Poll

Part Two: Dinner table or rock concert, Obama draws us in

After a few thank you's from the senator...

"We want change," yells a man with wild bushy gray hair.

"I know," answers Obama.

"We need you," the man exclaims. The audience explodes into screams and chants of approval. Mr. Obama smiles.

He begins his speech with Independence Hall. As he speaks, his calm bassy voice seems to pull the 4,000 + crowd in closer to him as though he is speaking to them at a dinner table.

He describes how our ancestors have struggled to bring about amazing changes in our new country when declaring Independence from England. In comparison, today, Mr. Obama explains, we retain that Independence, "not because we are perfect," but, according to the direct text of our forefathers, in order to form a more perfect union.

He says that each generation, "has sacrificed and worked to ensure the cores of our forefathers. To stand up for what's best in us."

Now, as his dinner table voice steps back and his rock star rallying exclamations begins, he raises his voice and says, we need to "declare independence from the broken politics in Washington. And no matter what happens, we will bring an end to George Bush politics in November."

The crowd waves thousands of blue signs in the air, screaming wildly "We want change. We want change. We want change."

At this point in Mr. Obama's speech, he begins a serious discussion of his political ideas versus his opponents. He begins with McCain. Because I have heard this speech clip before, I anticipate the rock and rollers in the crowd begin to boo, which they accomidate me with a loud McCain disapproval.

With his hand in the air, a wait gesture, Mr. Obama says that he respects McCain. The firmness in his voice seats everyone in the audience around the kitchen table again. The audience claps.

He explains that he respects the man because of his service to the United States. But he disagrees with McCain's ideas. Mr. Obama tells the crowd that McCain believes that over the past eight years under the Bush administration America has seen "great progress." Mr. Obama replies to McCain's statements by saying, "Pennsylvania doesn't see it." He continues by describing McCain's tax, economic, and energy policies (footnotes 1).

"McCain admits his economic policy isn't so good...and it shows," Mr. Obama says. The crowd practically leans in to hear every word, and it may be appropriate to place here the pin dropping cliche in reference to the crowd's silence.

"Washington is not listening to you," Mr. Obama says, digging into McCain. Mr. Obama continues, "Not this time...Not in this election." The crowd cheers.

Then, he begins talking about Clinton and his 'Washington isn't listening' segway connects Clinton and McCain to old policies and old Washington thinking. "Senator Clinton is tenacious." He bites back, "she can play the game" (footnotes 2, 3).

Mr. Obama continues by mentioning that Clinton "gets more money from lobbyists and doesn't think it's a problem" (video footnote 4).

He tactfully mentions one important point about the way she's been running her campaign, "I want to change Washington in a fundamental way. She says the politically convenient thing...she's trying to score cheap political points..." (See Footnote 5, 6).

"Don't listen to polls. Listen to our principles. That's the kind of party we need," he says as the rock crowd roars. "We need big change not small change."

Mr. Obama implies that Old Washington politics resembles 1700s English rule, and that America wouldn't have defeated the English only armed with good intentions. He says, "good intentions are not enough without policial will and political power. But that's not enough without hope."

Obama thank you and good nights the crowd, "This is our moment Scranton...Now is our time."

Signs shake and wave, and screams and cheers come from the audience as they await the moment where they get to shake the Senator's hand.

Stevie Wonder's Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours starts playing and Mr. Obama heads off stage to greet his fans.

After another half hour of talking to the audience members, hand shakes, and hugs, Obama heads behind the dark curtain, and the lights turn on in the back room. It is a basketball court, and I watch Mr. Obama as he shoots a few hoops. (video footnote 7)

Some more information to check out (references etc..):

1. Read more about McCain's policies on http://www.johnmccain.com/

2. For your information... http://www.opensecrets.org/pres08/summary.asp?id=N00009638&cycle=2008 shows the amount of contributions to Barack Obama's campaign and where his money came from.

3. Here's where Hillary's money came from... It is said that she has not completely explained where she got it all. But this is what has been recorded so far. http://www.opensecrets.org/pres08/summary.asp?id=N00000019&cycle=2008 ( total PAC contributions to Hillary's campaign $773,980 vs. McCain's $537,715)http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2007/06/23/huffpost-exclusive-more-_n_53456.html

4.

