Candy Is Dandy...

Businessman Danie de Toit made a speech to an audience in South Africa - the topic of his speech was - watch out because death can strike you down at any time.

At the end of his speech, he put a peppermint in his mouth, and choked to death on it!

Mother's Eulogy.... and the woman who's sense of humor I inherited

My mother would not want us to be sad today but to view her death as a release for her and her suffering and for us to celebrate her life, as she has made important contributions to this world. When my phone rang at 5:15 on the morning of October 19th I knew it was not good news... My sister Kay had gone to see our Mother just 48 hours before the call had come in. My mother had died... I got up and dressed quickly and hopped in the car and headed for the Nursing Home. As I was driving to Southampton the silliest phrase began bouncing around in my head... Mind you I took pause before I actually said it out loud to myself, as my mother had a rather wicked sense of humor that I have inherited from her and dare I say an unusual and politically incorrect way with words. Over the years I have found much of her diction has become my own and it is a gentle reminder of her powerful intellect and appreciation of the written and spoken word. She loved to read and would devour 5 to 10 books a week sometimes. To a degree I have inherited her love of books, but more so her appreciation for music. Some times she would be reading 3 or 4 novels simultaneously! I never understood how she could keep the plots and characters straight, but some how she managed...
Even though my mother had many personal demons, the one thing she managed to keep was her sense of humor. Barbara liked to poke fun about politics and the daily events of life that would transpire around her. She disliked her roommate at the Nursing home and she would roll her eyes to punctuate her displeasure or look at me and shake her frail little fist in the air or even silently flip someone the bird whilst they weren't looking. She wasn't a malicious person, but always had a strong opinion and wouldn't hesitate to let it be known, no matter how pedantic the topic of conversation may have been.

In terms of the larger picture, she knew she was going to die and it saddened her. I had broken the bad news to her when I had seen her in the hospital in Port Jefferson and we both cried. She knew the end was near, but she never really accepted it. Which in a way I think was a blessing in disguise. Rome for her was burning and nothing she could do was going to stop it, her only option was to get out and that is exactly what she did.
In her own words, she was“a little batty,” but she was also rather stoic in her last few days. It was widely known by many that she was more than a little batty for the last 10 or 15 years of her life. At times she was down right difficult. Few knew better than I. I had been with her for the majority of her time on earth and lord only knows the craziness she was capable of. The majority of her lifestyle was definitely not conducive to family life nor would it have passed the sensors on national TV, but I will tell you this...
There was rarely a dull moment when my mother was around...
It wasn't until I had become a man, gotten married and started a family of my own that I saw how destructive the disease of alcoholism was for her and I had to pull back from her so I could build what eluded her for most of her life, a stable family. Don't get me wrong, I am no a paragon of virtue, nor a pillar of moral perfection, but I have learned from my mother's mistakes, as we all should.
In the last few days of her life she was starting to hallucinate a bit and she was reporting to me with great conviction that so-and-so had come to visit or that someone she knew had become a resident of the nursing home. In reality she was seeing people who actually weren't there. One of them being a long time friend, Patsy Topping. A few days after my mother had reported to me with great certainty that Patsy was now a resident at the Southampton Center for Nursing and Rehabilitation I ran into Patsy at the drug store and relayed this tale to her about my mother seeing her at the Nursing Home. Patsy who is definitely not a resident, said “just tell her I am there and that my thoughts are with her.” I have known Patsy since I was about 6 years old and this seemed like a good approach to take. I must say that I value Patsy's wisdom and so as to appease the gods when I saw my mother next and I expected a comment about Patsy I was ready for it, but the moment never came.
Politics and racial prejudice were always an important topic of conversation and my mother felt it was her civic duty to make a difference some how, no matter how small it may seem to be. As I was growing up, I learned a great deal from her and in turn have become keenly interested in these facets of our society. My mother was very happy that we as a nation were on the verge of electing Barack Obama for President.
I was born 40 years ago on election day when our Nation was in great turmoil. As history tends to repeats itself, so we are again, at a very important juncture, facing great turmoil. For me it is a fitting time of change, strife and struggle that we face as a nation, and a very apropos end to my mother's time on this earth.
A story that was recounted to me about the day I was born (by whom I cannot recall) was very indicative of who my mother was as a person. After confirming that I was indeed a healthy baby boy, (two arms, check... two legs, check... ten fingers, ten toes, check...two eyes, check... etc....) the first question out of her mouth was “who won the election?” and much to our Nation's chagrin it was Richard Nixon. How I never ended up as a politician I do not know....
Actually I do know... I am my mother's son.
I have learned over my life time to push the edge of envelope as some would say. My mother on the other hand had a tendency to simply tear the envelope to shreds. Not long ago she was a person who could get certain things done whereas other could not, “by hook or by crook” she would say as she managed to pull off what ever shenanigan she was involved with at the time.
Her views on racial prejudice in our country were much more progressive than most and it was very important to her that everyone was treated equally. She was one of the first people to be a Fresh Air Fund volunteer in 1971 and I have many fond memories of Randy Pierce who came from the Bronx and spent the summers with us until 1975. She felt that no matter what the color of a person's skin, we are all important facets of our society. And as a result of her views I was raised to be color blind when other parents were feeding their children the hatred of racism.

