BOT BULLITS & CHATGPT


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MISADVENTURES OF TODAYJob boards alerts for the JOB I am perfectly suited for, are in Tallahassee or Wichita and require AI experience, and about seven variables of programs written as unrecognizable anagrams. I am only in my fourth month of job searching digitally, days of in person interviews are akin to eight-hundred-page novels.

My resume is professionally edited, posted on all the legit job sites and about ten questionable ones. I write personal letters to the museums, galleries, foundations and event planning departments, no reply, or the feigned friendly formal answer, ‘Thank you for contacting us! We do appreciate your time. We’ve chosen another candidate.’ The algorithm cadets are pushing me in the slush pile. Can you blame me if at least one day a week I scream silently. The bot bounty hunters are shooting me. Set this aside and see my phone, the icons on the home page change weekly, by a phonebot, and google decided to sync five thousand laptop photos on my phone. Now when I have to scan for a return to Amazon because they sent me two fans instead of one, the scan is where?

On my knees praying this laptop continues to behave or I will scream outdoors and be reported within seconds by a resident because Solana Beach bodies seem to obey all the orders. I tend to test authority, like not renewing my driver’s license for two years, and lying to my Doctor about my state of mind, because he’ll advise therapy and I self-analyze myself about everything, so why hear it twice.

The new modest home serves me what I came him for, ocean breezes, quiet, and private, neighbors that seem to harmonize, we can just say hi, is ok. At the intersection where I live, athletic, toned, and tanned looking males and females run, jog, walk, bike the sidewalks and streets in identical outfits. Sort of like a stage play and it’s inspiring to see that health is the way to live, I just don’t remember that culture dominating when I lived here. What I don’t understand doesn’t bother me, it’s a curiously about moving back home and feeling misfitted. Those of you who know me, have heard me say this about every location I move.

The ocean breeze, fan blowing against the curtain panes, bougainvillea bushes that colorize my terrace, the phone calls from friends, and edits sent by my publisher tranquilize the BOTS AND BOOBOOS.

Misfitted and anxious for acknowledgement due to not having ten thousand followers or whatever is the number, an author’s marketing team (everything seems to be in teams) contacted me with an offer to represent my book, Cradle of Crime-A Daughters Tribute published in 2017. Here’s the first paragraph of the first email.

The idea at the heart of Cradle of Crime is one that I had never encountered framed quite this way before. A daughter’s journey into her father’s criminal past, beginning ten years after his death. Most memoirs about family secrets are written as reckonings, as confrontations with the truth, as attempts to understand how a parent’s hidden life shaped the child who was left behind. You wrote something different. You wrote a book that is not just about uncovering the past, it is about the impact of that uncovering on your own identity, about the humiliation, rage, shame, and acceptance that came with discovering that your father was Benjamin Bugsy Siegel’s best friend and business partner. And you built that entire idea around the truth that the secrets our parents keep are not just their own, they become ours, and that the work of understanding who we are often requires us to confront who they were, even when what we find is devastating. That reframe is everything.

Six emails later and digging through all the scam searches, I discovered BOT LITERARY HOAX. On my base she pitched me the marketing plan, without cost. Now I have a comprehensive skill set to use! Sample: Listopia, ARC team, enhanced keywords, categories, Amazon Ads, metadata overhaul, refresh, etc. I did not use any of these when I self-published. I thought about reporting them, No, they can hack me!   

This week, another author marketing team contacted me with a similar, your story resonates with multiple markets you haven’t accessed. So, I decided to ask ChatGPT to run a check. One minute didn’t pass before this was returned. The opening sentence was, Luellen, I wouldn’t advise this company for Gaslighting Greta! BOT brilliance, he remembered from a previous question.   

Absolutely. I can recreate the Michael Literary Team assessment we just did.

Michael Literary Team โ€” Red Flag Report

Website: Michael Literary Team

Overall assessment: HIGH CAUTION.