5.

6.

7. Sorry, didn't get a photo or video of him playing basketball, but here's that great song!

Part One: Obama shouts Independence from the Electric City

The crowd was eager with anticipation as they waited for Obama's first major rally in NEPA. The thousands of excited fans circled the stage, chanting, cheering, and waving signs in anticipation of Mr. Barack Obama. As I entered the stadium, Phil Collins played over the loud speaker and the crowd began doing the wave, moving their signs up and down in true rally style. In the far left corner of the crowd, I spotted a patch of green turf and three small kids playing catch.

At the beginning of "Right Now" by Van Halen, Bob Casey took the stage. Casey begins, "I only have one question to ask you. Are you ready to change America?" as I wait for him to throw a rock fist into the air. He doesn't, but continues by explaining that he endorsed Obama because he believes that Obama is the only candidate that can bring people together and bring change.

Casey explained that "his battles are our battles here in PA."

Casey closed by mentioning that change starts with the commonwealth of Pennsylvania on Tuesday, then after the crowd flooded Casey with a strobe of camera flashes and Yes we can cheers, he opened the stage up to Carolina Kennedy.

While Kennedy spoke, her soft voice remained an anchoring force in revving up the crowd for the main event. She stated that Obama had the ability to, "heal divisions" and "lift spirits."

Suddenly the cameras snuck a peek into the back half of the gymnasium which was barricaded by netting, wooden horse barricades, and sideglancing secret servicemen. And a group of cameras was allowed into a private area directly in front of the stage. As Kennedy finished, the music screamed and the crowd went wild.

Figures began to move behind the netting and the black curtain peeled back to reveal, Barack Obama.

He cheerfully bounced up the stairs waving to the screaming fans as he made his way to the podium.


Find out what happened at the Barack Rally in Scranton, PA. More to follow tomorrow...

I just can't place the taste in my mouth

After Hillary just couldn't resist throwing Mr. Obama under the bus yet again, I listened to national news correspondents located in Washington, Los Angeles, New York, et al, discussing how we feel as Pennsylvanians. They ask, Was Mr. Obama right? Are Pennsylvanian's bitter? I decided that this week, my column should focus on our local community. As I searched the regional section of the local bookstore, I scanned the titles and wondered, are we bitter?

Subjects displayed the Knox Mine disaster, the Molly Maguires, the Avondale Tragedy, as well as collections of plays about mining families, photography books capturing the valley's past and present, a few wordy accounts of local mobsters, and many thin paperback historic texts about our cities. Occasionally, a few spatterings of local author's work appeared. But the overwhelming themes appeared simple: honest, heartfelt tales of a hardworking people's history and loss. While at this moment, the Wyoming Valley wasn't suffering the effects of flooding, we were however suffering the affects of loss. Something seemed to be happenning within this region that eroded our spirit down until problems bounced off us like rubber duckies floating along the Susquehanna River.

I sat down on the floor in front of the shelves peeling open almost every text, when I found one book that especially interested me. It was a 27 page mint green chapbook by Lou Orfanella titled Summer Rising, River Flowing about his childhood experience during Hurricane Agnes.

One poem referred directly to the personal affects the flood had on the author. "The Clothes on my Back," read, "...we needed to relocate to the / Shelter at the high school if we had no place else / To go I pulled on my jeans with the little hole in the right knee and a Moody Blues concert shirt // They were not among the clothes I had considered / Yesterday morning but the first I found when getting / Dressed to evacuate I treasure them now / They are all I have."

But what struck me most about his words was his raw emotion and the timelessness of his statements. In "Carrol's Restaurant," Orfanella describes cleaning up Carrol's dining area with a co-worker after the floodwaters receeded. He writes, "The stuff we were cleaning was not much different / From what the regular customers left behind there was / Just more of it for Cassie it would be harder getting to / Work from the trailer park and would take longer / But then the world had expanded exponentially and it / Would take us all a while to catch up." As I read his words, I imagined today's slow renovation of Wilkes-Barre's downtown: the broken windows, crumbling buildings, and boarded up shops aside brand new storefronts and sparkling neon.