She coached my little league baseball team in 1977 and I was mortified as a boy who's Mother was in charge of his baseball team, as only I knew, she knew little to nothing about the game of baseball. And again by hook or by crook she pulled it off with the grace and ease. I still didn't like it cause she was my Mom. Much to everyone's surprise she continued to coach baseball after I had reached the cut-off age of 12. She loved working with children.
As I walked in to the nursing home I thought to myself thank god she is finally free and she would suffer no more. She did a lot of that in the last 12/15 years of her life and now, finally for her... blessed relief... That evening I sat with a friend who has known me since I was a little boy, and we began the task of writing my mother's obituary and we were at a loss for words. Such promise and grace, such beauty and intellect and wit. Such dignity and yet so much suffering, sadness and chaos. Susan exclaimed “we really need your mother's help with this you know!”
Why she never wrote a book I do not know. We lived next door to John Irving for a number of years and she used to have lunch at Bobby Van's with Truman Capote on Thursday afternoons toward the end of his life, which was very similar to my mother's insomuch as they were both exceedingly intelligent people who drank like it was going out of style. Actually... I do know the reason she never wrote a book and it was the wish that I always had for her, it was always the same wish... If SHE COULD ONLY GET SOBER.... She could have done so many wonderful things in the waning years of her life. This was the dream I had for her and especially for my sister... who never really knew some of the more positive things about our mother as she is ten years younger than I.
Kay is the culmination of her mother's best attributes, she's creative and independent, strikingly beautiful, smart enough to become a successful lawyer, but not to linger in the profession too long. She is athletic, vibrant and loves animals, especially horses and is kind and thoughtful of others. Plus she has a penchant for men named Tom... Kay married a man named Tom which was was her Father's name as well as my mother's first husband. Now we must let our wishes and dreams go and remember the good times that again seem so few and far between... but in reality there were quite a lot of them.
She gave us the opportunity to grow up in what used to be and in some ways still is, one of the most beautiful places in the world and she saw that I was educated in one of the finest schools in the country. Your father took care of your education as our mother's darkness had taken a strong hold by that time in your life. Growing up with her as a mother was definitely not easy as I am sure my sister can attest to but as I look back on our life together it definitely was not boring either...
She could be one of the funniest people you would ever want to meet. She had a wicked way with words. As some would say she had a “caustic wit” which she would have pointed out is an over used and well worn phrase, and that was the god's honest truth... Again, her diction not mine. I remember listening to her and my Aunt Louise argue over the semantics and proper usage of certain words and phrases, such as the difference between idiomatic speech and diction. Idiomatic speech refers to a regional or native speech pattern that is particular to a certain locale and diction is simply one's choice of words. The definitions are similar, but Mom would usually win these types of arguments with Weezer... My grandfather was the only member of the family who could best my mother in these silly little games they would play with each other. He always ended up with the winning hand...
