Category Archives: Sundays with Suzanne

Sunday blog posts by veteran writer Suzanne Eovaldi

Politics matter even on the Senior dating scene

by Suzanne Eovaldi, staff writer

Tentatively I accepted the call to enter the senior dating game, and at age 78, I accepted the invitation of a very nice, clean cut, 80s something gentleman to be his passenger on a trip to a goat farm. 
He, in ranking order, was from the Midwest, as opposed to “the East;” was single by death of his beloved wife of 60 years, rather than being a traveler of a divorced nature; and we both liked the activities of the Slow Food movement here in Florida.
We met at the first stop on the farm-to-fork tour of sustainable organic farms and small, well tended vegetable gardens, one of which also housed the local nudist camp.  Of course, entering for the tours, guests were led specifically along lanes where campers were clothed during the tour.  Our next stop was a goat farm whose goat population rose significantly during a Florida energy blackout. We stood up close by the fence as the all natural goats grazed; colorful chickens ranged freely, and they laid their eggs at will.  “We’re engaged,” loudly said the male member of a couple next to me.  A sweet hen had laid her egg right in between his pointed boots.  He was beyond thrilled by this nature up close and personal event.  We saw the goats being milked, and even got to watch a male turkey display his gorgeous colors.  “He’s presenting,” said the owner of the farm, as she explained he was entering his “time.”  Well, time to move on.  The road out in front was packed with waiting farm viewers.
We drove back to the nudist camp in order for me to pick up my car.  My friends in the camp had given me free amaryllis bulbs for planting in hopes of blooms next Christmas.  All in all, very nice.  My Midwestern friend instructed me in how to exit the place, and as I drove out, I didn’t know whether to keep my eyes on the road, my car, straight ahead or what.  But sidelong glances did expose nudists lounging about the pool, adult campers of all ages, but very comfortable in their chosen lifestyles.  The sun was out.  I started to think this may be a little too big of a stretch for this Midwestern grandmother. “How do you feel about the nudist colony,” my friend asked? “I’m not taking my clothes off,” I said. “What others do, that’s up to them.”
Well, another dating experience involved a St. Patty’s somewhat great day, and then a 3 hour cruise to nowhere out beyond Florida’s waters into the international free zone of gamble at will.  All in all, everything went pretty well.  A new reporter friend with whom I’d been emailing about her Smart Meter stories met up with us, but she was literally incapacitated by the pitching waves and gave in to a full-blown case of seasickness from hell, making her coverage of the new gambling boat somewhat difficult.
So as we returned to the handicapped parking space after the boat docked, my male friend helped me around the back of his SUV, and there it was.  I just couldn’t get past that dating stopper.  No way.  I feel I have to go in front of my conservative Liberty Caucus, stand up in front, and say to all gathered: “Hi, I’m Suzanne, and I got in a car with a blue Co-exist bumper sticker on it!”  I just haven’t worked up the courage yet to admit to my conservative friends that not only did I get into a Co-exist bumper-stickered vehicle, I dated a man from Wisconsin, worst of all, a man from Madison.  He said the lab bomber even, take a breath here readers, BABY-SAT his children eons ago.  Well, that’s it.  No more dating.

Now, I’m content to sit around my pool, gaze out on the blue, chlorine thickened water, watch a  returning Cardinal bird flit back and forth between non nectar bearing red bottle brush trees, and be thankful that my no longer riskier self needs to conquer any more new experiences.  Only problem is, here in Florida, the pollen season is out in full bloom, and I’ve been up two nights in a row with the mother of all allergy attacks.