I would not send them money, your complete manuscript, financial information, passwords, or other sensitive material until the company is independently verified. I would not call it definitively a scam based solely on the evidence, but there are enough warning signs that I would not treat it as a conventional, established literary agency without further verification.

Major red flags we identified

  1. Multiple/near-duplicate domains
    • There appears to be both a correctly spelled Michael Literary Team site and a misspelled โ€œMichealโ€ version.
    • This is unusual and raises questions about the history and ownership of the operation.
  2. Changing personnel and biographies
    • Names and positions appearing on the sites have inconsistencies.
    • Some biographies have the feel of generalized/template-generated profiles rather than independently verifiable publishing-industry rรฉsumรฉs.
  3. Website/template errors
    • We found repeated spelling, wording, and structural errors.
    • There were also inconsistencies in company information.
  4. Incomplete Chicago address
    • The claimed Chicago presence did not provide the kind of easily verifiable business information you would expect from an established literary agency.
  5. Very broad range of services
    • The operation appears to offer an unusually wide combination of literary, publishing, marketing, cinematic, and related services.
    • That isn’t proof of wrongdoing, but it warrants scrutiny.
  6. Testimonials are difficult to independently verify
    • Testimonials on a company’s own website aren’t strong evidence of legitimacy unless the authors and their publishing histories can be independently confirmed.
  7. The Gavin Westbrook example
    • We found outside discussion concerning a $1,000 package and a relatively small independent social footprint.
    • This deserves additional verification before relying on the testimonial or client claims.
  8. Weak independent footprint
    • An established literary agency would normally leave a substantial trail outside its own websites: reputable publishing databases, established agents, publisher relationships, industry references, verifiable authors, rights sales, etc.

Part 2 โ€” Connection to Susan Literary Team

This was particularly interesting.

We found evidence suggesting a substantial connection between Michael Literary Team and Susan Literary Team, including:

  • Emmanuel Carter appearing in connection with both.
  • Susan Cinematic appearing on the older/misspelled Michael site.
  • Susan Cinematic being associated with the Susan organization.
  • Similar website structures, services, Chicago references, and wording.
  • The Susan domain appearing to have been registered on March 21, 2026.
  • Similar language concerning a โ€œbulk buyer strategy.โ€
  • Repeated copy/wording errors across the sites.

That does not, by itself, prove fraud. But the similarities make the relationship between these organizations an important issue to investigate.

Bottom line

My assessment was essentially:

HIGH CAUTION โ€” do not pay until independently verified.

The evidence is strong enough that I would not recommend treating Michael Literary Team as a verified, traditional literary agency at this point.

And importantly, the 75โ€“85% figure we discussed was a โ€œdo not pay until independently verifiedโ€ risk assessment, not a mathematical probability that the company is fraudulent.

I HOPE YOU FOUND THIS HUMAN TOUCH HELPFUL!