Unfortunately my sister Kay didn't have the opportunity to know my mother as I did before she fell off the deep end. She had a friend who is a writer and he was quoted as saying, “Your mother is so smart that if she could only get sober.... she wouldn't be running from the IRS she could be running the IRS.” There were good times back in the day... and as the years rolled past they only became fewer and farther in between... again one of my mother's phrases.
The phrase that popped into my head on the morning of her death was “Ding Dong The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead...” I know this may seem shallow and crass, but it was definitely something I had heard her say on the occasion of a close friend or family member's death. It was her way of making light of a very emotionally painful situation.
As I walked to the room where she lay not knowing what to expect, I knew but one thing. I am who I am as a result of her. Her values, her choices, her kindness, her fierceness and tenacity, her love, her spirit, her joy and sorrow. I kissed her on the forehead and told her that I loved her as she had done to me so many times as a child and I turned to leave the room. I paused and turned back just to double check as this would have been her idea of an uproariously funny joke on the Son who hears of his mother's death and runs to be at her side only to find her alive and kicking. Oh my would she have laughed. Like watching Monty Python on public television back in the day, laughter so raucous the neighbors who lived half a mile down the road would think she's gone right round the bend.... Well now she has... she's made the final turn... onto the home stretch...
I am reminded of a joke she told many times about the crucifixion of Jesus and his disciple Peter. Jesus was hanging on the cross and for him the end was near. He quietly called out to Peter “come closer Peter.” Peter struggled to get through the crowd that had gathered around Jesus and Jesus called out to him again “come closer” “I'm coming my Lord,” he hollered back as he drew closer, Jesus called out to him yet again, and Peter struggled to get closer through the maddening crowd. As Peter finally reached the base of the Cross he ask Jesus, “what is it My Lord, what can I do for you?” Jesus looked down upon Peter from the great height of his cross and quietly said “Peter..... I can see your house from here!...”
Like all us of Barbara had her faults, some much more glaring than others, but today we honor the memory of who she was as person when the demons had yet to rear their ugly heads, the gifts she gave, not just to her children, but to other children in the community as well and of the good times, the Christmas mornings rife with toys and the fantastic dinners she cooked, and of the time she took to help her friends. She was always very generous with her time especially when someone else was in need or hurting. I think she inherited this trait from her father who was always willing to help a friend tackle a project that was bigger than both of them. My mother wouldn't think twice about dropping what ever she was doing to help a friend. And finally the most important thing she gave to the world and the only real legacy she has left behind, her children.
As my mother was not big on charities and donating money to even the noblest of causes, as some people ask on the occasion of someone's death "can we make a donation to something that she cared about in her name?" My answer to that is no, if you would like to honor Barbara, TAKE ACTION! Do something extraordinary for a child in need and make a concrete and personal difference in that child's life even if that child is not your own. Go out of your way to visit an old friend who is not well and spend time with them as time is our most valuable commodity in life. Make a difference in your community by stepping up and volunteering, coach a baseball team even though you've never played the game. Do this in remembrance of her and think fondly of her in the times before the darkness set in...