The New America a grotesque vestige of American the Beautiful

by Suzanne Eovaldi,  staff writer

From Kim Kardashian’s butt to Miley Cyris’ obscene gyrations, clearly our American culture has popped, exploded, gone to hell in a hand basket, and is just plain offensive and out-of-control. Once again, the NATIONAL ENQUIRER tells it the way it is by featuring the re-release of the iconic art book WHITE TRASH UNCUT by outstanding photographer Christopher Makos. (1).  His first edition is available for a whopping $500 a copy, but this second release is selling at $50 each and includes 40 new pix of the decline and fall of Western Civilization in full disgust.
Makos is “the first photographer to record the convergence of the uptown and downtown worlds as Debbie Harry fondly remembers,” says Peter Wise who wrote the book’s foreword. (2) The punk scene that grew out of the miasma of the 1970′s collapse of New York City pushed forward the sea change happening in America that began in college and university classrooms of the 1960s.  The Hell No, We Won’t Go anti-war chants, while noble in the beginning, devolved into a cultural overhaul in America from which we may never recover.
Personally, I notice the decline and fall everywhere I go.  A friend took me to a lovely restaurant on St. Patrick’s Day so we could hear a beautiful singer straight from Ireland sing “Danny Boy” the real way. I began to cry as I remembered my kind father-in-law Grandpa Broderick sitting in his big easy chair and crying every March 17.  Well, in comes this beautiful young woman, seemingly also of Irish descent, in a “skirt” that I just could not help but stare at.  And believe me, the men there were doing the same.  She dishonored the orange of the Irish color banners with this spandex abomination that was so short, so tight, viewers literally could watch her private endowments move up, down, and all around.  This appalling sight was juxtaposed with two sweet Irish children, a brother and sister, as they did the step dances of Ireland.
What has happened to our women in America? Seriously. The flagrant boobs brigade of TV anchor babes reading “news” is offensive. Let’s don’t even talk about their rhymes with “watch” shots every night in our living rooms, photo ops cleverly and deliberately written in to the television shows by directives from management, IMHO.
The “I Heart Boobies” belt one of my students wore into one of my English classrooms took me by surprise, but coed after coed came in, of course, to “study” but really to vamp the males, and I guess even some females.  We often heard English department colleagues belabor the ENNUI citizens felt in France after they came up out of their bomb shelters and subways after World War II ended.  Their ennui brought us to existentialism.  But now, ennui has descended into the yearly No Pants Subway Ride, a ritual in 60 countries.  Not to be outdone by people of another color, bro Christopher Chase, 13 year NY transit employee, dropped trou, rode the rails without his pants on while on his day off, and now is upset that he got written up by his employer.  While his transit union wants his record expunged, what about the other riders who were clothed, but just maybe didn’t want to watch his daddy parts swing and sway with their slurps of coffee? (3) What about their rights?  What happened to having to dress appropriately for work and/or be cognizant of the fact that your appearance is a statement about your employer?  We used to have dress codes. Now anything goes, and here in Florida, look out on Fridays!
From the heroin “coke” doll looks favored by high fashion models to those out of control married women who don’t seem very real, whether in LA, NY, or Atlanta, clearly America needs a serious make-over and re-set. I don’t know what the heck is going on, but I don’t ever again want to listen to the lovely “Danny Boy” defiled by a frustrated spandex figure advertising her wares in pathetic ways.

SOURCES:  (1) National Enquirer, 4-4-2014, by Dick Siegel, online editor
(3) DAILY NEWS, Thursday, April 3, 2013, pg. 30

Former Gov. Blagojevich, sealed tapes and the Windy City that runs the Nation

by Suzanne Eovaldi,  staff writer

“I’ve Got This Thing, and It’s F*king Golden. . .I’m just not giving it up for nothing,” said former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich, speaking of his ability in 2008 to name the new owner of Barack Obama’s vacated US Senate seat.  And now rumors are swirling Blago just might be getting out of jail much earlier than required by the 14 year sentence which he is serving in a mountain Gray Bar Inn, forced retreat in Colorado.

Two Chicago Tribune reporters, John Chase and Jeff Coen, (who did not answer a CiR call to hear their side) are being lambasted for what they knew and when they knew it regarding the much heralded SEALED TAPES.  “So why did Blago and his attorneys let Chase and Coen’s public proclamation that the contents of the sealed tapes confirm his guilt go unchallenged?” (1)
Sealed, unsealed, just spent words in an ongoing stream of politics-as-usual in Chicago.  Whether the tapes hold the key to opening Blago’s prison cell to return to his wife and children is an ancillary codicil to the real reason the man was sent up.  In the People’s Republic of Illinois, everything now serves the One, and Blago had to be removed from waiting microphones to protect the Chicago gangster in the Oval Office.
We hear that Barack Obama is planning his return to the city and the Ayers salon that launched him onto the world’s stage while his beloved wife of over 20 years will remain in D.C.  So what do the tapes have to do with the price of eggs?  Well, they give Blago leverage, leverage which was already pretty well assured because his wife Patricia is the eldest daughter of Richard F. “Dick” Mell.  Mell retired after 38 years, repeat 38 years, serving on the Chicago City Council. Within one month, he began a new career as a lobbyist. (2)

Mell’s own career weaved in and out of his alliance with Fast Eddie Vrodolyak and the Vrodolyak 29.  Oh, those were the years.  Here’s a delicious sidebar; my friend lived across the street from the young male artist who drew the oft derided picture of Mayor Harold Washington in ladies delicate attire. The young man literally had to flee the Chicago suburb, I think by dark of night.  Black politicians were so enraged that a Black female politician, without court order, police protection, or legal authority walked up the steps of the Chicago Art Institute and summarily pulled the large painting OFF OF THE WALL herself. Dorothy “hats” Tillman was not the one who did this, as I got the story.