So, are Pennsylvanians bitter? As I read Orfanella's words, I considered how each local disaster or uprising (from flood to coal) truely affected Pennsylvania. I thought about the half-dozen shelves filled with words written by my fellow townspeople. I thought about the truth.

The Interrogation

I heard a prominent clack at the door. A woman walked her light blonde hair into my olive and tan flowered room. Her long ponytail tightened her thickly foundationed skin, stretching youth across her high cheekbones. Her tall figure was slender against the large white teeth that sparkled smiles from her blue cotton scrubs. Her perfectly aligned white greeting matched the scrubs’ frozen smiling images and above her pink lips sat a thin blonde mustache peeking through her makeup.

"And how are we today?" she asked, moving with directness toward the white cushioned office chair a few feet to my right. As she pushed the chair next to me, the sound of plastic wheels clunked against tile. One wheel plunked out of sequence, slower than the other three. She strapped a pastel pink mask across the bottom half of her face. Then she turned toward me, reached out each hand, and stretched them into latex gloves. Each nail curved with a well-maintained manicure and digit by digit, they disappeared beneath the gloves’ opaqueness.

"To be honest, I’m not really looking forward to this," I admitted. My back normally postured a lazy curve with slumping shoulders, but in this chair, I sat uncomfortably straight. My shoulders rose to my earlobes, brushing against the tips of my light brown hair.

My clammy hands skidded against the white vinyl armrests and the back of my head dug into the headrest’s deep indentation. Through the doorway, I heard a high-pitched drill. The sound swirled and the tone squealed like a mechanics power wrench removing lug nuts. I could smell burning enamel wafting into my room.

The images on her torso smirked cruelly at me as she sat. She leaned down and her face was inches from mine. "Well, it can’t be that bad, unless you’ve got some gunk hiding in there," she said as she watched my teeth. Her rectangular black eyeglasses framed her darkly lined lids. The bright blue and purple powder shimmered above her long mascara lashes observing my coffee, soda, and tea stains. The outer corners of her eyes had small wrinkles directing my smoking habit and irregular flossing habits into her hazel irises. While her red cheekbones softly protruded from the pink gauze that hid the tip of her nose and her mouth, the impending thoughts of drills and needles overpowered me.

"But don’t worry, if you do, I’ll make sure I get it out of you," her chin peaked from beneath the mask as she laughed. She reached out for a matching pink bib and swooped the metal strap around the back of my neck. The bib crinkled as she attached the strap to one end, then the other.

"Get it out of me…" I laughed. "Is that what you do here, torture…?"

She erupted into a giggle as she pushed a lever and my chair slowly shifted into a lying position. My body skidded down the vinyl and my feet were left hanging off the end of the seat.

"Slide up as far as you can please," she said. "Fit your head into that indention."

As I shimmied up the chair, I noticed the metal table beside her. I noticed a small hand-held mirror on the left, a pointed hook near the center, an octagonal container of floss, and on the far right, a tiny ice pick – each looked more dangerous and painful from the last. Each instrument was laid beside the other with equal amount of space between them to make them easily accessible.

I grasped the armrests and lay belly up, open and vulnerable, as she reached above my head and clicked on the hunching lamp. The light’s intensity temporarily blinded me as she readjusted the lamp and the space around the glow dimmed.

Beneath the mask, her voice prodded, "The doctor tells me you are going to be doing some hiking. It seems like it’ll be hard to have good dental hygiene in the woods, so we’ll make sure that we really get these teeth sparkling." Then, she leaned toward the table. I heard metal tink together.

"So, this trail you plan to hike…" she continued, "Is it, ya know, gonna take long?" Her voice was calm and focused as she began calculating her attack on my teeth with the handled mirror in her hand.

"Open please," she said. Drop after drop of saliva sank from my quickly drying throat, down my esophagus, and into my empty stomach. The scent of her powdery rubber gloves forced its way up my nostrils. I could see a copy of my molars– one had a large silver filling. She moved to each tooth reflecting images of some with deep grooves, a few with plaque build-up, others showing the beginnings of yellow aging – all screaming to my nerve-endings, sending pleading messages for the office visit to end before the pain began.

