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The Sassistas!TM are proud to post the above image in honor of PEACEsista. We searched high and low for just the right sis-o-lantern image, at one point, even considering this one. In the end, we decided to use this image -- forwarded to us by Chrysosistah -- who said, "PEACEsista would like this one."
As we told you yesterday, it's the last Friday of the month which in the sassosphere means OPEN MIC! Please sass away on any topic that ghouls you!
The SassistasTM would like to acknowledge and thank half-a-sista who dished today's sass.
The spirit of Halloween has disappeared amid the paranoia of modern America.
In the 1950s, when I trick-or-treated in my neighborhood, my parents went along. They stood at a respectable distance while I knocked on the doors. Back home, I discarded wrapped candies, but saved the homemade ones. People I knew and loved made the best treats.
Years later, stories spread about razor blades in apples and poisoned candy. Authorities cautioned: “Don’t eat homemade treats. Take your treats to a hospital for x-rays.” The world changed. Our paranoia increased. Neighbors didn’t stay for long. When they did, they isolated themselves inside central-heated and air-conditioned houses. We suspected everyone of evil intentions from the single man down the block to the elderly people next door. They injected LSD and heroin into homemade candies. We had been warned. Children threw away homemade treats and kept the wrapped ones.
Later the media told how our children would be snatched by perverts and turned into sex slaves if allowed to trick-or-treat. I never understood where the parents had disappeared to on those Halloween nights. Maybe they had grown too busy to bother with the safety of their children.
Today the holiday struggles to survive in shopping malls where children engage in “safe” trick-or-treating. They receive merchandise as treats. Monitors inspect any food served. Security forces stand guard.
We want protection from the boogeymen lurking in the shadows. They want to hurt us. Only manufactured goods usually made abroad and wrapped in plastic will do. Fear haunts us. Something bad waits around the corner. The terror of Halloween has become part of our daily lives, but the magic of the holiday is gone.
Editorial Note: Tomorrow is the last Friday of the month . . . which in the sassosphere means "Open Mic"! To mark Halloween, we'll be calling it, "Trick or Sass!" Be prepared to dish about whatever your heart desires, in your costume or not.
The economic tsunami sweeping across America and the rest of the world is so huge that many of us aren't anchored enough to absorb front-page miracles. But on Monday, one huge front-page miracle in the Washington Post caught the eyes of the Sassistas!TM: "Women Run the Show in a Recovering Rwanda." We did a double-take. Rwanda? Women? Ruling majority?
Miraculously, it's true. Last month, women contesting in Rwanda’s second parliamentary elections since the 1994 Genocide, secured 45 out of 80 seats, or 56.25 percent, making the incoming Parliament the first in the world to have women in the majority. Let's write that again: the first in the world to have women in the majority.
Not only that, sistas and mistas, but women in Rwanda hold a third of all cabinet positions, including foreign minister, education minister, Supreme Court chief and police commander. According to the Post article, one result of this political transformation "is that Rwanda has banished archaic patriarchal laws that are still enforced in many African societies, such as those that prevent women from inheriting land." Further the legislature has passed bills aimed at ending domestic violence and child abuse. Most stirring is the strengthening sense of national purpose. The last Saturday of every month is community work day, when neighbors gather for six hours to help with a collective project -- clearing brush, or repairing a less-fortunate neighbor's house.
What accounts for this miracle? The scars of genocide? The fact that suffering raises up those souls who are truly great? Or is it something in the nature of women; that "where there is a woman there is magic," as expressed by playwright Ntozake Shange. Or all of these things? "In my view, women are more reasonable, more merciful and less corrupt than men," said a young Rwandan man in the Post article.
What will it take to see this miracle on Capitol Hill?
This past summer the Sassistas!TM-- inspired by PEACEsista who sassgested that we start supporting local food producers -- joined a farm
cooperative. Every Thursday, we pick up a box of fresh vegetables at a local cafe. Over the past several months, we have enjoyed well-known vegetables such as lettuce, tomatoes and corn. But we also have enjoyed lesser-known vegetables such as Swiss chard, kale and parsnips.
Last Thursday, we opened our box of vegetables and discovered the thing you see pictured to the right. What the heck was this thing? An ancient octopus? Sputnik? Medusa? After a comprehensive analysass, we finally determined that it was really this.
