we've proven our worthiness to receive wings.  If you feel we're up to the task, the wings will be distributed by lottery to those existing humans and automatically to newborns.

The terms are negotiable, however we would like you to consider our input on which human gets the trial pair of wings. 

Thank you.

GOD

Dalai Lama, please proceed.

The Dalai Lama slowly rises and walks to the center of the court cloud.  He takes from his robe some white feathers.  Placing them in his hand he let's them fly into the atmosphere of heaven.  They float upward into a funnel shape then disperse amongst the crowd.  

LAMA

Man cannot accept the gift of wings until his soul becomes one with peace.  Feathers are gentle and fragile.  Man is fragile but not gentile.  

He nods his head and returns to his seat. 

God/Elmer shakes his head, and then addresses Dershowitz.

GOD

Frankly Dershowitz, I think you’re an ass.  I can't believe I had anything to do with you.  One of those little mysteries of heaven I guess.  This whole argument is crass, insubordinate and stupid.  Man has trouble reaching his potential to raise a smile on his face let alone a pair of wings.  Are you kidding me?  Grant man flight???  So he can do what?  Cause pain and destruction in the skies by faster and multiple methods?  No way.  My reasons for "denying" man wings have been proven over and over again throughout man's history.  And what a pompous little twerp are you to assume the position of presumption with me.   Man's potential is not measured by his appendage or lack of.  It's measured by the purity of his soul that has yet to be exhibited.  

Dershowitz abruptly stands up.

DERSHOWITZ

Your God, this is outrageous!!!

GOD

Back off Dershowitz or I'll lock you in a room with Claus Von Bulow and Leona Hemsley for eternity.

DALAI LAMA

Thank you God.

GOD

Hold on there Lama.  Am I even your God?  What are you doing here?  I'm moved by your convictions, courage and spirituality.  But you also frustrate the hell outta me!  Lighten up a little for my sake, geese.

Man's petition for wings denied.   And one more thing Dershowitz.

DERSHOWITZ

Yes God.

GOD

You slap a set a wings on either one of the Clinton's backs and they'll be heading down south faster than you can say Beelzebub. 

Next Case!

Slams gavel on desk

end scene

And there it is.  If we had only hired Johnny Cochran.

index

August 18, 2003

This piece was written during the California recall election 2003.

Business
lyrics by Sarah Mason

The situation is so unbelievable in California, all I have to say is this....

(sung to the tune of Business from the Eminem Show)

Intro:

Jodi:
Sarah, sounds like an S.O.S.

Sarah:
Holy wack unreal reality Jodi, you're so right!

Jodi:
To the tell-it-like-it-is mobile, let's go!

Sarah:
Ladies and Gentleman!
It's showtime!
Hurry, hurry step right up!
Introducing the star of our show, her name is...

Background Singers:
Cali

Sarah:
You wouldn't wanna be anywhere else in the world right now
So without furt