With a high-pitched click, sounds of wheezing and shrieking violated my thoughts. I looked down toward my chest to shield the spotlight from my eyes, and realized I still hadn’t responded to her question…was the trail long? I couldn’t remember if the trail was long, short, or if it had dirt. What was a trail? My pulse revved. I breathed faster. When she turned back toward me, her rubber hands grasped an electric rotating brush, which resembled a power sander shaking in quick circular motions. Her hands were steady. I sunk deeper into the seat. My palms sweat and slid against the chair’s armrests.

She forced the wiry brush onto my tongue and between my teeth as the minty toothpaste scoured and grinded into each indentation. I heard myself garbling a response from my mouth, "The hike’s pretty long. The Appalachian Trail is two-thousand one-hundred and sixty-eight miles. And I’ll be going north from Georgia to Maine… so it should be about five months, maybe longer." Instead, my mouth rounded out my consonants and made them vowels leaving my voice to sound more like, "See Accalashin Tail is too thousun wah hunra ah sisty-eh-sh mih. Ah’ll ve goee norph sum Georah to May…so ih shu se a-ou fize munse, may-ee lahn-er."

She echoed "five months," correcting my attempts at words. Then, she dug into my lower left molar, nicking my tongue, and I choked on minty freshness. I resisted urges from the back of my throat to swallow the ocean of saliva and mint whirlpooling around my uvula.

The assistant returned with a white suction instrument. "And are you, like, gonna stay in the woods with the bugs and the spiders and the… mosquitoes?" I nodded as she suctioned the back of my throat. It slurped and whooshed the pesky remains from my mouth. She set the suction back into its holster on the metal table, and then she returned and dug into my lower left incisor.
The buzzing moved from tooth to tooth in the rhythm of her voice. "Oh…my…Gawd … Oh my gawd. Ohmygawd. I could never. Yuck. With the bugs and crazy backwoodspeople playing banjos and … oh … Sleeping with the bugs? Eeeww. . ." The buzzing sound still rang in my ears. I wondered if I would ever be able to hear properly again or if I’d hear the buzzing like mosquitoes forever.

With a mouthful of saliva, I gurgled, "Well, it won’t be that bad. It’s like going camping."

"Camping?" She cringed, "the only place I like to camp is in a nice clean hotel room with a Jacuzzi bathtub."

As I wondered what could possibly replace the swirling that was still horrifying in my ears, she ordered me to rinse again.

I sat up from the reclining chair, salty sweat forming on my brow under the fluorescent light. I craned my neck over the white ceramic sink and drooled. I took a sip of cool water and a long line of thick spit stuck to the clear plastic. I peeled it off the cup, wiped my fingertips on the pink bib, and ejected the spit into the round bowl. A second strand of spit stretched between my lower lip and the top of the sink. I watched the water pulling it down the drain. It vibrated back and forth refusing to separate from my mouth. My finger pulled on the string and gobs of bloodied toothpaste began to seep from my quivering lip. I stretched my hand across my mouth and it attached itself to my hand. Wiping my hand across the top of the sink seemed like the best solution and immediately, water, blood, toothpaste, and saliva were sucked down the drain.

"Yuck, bugs…" She grumbled beneath her clean mask. "Lie back, please."

I lay back silently apologizing to the white chair for sweating onto it.

She spun her swivel seat toward the table and snatched a hook-like object. Her eyes gazed at the hook. She held it to my line of vision for a few seconds, turning the metal handle in her hand, toying with me. I imagined a twisted smile beneath her pastel pink mask as her eyes glistened and squinted.

Her rubbery fingertips reached out to my chin, prolonging the intrusion. "Turn your head more towards me," she said. I felt her glove’s powdery film cling to my face as she pushed her fingertips against my jaw, pulling my head toward her.

She reached for the table and as her hands returned with the mirror and hook, my mouth hesitantly opened and my eyes stretched across the white stucco ceiling. I imagined a fluffy bunny and a tree in the stucco’s curving patterns. As she plunged into my mouth, the nerves inside my teeth and gums throbbed. I heard metal dragging over bits of plaque and saw a piece or two launching through the air.

She slipped below my gum line and sharp waves of pain shot across my mouth. I watched as she momentarily wiped plaque and blood on my bib. My taste buds swam in an ocean of copper. Icy water sprayed over my bleeding gums causing a quick ice-cream type headache across my mouth and face. Then, she vacuumed up the liquid. My lips felt dry and cracked.