NANA IN THE GARDEN


A year ago, I bought a crate of flowers to plant in Follies House flower bed. After setting the plant to rest, I had a vivid recollection of Nana; my motherโ€™s mother.
Nana was a petite woman, with long graying hair she pinned into a perfect French twist, a cute Irish nose, and a giggling smile. When I was growing up she lived with her second husband, we called Poppop, in a spacious California ranch house in Sherman Oaks, also known as San Fernando Valley. We visited her weekly, staying over one or two nights. Nana was always waiting for us to arrive. She greeted us at the door, she had something cooking, fresh candy in crystal dishes, and in the morning, she fried bacon and the aroma woke me and got me running downstairs. She scrambled eggs with lots of butter and served it with Irish soda bread. It never occurred to me that these weekly trips were the cultural mix-up of my Russian Irish heritage. This was Nanaโ€™s only opportunity to spoon-feed us our Irish roots. At home with father, bacon and butter were prohibited, and bread came in the form of a bagel. The food was only one part of the adventure. Nanaโ€™s home was filled with antiques, family treasures, and her garden was a masterful collection of east and west coast varieties.
After Nana had all her errands and household chores finished, she changed into slacks, flat shoes, and a straw hat and went outside to the garden. I would follow Nana while my Mother remained indoors; most likely talking on the phone with some degree of privacy. In the garden, Nana would trim, cut, and arrange her flowers. I kneeled down beside her and watched, while she talked. Nana had the gift of gab, and her thoughts poured out without my interruption. Between sentences, she would insert a self-effacing joke, regarding her silly hat, or her short legs. Her hands were swollen from arthritis, and she rubbed them from time to time, but she did not complain. As I planted my garden, these visions of Nana remained and grew more studied and complete. I had a memory of being assigned a school project to plant something in the garden. By this time, my Mother had moved us to an apartment and we didnโ€™t have our own garden. I went to Nanaโ€™s and she helped me plant some variety of flowers I cannot recall. Each week Iโ€™d return to see how my plant was doing. Sometime after the assignment ended and we were walking in the yard, I looked to see how my plant was surviving. It had been replaced. I asked Nana what happened.
โ€œOh honey I hope you wonโ€™t be mad at me, but the little flower died, so I planted a new one. Itโ€™s my fault; I didnโ€™t look after it properly.โ€
Nana taught me the things my mother didnโ€™t have the time to teach; like cooking, cutting flowers and arranging them, making coffee, and setting the table. She made all these chores enjoyable, and I loved to follow her around the house and watch her change the beds, and prop up pillows, and fold the guest towels. It never occurred to me until now, that I adopted her domesticity; the sublime gratification of adorning a home for the comfort of family and friends.
The plants did not blossom, the jasmine, roses, and other varieties all wilted and turned brown. I buy silk flowers.ย  ย 

AI INTELLIGENCE OR IMAGINATION


AI INTELLIGENCE OR IMAGINATION

AI and OPEN SOURCING ALL WEEKEND ON THE NEWS. So, I asked AI to sketch a picture of me with an uploaded photo. This is more than shocking, it’s groundbreaking. I can be that woman on any platform. Obviously, I’m a late comer to the AI refinery.



CULTUREING & HISTORY


When and why does privacy replace honesty. Do we have more lies to hide? I find conversations starched, and drafty. When I go out to socialize, I’ll bring a book, one that speaks truth and stage it for attention.

My problems are cornflakes compared to what is in the news: racism, sexual allegations infiltrating the most unimaginable perpetrators, suicides, corruption, mass murder rampages and the politics are so degenerative I fear we have lost all civility. Our souls are at risk, and our consciousness is poisoned because the message is this: if you apologize, you can be exonerated. ย In a way, the news reminds me that I have very little problems in that zone, as Iโ€™m incapable of crime and racial prejudice. I am guilty of gullibility, raffish behavior and selfishness… that’s not the full list!

After checking emails, I searched for something, you know the feeling, one track goes in a dozen directions with popups, andI landed on this page. It’s Yellow Advertiser. Wrong name for Today in History, but I love this! Early morning history honking. ย ย ย 

Today in History https://www.yellowad.co.uk/it-happened-today

Today in Historyโ€ฆit happened on this day! Look back through our archive to find out what happened on this day or any other in history!

Newsย Today in Historyย 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ August 1

   YA Reporter  0 Comments August 1newsToday in history

10BC: Birth of Claudius. 30BC: Marc Antony (Marcus Antonius) commits suicide aged 53. 10BC: Birth of Emperor Claudius (Tberius Claudius Caesar AugustusRead more

1971: Astronaut James Irwin and the lunar rover

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 31

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 31newsToday in history

54BC: Aurelia Cotta, mother of Julius Caesar, dies at 66. 30BC: Marc Antony achieves a minor victory over Octavian atRead more