Holy Friggin' sheat Batgoyl!!!!

I Can Still Dream...

Watching the debate last night had to be particularly painful for the Obama supporters. Where were the much anticipated guffaws, the slip of the tongue,the painful embarrassments?

Why didn't the moderator ask the "gotcha" questions and at the very least talk down to her? Katy Couric, attempting once again to justify a $20 million dollar contract by the gotcha technique looked petty and small as she attempted not to find out who Sarah Palin is or how given the opportunity might govern but to trap and hopefully make her look stupid.

And America's licensed airwaves which are supposed to be owned by the people remain owned by the entrenched "ruling class" and their minions who have led us to our present calamitous state. When Roosevelt died before most of you were born, a Vice President named Harry S. Truman took over. With a poor high school education not even respected by his own party and kept in the dark about the atomic bomb assumed the presidency. Armed only with honesty, a love of country, not seeking money or status he went on to be one of our great presidents. He didn't go to an ivy league school, He would have failed any "gotcha" interview and certainly would have felt uncomfortable in the company of our over educated leadership class, bankrolled by the scam artists and think tank creeps who have brought our financial system to its knees.

But don't worry Barack will save us all. What a joke. The recipient of affirmative action, both public and private, who has been running for the presidency since leaving Harvard and has no record, I repeat no record of achievement that is noteworthy will lead us to the promised land. The cruelest joke of all. Can't you see there all in it together. the Bushes the Kennedys, Kerry, Gore and Clinton and a cast of hundreds of others --- supported by Wall Street, lobbyists and the richest of the rich tell us once again that you and me must pony up to save the Union and continue to cheapen our currency so that we're the laughing stock of the world.

Someone ought to remind Barack and his educated spouse that America fought a ghastly war to correct the wrongs of slavery and during that conflict the flower of American youth, over 400,000, gave there lives to rid us of the evil and save the Union. Learning of that sacrifice early in life might, just might have made her proud to be an American. Could it be possible that someone like Harry S. Truman, a common American like ourselves can save the nation from an impending disaster, recapture that spirit of service and patriotism that seeks neither wealth nor stature, that serves in truth and lives for the hope that America can be again that shining nation for all its citizens. I can still dream.

This post was received from one of our Conservatively minded readers and we feel that EVERY dog deserves his day....So we posted it!

A Message From The Dark Side...The Conservative Right...AKA The Moral Majority

Anna Throne Holst, the Southampton board member and environmental activist, flush with the success of her pool heater initiative, has struck another mighty blow for the planet.
This time, it is a triple play. Simply stated, Throne Holst has proposed making daily newspapers illegal. “Newspaper production, “ avers ms. Throne Holst pollutes in three ways. First there is the very nasty business of making tons of paper that are used every day. As one can imagine, the deforestation involved is frightening in itself, and then there is the well know problem of paper production which is a major polluter itself.Then there is the matter of the energy required to make millions of papers every day, and the introduction of the inks into the environment. Then at the end of the very day the papers are produced, the gigantic task of disposing of them begins: fuel is wasted, land fills engorged, and pathetic attempts at recycling started. All in all, it is simply a staggering waste of resources in an internet age when the news is already old by the time you buy your daily paper. Ms. Throne-Holst, who has not actually purchased a newspaper for several years, says that the habit is a lot easier to kick than smoking, and a lot better for the health. In fact, she states, she can scan a dozen web sites, like the Daily Kos, and so forth, in much less time than it takes to get to the newsstand, using no fossile fuel, and get a much wider range of view points that she found in the rather establishment New York Times, her former fav! Ms. T-H, would ban newspapers immediately, and weekly and monthly publications would have six months or a year to go electronic. Many of them already are.
Just to show her devotion to the environment, Anna has even proposed an extension for the Times, until Obama is elected, a critical step in saving the planet, or so she says...

Free Sushi to be Offered at Mill Pond Fish Kill

A massive fish kill in Water Mill’s Mill Pond has local residents savoring the prospect of free sushi this year. "The variety of dinner choices is phenomenal -- ranging from carp to bass to bluegills," said local Chef Matsui. "If you don't mind a little blue-green algae stain on your tongue, it's the best deal in the Hamptons."

The Southampton Town Trustees are sponsoring the sushi giveaway and encourage local residents to come on down and get the decaying fish before they're all gone. "Think of it as our way of giving back to the community after years of environmental neglect," said Trustee President Don Nosmear, chomping on a limp eel. “In some undeveloped countries, they throw sticks of dynamite in the water to catch fish. In the Hamptons, pollution from overdevelopment is why we're able to offer our citizens free sushi. Could you pass the soy sauce, please?"

New Phobias for a Dark Time

I suffer from ergophobia (fear of work). Throw in ochlophobia (fear of crowds) and pantophobia (fear of fears), and you can see why the Hamptons is a fertile breeding ground for my endless doubts (and loathing).

Do you suffer from...?