She continued her questioning while scraping into my upper jaw, "Okay, so what are you going to do for food?" In my ears, her voice was barely audible over the grating. My stunned vocal chords couldn’t echo the word food as the sound screeched like a fork and knife on a plate. Then, the soft clarinet melody moving throughout the office became the sound of my mind switching to auto-pilot.

She asked again and poked the defiant plaque from behind my incisor, accidentally stabbing my gum. It throbbed as she smeared the red gunk across my bibbed chest. My mouth lay open and I drooled onto my right cheek. The drool dripped onto the shoulder of my gray hoodie and I reverted to my childhood as she lifted the paper to wipe my mouth. I was ready to curl into the fetal position and beg her to stop. I felt my heartbeat pumping more blood into my injured gums.
She continued tooth after tooth. I sighed deeply hoping this was the end of the cleaning, until she scooped up paste from the plastic container and continued brushing my sore mouth.

"I mean… you can’t carry around six months worth of food can you?" she chatted. Food. Auto-pilot turned off. I remembered the word, food. Hiking food consisted of Lipton noodle packets and things like macaroni and cheese…lots of chocolate…pepperoni. "And where do you put all of it anyways?" She questioned, pulling the vibration away from my mouth mid-swab yearning to hear an acceptable response to this question.

"Well," I said, thinking of food. I tried to speak with the swashing side-to-side after effect. I answered, "You have a pack you carry, kinda like a turtle carries his home on his back…" She slightly nodded once as I continued, "And every four to seven days you can stop in a town to get more food."

"Ah, so you can kinda stock up then," she said. "Still could never do it. Never-ever. Nope…oh and what about bathing? Are you gonna go for seven days without a bath? Because the dirt builds up and the smell …" She scrubbed my mouth harder, unconvinced that the true beauty of nature was best experienced firsthand. She slowly set the toothbrush down and regained her composure.

She reached for the small container of floss and I realized that the woods would be a painless relief after she pried hiking and camping truths at the expense of my teeth. "Rinse and lean back, please." She hadn’t said anything more as I watched her triple wrap the floss around each of her index fingers. With a flick of her wrists, she yanked the floss taut as a noose around each tooth. My soft pink gums staked like white tents in red soil. I looked at my chest, convinced the tissue bib would become my burial shroud and I’d never get the chance to hike the trail.

She pushed away the blinding light, her fingertips clicked the switch to off. I shivered with the lack of the light’s heat source and my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room.

"You know what," she said, "I don’t want to know about the dirt. I don’t want to know anymore about bugs. Or wild animals…I don’t want to even imagine that," she grumbled.

As she removed the bib by unhooking the chain around my neck, I considered telling her that bears resemble and react like humans. That they are mainly non-confrontational animals with a bad smell. Instead, I laid in silence looking down at my bib, wincing at the thought of unmistakable pungent bear sweat, a scent that floated on the air appearing well before the animal’s dark fur. And as she snapped off her gloves, I remembered that whistling, chanting, clapping, or calmly talking to a bear is enough to let it know you’re in its territory.

"That’s all?" I asked softly.

She gathered all the torture devices: noose, ice pick, and hook into a pile on the metal table. She clung onto them momentarily and then walked toward the doorway, stopping at the doorframe. She remarked, "Yes, that’s all. But I did notice that the silver filling in your lower left molar has a crack in it. Make an appointment before you leave for your big hike because I’ll have to replace it…"

She faced me and removed her pastel mask, her matching lips baring a huge smile. Then, she exited the room and slid my door closed, moving on to her next victim.

How We Work

(One of my articles was recently published in the Philadelphia City Paper under the cover story titled: How We Work: An informal survey of the ways we earn our daily bread. It is both in print and online at http://www.citypaper.net/articles/2008/01/24/how-we-work). Below is the opening from Editor Duane Swierczynski and then my story follows.)