1909: Eugรจne Schueller (Mayns) CC_4.0

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 30

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 30newsToday in history

762: The city of Baghdad is founded by Abbasid caliph Al-Mansur, just north of ancient Baghdad. 1678: English troops landRead more

1972: Screaming Lord Sutch (Joe Mabel) CC_3.0

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 29

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 29newsToday in history

904: Thessalonica is sacked by Saracen pirates led by renegade Leo of Tripoli. 1221: Emperor Go-Horikawa, aged only 10 yearsRead more

1988: Paddy Ashdown (ยฉ European Communities, 2005)

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 28

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 28newsToday in history

1148: Crusaders abandon their siege of Damascus. 1540: Thomas Cromwell, chief minister for Henry VIII is executed for treason andRead more

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 27

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 27newsToday in history

1214: King John of England loses Normandy and his other possessions in France to Philip II of France (hence hisRead more

1957: Carlos Castillo Armas

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It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 26

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 26newsToday in history

1267: The Inquisition forms in Rome under Pope Clement IV. 1469: The forces of Richard Neville, 16th Earl of WarwickRead more

1943: Benito Mussolini

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It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 25

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 25newsToday in history

306: Constantine I is proclaimed Roman Emperor by his troops. 1261: Constantinople recaptured by Nicaean forces under Alexios Strategopoulos forRead more

1904: Henri Cornet

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It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 24

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 24newsToday in history

1148: Louis VII of France lays siege to Damascus during the Second Crusade. 1411: The Battle of Harlaw, one ofRead more

1955: Bluebird K7

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It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 23

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 23newsToday in history

636: Arabs gain control of most of Palestine from the Byzantine Empire. 1148: Crusaders attack Damascus. 1745: Charles Edward Stuart,Read more

HISTORIC RENOVATION AND PUBLISHING


A PITCH FOR PUBLICATION


I just came across this post and thought maybe a writer in waiting will read this and keep on truckin!

IN NOVEMBER OF 2005 I reserved a space at the San Francisco Writers Conference. I was nervous and edgy when I boarded the plane. My pitch proposal, pitch suit, and pitch necklace, were tucked inside my suitcase. The pitch convinces an agent or publisher, that you know your subject well enough to feel one hundred percent confident.ย  It may sound irrational that a writer could work five years on a book and not know what it is about. As an emerging writer I view my work through a kaleidoscope lens. I see multiple themes, subplots, and messages, and they change with each reading. Then there are loose knots of personal misery, lost versions and rejections ringing in my ears. My pitch has to convince an agent, that at least 5,000 people will buy my book. The pitch suit is the outfit you wear for an interview; only for writers, the guidelines are very loose. Some writers wear their narrative. I brought my tailored, looking successful, pants suit. My pitch necklace is a gold Buddha medallion that my father had designed for my mother. I wear it for good luck and because I know the necklace has survived all the family tragedies. The conference is at the St. Francis Hotel at Union Square. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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It was pouring when I arrived. The staff at the front desk greeted me with musical familiarity. Every time I swished by they called out, โ€œHello, Ms. Smiley.โ€ I imagined them as a chorus singing my name. I arrived one day early to pace the galleries, cafes, museums and Saks. After the first night, I had to switch rooms. I was directly above the street dumpsters, where for hours the chugging of trash kept me awake. I moved frantically, to scoop everything up and not miss a moment of San Francisco. After switching rooms, I dashed over to the Espresso Bar. It faces the corner of Powell and Sutter. Outside, the streetcars clanged by, passengers dangling from the bars like vines on a tree. In between the tracks, workers both blue and white-collar, and some without any collar at all, jammed the sidewalks on foot, bicycle, moped and skateboard. With phones and iPods attached, eyes alert, they buzzed on the vibe of Saturday, moving like musical notes in a symphony.