Obamaphobia -- fear of electing a black man President
McCainocityphobia -- fear of a third Bush term
Agateophobia- Fear of insanity (which directly correlates to) Palinephobia- fear of an extreme right-wing kook being only a heartbeat or lack there of from the Presidency
Bidenephobia -- fear of confusing historical facts and verbal gaffes
Bailoutinousphobia -- fear of an open-ended commitment to clueless, overpaid bankers with close to a Trillion dollars of taxpayer's money
Depressionaphobia -- fear of selling pencils on street corners

In a world that suffers sophophobia (fear of learning), we need to overcome our arachibutyrophobia (fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth). BE AFRAID, AMERICA...BE VERY AFRAID!!!

Mayan Calendar Update...

Last November 2007, we entered into the fifth night of the Mayan calendar. That cycle began in 1999 and runs to February 2011 and centers on Ethics...hence all the bullshit in the world gets revealed. Bailouts for the rich fat cats of Wall Street who stole boat loads of cash and now want a $700 billion dollar hand-out from the American taxpayers who are losing their jobs, homes and what little dignity they still possess...Wars fought for oil...Rising income disparity...A train wreck of a health care system...global warming...the lack of decent Chinese food in the Hamptons. Need I say more?

The fifth night of any cycle is where the changes are made that will usher in the impulse of the next cycle...The next cycle begins in February 2011 and ends in October 2011. This is the last cycle of the long count calendar. This cycle is about "conscious co-creation"...you get what you think...so clear your head! Sit back and enjoy what's going on; we are on a schedule that was predicted over 5,000 years ago by the Mayans.

We Can Ride Our Bikes with No Handlebars

One of the most annoying phenomena that has become a bane to our summertime existence is the presence of fanatical, spandex-clad road warriors. (You know what I am talking about.) They travel in rather large packs and ooze self-entitlement and haughty healthiness. Not to mention an explosion of bike signs reminiscent of the first days of the AIDS crisis. Yeah we get it: We have to share the road with them, but we're not happy about it.
Recently a friend who shall remain anonymous recounted a story that speaks volumes of the mindset of our cycle idiots.

The man is a volunteer ambulance member and a life long resident of the East End. He gives back to his community and doesn't just ride through it. The EMT was in transit with a patient in the back of his ambulance and was attempting to navigate the often narrow streets of Sag Harbor, NY when he encountered the "spokes." A large, diverse pack of cyclists had taken up the majority of the roadway as the ambulance approached from behind. The bikers would not yield to the ambulance's siren and continued to block its passage. When the driver of the ambulance had taken all he could, he rolled down his window to impart a few choice words to the cyclists. But before he could utter a sound, one of the female bikers in the group hollered out, "Do you mind... we're on vacation!"

The End May Be Near for Wall Street...

Look for concrete survival tips on the East End from us in the future. We'll teach you how to safeguard your family, live off the land and party like it's 1999...Don't let the next Great Depression make you, well, depressed.

Diary of a Hamptons Hitman

Hi...My name's Robert. I live in the Hamptons. I have a good job, a devoted wife named Mandy, two adorable children Max and Erin (ages 4 and 8, respectively) and a spacious mansion on the beach. Recently, I was driving my precious cargo for an ocean dip in my powder blue Bentley on a beautiful summer day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as I brushed Max's hair with affection and we sang, "Row...row...row your boat...gently down the stream."

I was living the dream and I knew it. I had come a long way from the time I was 15 and living in NYC with my father Michael. In those days, dad drove a Buick Roadmaster with a spacious trunk where he stored his precious cargo. When I asked him what he did for a living, he answered: "I'm a restaurant owner, son. Some day, I want you to take over the family business. C'mon, let's run a little errand."

We drove in silence to an abandoned lot. My father told me to stay in the car while he met a key supplier. Suddenly, a powerful explosion shook the ground and my father's bloody and unrecognizable head landed with a loud thud on the car's front windhshield. Two armed thugs grabbed me from the car kicking and screaming and within seconds, wracked with grief, I was introduced to Vito DeVito, my new 'father.' "I like you, kid," Vito said. "But your scumbag dad double-crossed me and you're gonna work off his debt. Welcome to your new family...one that you can never leave, capisce?"

NEXT: After being honored at a celebrity-studded gala event for charity, I garotte a low-level informer in Westhampton, NY