Okay, we're kidding. Here's what it really is: kohlrabi, a member of the cabbage family that, according to Plant Answers, is "grown for its swollen, turnip-shaped portion of the stem which rests in the ground. The edible portion can be white, purple or green with a creamy white interior. They are eaten raw in salads or can be cooked like a turnip."
And get this: kolrabi is a good source of vitamin C and potassium and is low in both sodium and calories.
Sounds good, but does it taste good? The Sassistas!TM don't know yet because we're still kind of afraid of it. We're thinking of saving it as the headpiece for a very frightening Halloween costume.
Sistas and mistas of the sassosphere . . . what should we do with our kohlrabi?
Pictured here is an image from a Sassistas!TM Sunday paper coupon insert. We're posting it as a way to approach a topic we're afraid to post about: the rights of senior citizens. Don't get us wrong. Both of us have parents who long ago qualified for senior discounts, and truth be told, Flannista now qualifies for many senior discounts in the state of Florida. But following is a true story.
One decade ago -- that's right, 10 long years ago -- Flannista's community finished building a state-of-the-art Fitness Center. Included in the facilities were wall fans to keep air circulating in cardio-fitness rooms. Before long, senior citizens began to complain that the fans kept the rooms too cold. Flannista and others countered that those who used the bikes and tread mills for actual cardio exercise needed the fans, well, to keep breathing. After many meetings (which Flannista faithfully attended), a compromise was reached. The Fitness Room fans would be positioned in such a way that they didn't blow directly on anyone. The air would simply bounce off the walls and somehow keep air moving in the different cardio rooms. That way, senior citizens who used the machines to sit and casually exercise while reading newspapers and magazines and those of us who used the machines to actually work out would be happy.
Flannista once investigated how many of the cardio bikes, tread mills and elliptical machines were directly impacted by air blowing from the fans. She counted three machines in all . . . out of 32. Still, ONE DECADE LATER, one senior citizen -- whenever she sees Flannista on a cardio machine -- never fails to put on a sweat shirt, then stand directly in front of Flannista and stare at her and then back at a wall fan as Flannista is working out. She could not look more irritated. It is this senior citizen's way of telling Flannista to, well, you know what.
What should Flannista do? Does anyone else in the sassosphere encounter senior citizens who feel entitled to "special" rights? Flannista has tried to ignore this senior citizen for more than a decade. She'll continue to try and ignore her. Meanwhile, at least once a week, this senior citizen continues to stare Flannista straight in her face, feigning freezing and great discomfort. Please advise.
The title of this post is what Flannista would like to embroider on a baseball cap to don whenever she's encountered by The Irritated Senior Citizen.
Penn State beats Ohio State: 13-6! GO LIONS!
"Behind every great man or woman in Washington there is a great painting," begins a front-page Washington Post article published Tuesday. And great cost. "In a throwback to the Jimmy Carter era," says the article, "some fiscal watchdogs and government scholars suggest that high-quality photographs would be a more cost-efficient way to honor departing dignitaries." The article goes on to cite the range of prices for original portraiture: from $7,500 to $50,000. Aghast at this cost was CNN anchor Campbell Brown, who on her "No Bias, No Bull" show Tuesday evening, opined:
Well, not so fast. A photograph is not a portrait. And paying between $7,500 to $50,000 for a portrait is pretty cheap.
Flannista remembers the moment 31 years ago when she walked into one of the galleries at the Louvre in Paris and encountered scores of portraits. From floor to ceiling, she was surrounded by portraits. Who were these people, these great lords and ladies, merchants, soldiers and nouveaux riches who had the courage of their riches to have their portrait painted? Flannista was captivated because these were portraits not photographs. Portraits that were created over a long period of time while someone was looking at you very hard, perhaps even bonding with you. Not photographs which were taken so quickly the event barely registered.
Of course, great photographic portraiture can be found, for example, in the work of Annie Liebowitz (who undoubtedly charges much more than $50,000 for a sitting). Perhaps what is at stake here is something deeper and more profound than painting a portrait, and that is the arts.