Published: Jan 23, 2008

So what do you do? Yeah? Wow. Never heard of that before. You actually make a living doing that? Get outta here. For real? I mean, I've heard of some weird jobs, but not like that one. I got a pal who models nude. Swear. To. God. And then there's this lady I know who gets paid to play with blood and dung all day. But it's not all about the pay with some people. You've probably seen that street preacher lady, who stops you as you drive by, talkin' gospel and shit? The things people in this town will do. Anyway, I'm really impressed. Sounds like you've got a good gig. Anyway ... who, me? Ah, you don't want to know what I do. Just makin' ends meet. Looking for something better, tell you the truth. Say ... you don't know anybody who needs a molecular biologist, do ya? —Duane Swierczynski

Most Revealing Job

Jon Stothfang, figure model

For the past seven years, art students have been paying thousands of dollars every year to see Jon Stothfang naked. Jon began his work as a figure model back in Cincinnati, Ohio, after responding to the "models coordinator" ad in a local job listing.

Stothfang's artwork is what initially uncovered his interest in posing, and staying disrobed motivated him to keep a steady exercise routine. He says, "What most people don't realize is that anyone can be a figure model. There is no ideal body type for this work. You don't have to lose those last 10 pounds. You don't have to be a supermodel. Some classes, like anatomy, do prefer you to be fit, but most students I've talked to enjoy voluptuous models with mass to spare."

But there are some restrictions. "The more tattoos you have, the more limited work you can do," says Stothfang. "Tattoos take away from the body's contours and hide natural shadows. A friend of mine is a good model, very attractive, but she can only do portrait work because she has full sleeves."

The most important rule of posing is that you have to hold still and keep quiet. "It definitely takes patience, muscle control, and a willingness to chuck the conventions of repressive modesty out the window. If you can get past that, then figure modeling can actually be a really amazing way to fall back in love with your body, regardless of what it looks like."

Its Not Easy Being Part of the Green Machine

I love this time of year. I've got an Irish bloodline on both sides of my family and my birthday happens to be the day after St. Patrick's Day. I am like many Americans, a mutt of nationalities. And I never attempted to connect to the Irish part of my heritage until my first study abroad in August 1999. I was 19 on my return flight from Moscow. The plane ride was 10 hours nonstop, my final paper was due upon landing in Dulles, and I sat with pen in hand scribbling. Somewhere into the first hour of tireless writing, I heard a woman chatting a few rows behind me. Her Irish brogue stood out amidst the deep consonance of the Russian accents around me. When I turned toward her voice and peered down the aisle, I knew she was the woman a few rows back with auburn hair curling past her shoulders. Her creamy skin and high freckled cheeks moved to her commanding tone. I had to talk to her about my Irish heritage ... with my luck, maybe she knew a distant relative.

I mentioned to her that I was Irish too, trying to enter into the conversation. She asked me which county I hailed from, to which I was forced to admit that I wasn't 100 percent Irish. My grandfather's family originally came from Ireland and immigrated to America in the 1800s. Like a pot of gold at the end of my family tree's rainbow, I clarified that the Delaneys were from County Kilkenny. Immediately, my fiery-haired friend explained to me in her brogue that I was not Irish - but American - as if being both American and Irish was actually a rejected hybrid of St. Patty's cliches: leprechauns, rainbows, shamrock milk shakes and alcoholism brought on by consuming gallons of green beer. I assumed that she wanted me to tell the true story about Irish Americans.

The history of St. Patrick's Day and Irish Americans began in Ireland around the year 460. St. Patrick did not banish all the snakes from the Emerald Isle or introduce Christianity to Ireland. Actually, he was a rich British kid whose father was a Christian deacon (apparently for the tax incentives). When Patrick was 16, Irish raiders captured him from his family's estate and enslaved him back in Ireland. Six years later, Patrick finally escaped his slavery (as a lone shepherd) and ran off to the Irish coast. When he returned to England, he had a vision where an angel told him to go back to Ireland to convert the Irish to Christians. He stayed in England and studied for 15 more years to become a priest, then headed to Ireland on his mission. His mission was so successful that the bars in Ireland were actually closed on March 17th until tourism broke the barroom's seal in the 1970s.

To celebrate my heritage, I have three requirements for my St. Patrick's Day experience: (1) a meal of ham, cabbage and potatoes, (2) a pint of Guinness, and most importantly, (3) live traditional Irish music. While most Irish and non-Irish Americans celebrate Irish heritage that day, did you know that the first Irish parade was started in America? In 1762, Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through New York City to connect with one another and Irish Americans.