“How many of us read the stuff we get, OK. . .it’s small print. . .like your insurance policy,” Mell famously said of Mayor Richard M. Daley’s dictum to move forward on the parking meter privatization contracts, an issue which is now in the courts. (3) Mell and his son-in-law locked horns over a landfill flap that Blago shuttered but that somehow was tied to the family patriarch’s wishes. (4)  Now Illinois political blogs are rife with speculation that Illinois’ fourth jailed governor will soon return to the City that runs the country.  Maybe yes, maybe no, but let’s not discount the well liked former governor’s appeal to the common folk, many of  whom just happen to pay for the Democrat disease known as Chicago politics. 

I just can’t get worked up about those tapes, but they are a new chapter in what may be going on. They are grist for somebody’s political mill.  Those two Chicago Tribune reporters could have blown the Blagojevich case right off of Michigan Avenue, but they didn’t.  Compared to most Chicago pols, the former governor was not that bad and he did listen to the people.  My cousin thought he was cute.
Let’s not forget the real tragedy of the once lovely home state of the Fighting Illini. A pension system ranked 50 out of 50 states, economic ratios, Moody bond ratings and job creation factors numbering 47 to 48 according to Chicago Tribune and Wall Street Journal findings are creating a dysphoria that matches the Heroin Hell of Lower Wacker and Rambo’s closing of schools which many black children and their parents really liked.
Sure, the much touted FBI sealed tapes just may get Blago out of jail, but his stay-out-of-the-cemetery card is his silence at the microphones of Democrat political power.  Blago walks when Obama says he walks.

and to . ./nerves-fray-Blagojevich-explains-golden-quo
(2) (3) (4)

Supermarket Tabloids have become America’s true mainstream media

by Suzanne Eovaldi,  staff writer

America’s fall from greatness parallels with near pinpoint precision the body politic’s choices at the ballot boxes of morally challenged candidates.  In heavily copyright-protected revelations this week,
(and rightly so) the two “supermarket” tabloid news outlets are replete with stories of knock down, drag out battles Barack and Michelle are having on a regular basis along with a stellar reason Hillary is not eligible.  But both of these story lines are being suppressed by a media shilling for their choices by the typical method of lying by omission.
“This was a blowout of epic proportions,” says about all I can quote from the April 7 issue of NATIONAL ENQUIRER, in a report calling this latest fight “probably the nastiest White House battle” a Potus and Flotus ever had.  But our lousy main stream media will never tell you what is really going on because this same media is the principle factor in America’s fall from greatness.  Just think about a world leader who is stripping America’s military of its needed power and turning his back on traditional allies; a leader who is giving away our internet control and allows the brutality and horror of Benghazi remain unavenged. This is a leader who sold our voting machines to overseas companies and billionaire interests.  How does this same leader skate on the issue of using the IRS, our country’s most powerful agency, to appropriate each citizen’s personal, private data for use as an enemy’s list weapon?  What about Obamacare and its taxes?
How does Hillary Clinton, his lady in waiting, simply feign a brain fart and refuse to tell us what she really knew?  What about the life blood of America being drained by drug cartels, rampant uncontrolled border infiltration, inner city and small town rot and decay, no jobs, no way?
The obscene Obama vacation spending orgies climaxed this week with the Enquirer’s revelation that the China trip Michelle, Mother, and daughters took, pushed whopping total expenditures “over the $150 million mark.”  Other outlets put the room rent alone for one night for the Michelle bucket list entourage at nearly $8,400 a night.  Plus, what about the mother’s reported bad temper displays with lowly Chinese hotel staff?
  The egregious Arabian nights tent tables groaning with succulent food trays were thrown in the face of starving citizens both in America and in Saudi Arabia but did our media hold either King Obama or King Abudullah accountable?  Pool reporter Carrie Budoff Brown tweeted out about “tall bowls of wrapped chocolates, fresh flowers, satin upholstery, crystal chandeliers, oriental rugs, luxurious couches, and perfectly placed pillows.” (2)
The GLOBE is reporting that former President Bill Clinton was “caught with two hookers and partied with a pervert,” but you won’t get that story from our “journalists.”  “Bill Clinton is reeling from THREE sordid sex scandals in the last two months,” says the reporter.  But will any of the alphabets tell you this?  Don’t count on it because keeping the body politic in the dark reaps huge rewards for an American media that gains more power with each of its failures to vet the Democrats, while nailing any and all Republican political figures that dare to show up.
What is so pitiful here is that this very same media will cruelly attack GOP candidates, but will never fully or thoroughly vet their buddies, the Democrats.  This is lying by omission.  Any wonder that more and more American shoppers are slipping the tabloids into a bag at the check out counters, along with their meat and potato purchases?  Read those free shopper newspapers.  Watch the LOCAL television news outlets, but cancel your subscriptions to the national news disinformation.