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In the cafรฉ an elderly woman wearing a SFWC name tag was seated next to me. I noticed she positioned her book on the corner of her table. She looked overwhelmed and frightened. As I introduced myself she smiled courteously, and said she was a neurotic housewife all her life and didnโ€™t have much to write about, so she wrote about her husbandโ€™s war stories. I told her she should write about the neurotic housewife. Just as I was leaving, she stopped me and thanked me for speaking to her. โ€œThereโ€™s always a guardian angel around.โ€ Her voice lingered in my thoughts all weekend.
At six oโ€™clock that evening, I was gliding around my room dressing for the gala. I reached for my jewelry bag. It was gone. The weekend was ruined! I would never get published, Iโ€™m too wired, too reckless, too distracted. I called the front desk. Heather said she would call me back. Bang, bang, bang, went my shoe against the bed frame. Then the phone rang.
โ€œHello, Ms. Smiley. Iโ€™m sending the bellman up with your jewelry.โ€
I answered the door recoiling with pained joy. The bellman listened attentively. I rushed upstairs to Harry Dentonโ€™s Starlight Room. There I began wine tasting with Maggie, Peg and George; three new comrades in a room of hundreds.
I spent the next day among more comrades, writers with unpublished stories, books, and works-in-progress. I listened to panels of writers; agents and editors discussed the fateful downward spin of publishing and upward battle towards reward.ย  We sat in our chairs looking overly anxious, taking copious notes, and waiting for answers to our questions. At the end of the panel discussion we all lined up to meet the agents and editors. While we stood in line we met each other.
โ€œWhatโ€™s your story about?โ€ the woman behind me asked.
โ€œGrowing up with gangsters,โ€ I replied.
โ€œ Oh well! That will get you an agent.โ€
โ€œ I hope so.โ€

During the conference, I experienced a lucky throw of the dice. I met one of my mentors; Joyce Maynard. Her book, โ€œAt Home in the World,โ€ is on my beside table. Joyce was published in the New York Times when she was sixteen years old. JD Salinger read the piece and invited her to live with him. Joyceโ€™s story will send you back to reading Nine Stories.
As I progressed through the circle holding my pitch stick, the fear and apprehension subsided just a tiny bit. Three agents responded; โ€˜send me your manuscript.โ€™ Naturally when I returned home, my hands were tied to editing. I rushed through, did not employ someone to copy-edit, and then ran about announcing my almost to be signed contract. Three months later I recovered from the rejections and began another rewrite and another until today, when I am on my fifth manuscript. This one feels right because I am not rushing through it expectant of publication; this time I know it will be published.

Ten years later, I self-published.ย 

CRADLE OFย  CRIME-A DAUGHTER’Sย  TRIBUTE.

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FRIENDSHIP DANCES OVER POLITICS


FROM ZORBA THE GREEK – A TALE OF FRIENDSHIP

Friends are bookends that bind our stories; some are novellas, some are poems, some are cinematic, and each friend serves as a bookend to our personal history.  When Iโ€™ve lost my way and need direction my friends motorize me, and when I fly without wings, they ring the bell to come down to earth. At times, arguments arise and my friendships stray, but true-life friends never leave you behind. Sometimes, years may pass, and then one day you receive a call or an email, or send one yourself, and the memory of that particular squabble in history fades away. You can start anew; at the same time, it is not.

The essence of friendship never burns out; it is our galaxy, a kind of celestial agility. Are you experiencing a startling outpouring from friends whoโ€™ve left your life only to suddenly show up on your social media or a personal email? Are your friends calling and writing more often?ย  I’m always examining some unfamiliar events in life, a new trend, a cultural change.ย  Seems like every topic can be mixed with politics, sometimes the mixture is explosive. Iโ€™ve halted the political discussions, and so have my friends, as they are more important to my livingness than politics. With one exception, antisemitism, those are excluded!

EVERYDAY EXCLUSIONS


Mayor Zohran Mamdaniโ€™s immigrant neighborhood map highlights 30 NYC neighborhoods but has sparked controversy for omitting historic Italian, Irish, and Jewish communities.