When times are tough, the arts are usually the first things excised from municipal, state and federal budgets. We must care for Joe the Plumber, but not Tim the Artist, Kathy the Poet, Cheryl the Playwright or Rosa the Documentary Filmmaker. Art in America has always been regarded as a luxury. It is not a luxury. It is a necessity. So necessary Flannista advocates that departing Cabinet secretaries and other elite political appointees give up other perks (like a car and driver and parking space) to cover the cost of having their portraits painted. If Flannista could afford it, she would commission an artist to paint her portrait. Not to pay for her own parade, but to have lasting evidence that a master with a brush stood before her (for a very long time, forcing her to shut up) and emblazoned her forever in the representative glory of humankind.
It has been said that art is the signature of civilizations. Flannista's framed mug (or Donald Rumsfeld's) may not be much of a signature, but perhaps years from now, someone might view it and say, "Who was that broad?" That someone might pause and ponder, perhaps even be inspired. Says Barbra Streisand, "Art can illuminate, enlighten, inspire. Art finds a way to be constructive. It becomes heat in cold places. It becomes light in dark places."
Heat in cold places. Light in dark places. Art does not transcend its time. It perpetuates it. It keeps its moment alive. It is a worthy investment that compounds a thousandfold forever.
A year ago, the Tampa Bay Rays was one of the worst teams in baseball. Between 1998 (their inaugural season) and 2007, the team lost an astounding 972 games, finishing out of last place in their division only twice: in 2004 when they finished fourth and this year when they finished first. Last night they played their first World Series game (at home),unfortunately losing 3-2 to the Philadelphia Phillies.
The Sassistas!TM don't know much about baseball except that Cal Ripkin is one of our personal heroes and that George Will wrote a terrific book about the sport called Men At Work. But we have several sistas and mistas in Florida who are cheering for the Rays. Plus, friends of ours who are die-hard Red Sox fans said the Rays' story was pretty amazing. So we did some sassearch. How did a team that was so consistently on the bottom suddenly come out on top just one year later . . . and for the first time in baseball history? Some experts say improved defense and pitching, but we believe that's way too simple. We believe the turnaround can be attributed to two subtle, but profound, elements.
First, a name change. In November 2007, majority owner Stuart Sternberg renamed his team, "The Tampa Bay Rays" instead of "the Tampa Bay Devil Rays" -- the first such change in the name of a Major League Baseball team that also wasn't changing cities since the Houston Colt .45s became the Astros in 1961. According to our sassearch, the name "Devil Rays" was associated with losing and there was too much negativity around the word, "devil". Duh.
Second, the cowbell. This is a promotional idea by, yes, majority owner Sternberg, who got the idea from the #1 "Saturday Night Live" sketch. Since then it has become a standard feature of home games.The cowbells are rung most prominently when the opposing batter has two strikes, when the opposing fans try to chant, and when the Rays make a good play. Can't beat that.
A name change and the cowbell. These two elements can make all the difference between winning and losing, though where was this dude (pictured above) last night? Tonight? We gotta have more cowbell!
Dahlinks!
Edna here, your fashion sista from "The Incredibles!" Pay attensass, dahlinks, for Edna must pay deep homage to that holy connoisseur of haute couture (and his annual "Ten Worst-Dressed" Lists) who died on October 19 from complications of an intestinal infection: Mr. Blackwell. You heard Edna right, dahlinks. Genius tells Edna that Mr. Blackwell must have just seen the latest photo of the Sassistas!TM Wait just a moment as Edna must turn away as you click on this hyperlink or she, too, might get sick to her stomach and expire.
Back to the task at hand: paying respects to Mr. Blackwell. What can Edna say except that everything she knows she passed along to Mr. Blackwell as evidenced in his succinctly dazzling assessments of these infamous fashion mishaps:
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| Singer Björk: "She dances in the dark -- and dresses there, too." | Singer Britney Spears and socialite Paris Hilton: "Two peas in an overexposed pod." |
Yes, dahlinks, you don't have to tell Edna that Mr. Blackwell was being kind. But to honor him, please help Edna come up with a similarly concise appraisal of the latest photo of the Sassistas!TM (hyperlink above). All Edna can come up with is:
The Sassistas!TM aren't just dressed -- they're upholstered.
Or:
The Sassistas!TM have a passion for clothes, none of which return them affection.
In honor of Mr. Blackwell, please submit your concise appraisal of the Sassistas!TM
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