SOURCES: (1)  April 7 issues of NATIONAL ENQUIRER and THE GLOBE.       


It’s OK to talk in Soprano, but not in Muslim

by Suzanne Eovaldi,  staff writer

The attorney’s letter describing how his client, his Italian-American client, was treated by a town’s “Professional” still hurts me.  When I tried to sleep after reading it, on that one night, I got up to get an old teddy bear sitting in an antique chair that belonged to my mother.  I brought the chair and the teddy down to what I thought was to be my great, new home in Florida. I crawled back in bed, pulled teddy up close, and turned on my side.  But I no longer could pull my knees up under my chin.
The letter stabbed me horribly.  Memories began to flood my late night brain and I could not sleep. I remember my father and my mother telling me about how my cousin and her sweet parents, my godparents, dealt with having to clean up their small yard the morning after the Klan had burned a cross out in front.  The Klan burned a cross on their grass because we were Italian-Americans.  And the Klan rode to burn us out of America.
I remember being called a “Mackerel Snapper” by other playmates, being made fun of because I didn’t eat meat on Fridays.  I remember hearing Dad tell Mother and me how the other two judges he was running with for election to the Circuit Court Judicial District stood up for him, stood by him, as he had to defend himself in front of the judicial candidates’ selection committee.  Dad was the first Italian-American who had ever dared run for this position in our location. “We’re running with Ben,” his two running mates said.  “Ben is part of our ticket.”  And this ticket was elected, not once but twice.  Dad very rarely showed his feelings.  And my Italian father’s appellate court decisions all were upheld on appeal; only one was held in abeyance and upon review by Illinois’ highest court, it too was upheld.
I remember being called Racist by a friend of a friend when I came to this town; now I cannot forget the images thrown up by this attorney’s letter that describe how someone in this town’s governance treated another Italian-American, a man who took an oath to protect and to serve.  This man was called a “professional liar” because he served many years as an undercover officer in order to free a town and its citizens from the scourge of drugs, dealers, and death which he faced every day on his job.  I urge each and everyone in this town, as homework, to watch the young Johnny Depp in the film “Donnie Brasco.”  Depp’s performance here is one of the finest I have ever viewed because his character comes off of the screen and into the audience’s recognition of what some men go through to protect and to serve.
Even though this Italian-American man received the highest rating possible, he was cast aside, his wife made ill, his honor defiled.  When I took to a local news editor a very offensive cartoon he had run with the hurtful theme that made fun of Italians, of Catholics, I asked him why he printed it.  “Because it’s funny,” he said.  “Yes,” I replied, “unless you are Italian, Catholic.
How come it’s OK to humiliate ridicule, talk in “Soprano” as mentioned in the interview letter, laugh at Italians, at Catholics, but it’s not OK in our obscenely politically correct society to hurl the same cruel epithets at women, African Americans, gays, any other race, gender, or sexual division?  Why won’t this town’s voters hold its politicians, staff, “professionals” to a higher standard?  Why is it funny to laugh at a female politician who happens to be Italian American, but no one would dare hurl such abuse at the Minneapolis Muslim?  Worst of all in this pathetic scenario are the complicit media that look only to boost their rating dollars at the expense of Italian Americans?
Allow me to sleep without Teddy tonight because I no longer need to feel abused because of my birth. At least, help me to cry before I die.  Each and every citizen in this town needs to apologize to this highly qualified police officer, a man who did put his life on the line every day, and yet a man brutalized by a cruel interview process.  Don’t ever ridicule a cop, talk to him “in Soprano,” until you’ve stood up so close to a burning house that you can feel its heat on your face and see the fear in his face. The police are left to clean up the pieces after the fire chief “calls” the house, that is, declares it lost.  Don’t ever dishonor an officer’s shield as I witnessed in another election in this town.  Here was another officer who took a bullet on duty.
That bloody horse’s head is under the sheets of each and every one of you who refuses to take part in your town’s freedom to choose, your voting process.