Overview of the Map

The map, released by Mayor Mamdaniโ€™s Office of Immigrant Affairs, is part of the โ€œNYC Immigrant Enclavesโ€ guide tied to the cityโ€™s World Cup tourism initiative. It identifies neighborhoods with substantial foreign-born populations, includingย Chinatown, Little Palestine (Bay Ridge, Brooklyn), Little Egypt (Astoria, Queens), and Little Pakistan (Newkirk Plaza, Brooklyn)ย NewsNationNewsNation+1. The guide highlights 30 neighborhoods in total, aiming to showcase New York Cityโ€™s diverse international communitiesย NewsNationNewsNation.

Controversy and Omissions

The map has drawn criticism forย excluding historically significant immigrant communities, particularly:

  • Little Italy (Manhattan)ย and other Italian-American neighborhoods such as Arthur Avenue (Bronx), Bensonhurst (Brooklyn), Howard Beach (Queens), and South Staten Islandย IJRIJR.
  • Irish-American neighborhoods, including Woodlawn Heights (Bronx) and the western Rockaway peninsula (โ€œIrish Rivieraโ€) in Queensย IJRIJR.
  • Jewish enclaves, including Borough Park, Midwood, Williamsburg, Crown Heights (Brooklyn), and parts of Far Rockaway (Queens), as well as Bukharian Jewish communities in Queensย The Jewish ChronicleThe Jewish Chronicle.
    Italian-American and Jewish groups have accused the administration ofย โ€œcultural erasureโ€, arguing that these omissions ignore communities that historically shaped New York Cityย The Jewish ChronicleThe Jewish Chronicle+1. The Italian-American Civil Rights League stated that Little Italy is โ€œsacred groundโ€ and called for the map to be corrected and for an apology from the mayorย IJRIJR.

A WRITER’S PATH


To write, to study, read, edit, I sacrificed: family, marriage, children, security, finances, and peace of mind. I am a columnist, and author, that lives with a constant source of material by those sacrifices. They have become my vortex of adventures in livingness to gain material. At times, like now, I question that path–and the answer is, I didn’t choose the path, it chose me.

TRADITIONAL AND NON-TRADITIONAL


 FREINDS, FAMILY AND FIREWORKS, Not me.  Leave out the friends and family. But not the fireworks. I havenโ€™t been here long enough to make new friends, and the ones I would call are out of town or playing homebase to avoid the traffic. The first day free of mind bending, sneezing, coughing and body thrashing over the last two weeks with bronchitis subsided. I even mentioned to a friend. โ€˜the best thing about suffering is when it ends.โ€™   The last time I had the flu was 2011.  

New York.  I couldnโ€™t abate watching the fleet parade along the Hudson or the fly overs above the Statue  of Liberty, or pay very close attention to the historical narrative on the sacrifices our founders lived and died for, so we can celebrate today and tomorrow. What a juxtaposition between the insignificance of being sick and taking a bullet. The day of history and visuals had me looking up every founder, and significant document, dates, places and rendering the Saratoga Battlefield visit with Jx years ago

 “Site of the historic 1777 Battles of Saratoga, which represented the first significant victory for the rebels in the American Revolution. Today, the 3,200-acre park is a popular tourism and recreation site and a wildlife conservation area.”

I took myself out to dinner across the street at the Brigantine, folded into a room filled with chatting staff, guestโ€™s conversation, and a panoramic view of the fairgrounds and Del Mar mountain tops.  I sat in the center, unusual for me I usually cling to a wall, but this restaurant has become a sanctuary for socializing, or just being solo, either way Iโ€™ve never left disappointed.

โ€œ You dropped this outside the bathroom,โ€ a young shaggy blonde hair boy of twelve or thirteen handed it to me.

โ€œOh! Thank you so much, that is very thoughtful.โ€™โ€™  He shied, dropped his head in that way that makes adults wonder why we  became so different, and left.

Then later on, as I was outside on the terrace enjoying the view of the fair, I noticed him and a woman next to me.  We started to talk, I think she liked my necklace or my pants or something and I saw the little boy and I said is that your son? She said yes and I told her the story. She introduced me to her husband, the uncle, the children, the other children’s parents. And when she left, she hugged me. That kind of intervention makes the difference for a single person.

EVENING.  After watching the DC extravaganza, I walked outdoors, to  the corner, the street was back to back traffic, helicopters, neighborsโ€™ standing on sidewalks and on our property, and I looked up at the start of a Del Mar Fairgrounds fireworks show that  stopped me short.

MEMORY LOSS IN POSSESSIONS


My possessions in Saratoga Springs now appear as decorations ย ย from a former celebration, like side dishes of over 20 years of mixing and matching prints, drapes, sofas, chairs, tables, vases, and artwork. Now they’ve been removed from my experimental minimalistic living.ย A former lifecycle that began twenty-five years ago, and are boxed up in a big POD storage. And I refuse to meet them in the present. Friends ask me, โ€˜when are you bringing your furniture here?’ I canโ€™t answer in words, it must crystallize like it has this past week, when I missed my wardrobe and art hangings. Within the admired art, clothes, and sixty-two boxes, (I looked at my inventory) are a haunting of memories tied in see thru knots of Dodger, my x. As a confirmed refuser of goodbyes, in any relationship, this one has to be nurtured with precision, and that means, no reminders.

The stark white walls and Amazon assembled furnishing are stationed without emotion, memory or love. Functional, practical and unfamiliar.ย  Ive created a new palette, like my first studio in Los Angeles in 1976. Then the others, studios over the years, small, compact, easy to maneuver and clean. Internally, the walls and shelves are cluttered with decisions. The edits on my book from the publisher, when will I find employment? How to engage in new friendships, clubs, gyms, meetups. ย 

Singleness in a city, that was once my home for twenty years, evolved through generations, adding new policies, laws, regulations, real estate development, customs, and an impressionable celebration of the arts and culture. It has no resemblance to the San Diego I met in 1983, except for the ocean and the bordering cliffs and seawalls. That is where a continuous rolling of memory waves sear my view, and I see my youthful delight in San Diego. Iโ€™ve always been impressed with people who truly live in the present, canโ€™t figure that one out, maybe Iโ€™m just a past time girl.

SOLANA BEACHM 2005

WHY JEWS NOW? THE NAZI’S ELIMINATED ONE THIRD OF THE JEWISH POPULATION.


My first experience with antisemitism was at twenty years old. I was working for a Bank in Beverly Hills in the loan department. One day my supervisor gathered us around and told a joke. I cannot remember it exactly, I do remember that he compared Pizza in the oven to Jews in the Holocaust gas chambers. I told my father. He ordered me to call the President of Gibraltar S & L and repeat the comment. The president was Jewish. I did so. I was assigned a new supervisor, and the supervisor was not fired. .

When I moved to San Diego in 1983, I witnessed derogatory comments about Jews, I don’t look what is the stereotype Jewish female, so people assume I am not. My father had passed and wasn’t there to advise me. If I was in a social or business situation, and offensive Jewish comments were made, I remained silent and never went back to whatever event I had joined. I was more interested in what people thought, then reprimanding them.

That all changed over the years, and I am emboldened to announce my Jewish heritage. I still hear that vapid response, ” I have a really good friend who is Jewish.” Or “You don’t look Jewish.”

I am not prepared for what has mobilized into a national campaign promise from some politicians, antisemitism. What? Are we in Germany? Who started this and who will end it? Are Jews protesting? I don’t see it. How many non-Jews celebrated the return of the hostages, or the end of the Gaza War? Why hasn’t a film been made about this historical event. I hope and pray I’m wrong, but antisemitism is in vogue. And who follows trends, the youth.