Then, with the potato famine in 1845, the Irish began flooding America. But America wasn't so happy to accept them, and during a St. Patrick's Day celebration, they were portrayed as "drunken monkeys" by newspapers. But despite the public's distaste for Irish Americans, they realized their strong numbers gave them an amazing amount of political power. In fact, the Irish holiday in America became so important to the political community that it was considered a "must-attend event for a slew of political candidates" if they were to win over the Irish voting community known as "the green machine."

Come out for the St. Patrick's Day Parade and celebrate your Irish heritage. The Annual "Wearin' of the Green" in Wilkes-Barre is on Sunday, March 16 at 2 p.m. down South Main and East Northampton streets. The main event in Scranton is Saturday, March 15, at 11:45am.

If you are interested in showing your unifying political power like the Irish Americans of the 1800s, Obama volunteers will be registering voters at both the Wilkes-Barre and Scranton parades as well as extending to you their smiles and a balloon or two for the kids.

Somebody Pinch Me

For the last few months, Barack Obama has been inspiring me with his speeches. He mentions that hope is attempting something new, while knowing the difficulty in change. But lately, this positive attitude has caused people to accuse him of being idealistic. They say he's been inspiring people with false hopes and useless words.

As a writer, I know that there is no such thing as a useless word. And I know that the hardest part of inspiration is first, believing in yourself, and second, staring into the face of adversity and cynicism, sticking to your beliefs, and trying the impossible.

So, you've written something new that makes you proud of your abilities. What is your next step? You can show it to your friends and family, store it away to collect dust, or you can try something new, attempt the impossible: publish your work so you can share your stories with the masses.

Of course, this is the hardest step for many of us as writers because when you attempt to publish, there are query letters to perfect and word counts to adhere to. There is a stranger who intimidates by judging the quality of your personal accomplishments. With each submission, the inclusion of a self-addressed stamped envelope makes you sweat for weeks or months while you wait for a response from that stranger. The contents of that envelope will either confirm your talents or reject them. But before you get discouraged by a rejection that hasn't even happened, and confuse yourself about how and which publications you should reveal your work to, it helps to ease yourself into the process by doing some research.

What's your taste? Find out which writers you like and where those people publish. Try The Best American series or an anthology like Pushcart Prize XXXII: Best of the Small Presses 2008. These books name the author, the publication, and in the back you can read a bio by each writer. This is important because it allows you to read a wide-range of writers and discover where you fit. Moreover, you'll learn about each publication's specific tastes.

If you want more depth about a publication's content, read it. For example, The Pinch is a creative writing journal published by the University of Memphis twice yearly. The journal's name comes from the Pinch District, a residential area for Irish and Jewish immigrants. A note inside the journal states, "The district [in Memphis] was referred to as Pinchgut, after the malnourished appearance of the Irish railroad workers." Now that area in Memphis is a cultural center, which explains the journal's diverse voices. "New York Style Meets Southern Hospitality," states a flyer. In Volume 28, Issue 1, Spring 2008, there is an interview with Mark Doty as well as a spectrum of styles within fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry, interview and artwork.

Molly Giles' "Celtic Studies" is a funny fictional story about a frustrated 46-year-old woman's search for the one and what happens when her determination leads her to take Celtic Studies in Ireland to meet the perfect man.

Tita Ramirez's life is flooded with memories of her dead best friend. In "On Blind Men, Metaphor, and How She Got to California in the First Place," she speaks honestly and with great detail, allowing the reader to become a part of her remembrances.

After you've decided on a publication that fits your work, its time to submit.

When the time comes to submit your work, opening the 2008 Writer's Market and preparing your work for submission should be a piece of Southern pecan pie. The trick is knowing how to decipher what each entry means. Without knowing exactly what parts of an entry are important, jargon like "first serial rights," "query letter," and the cryptic "mss" can be enough to confuse and dissuade the most passionate writer. But don't worry; like Barack Obama says, hope means saying "Yes, you can."

Next time, we'll decipher the writer's market and publishing. If you are interested in The Pinch, check out http://www.thepinchjournal.com/ and say hello to new editor, Sarah. If you feel inspired by Barack Obama, go to http://www.barackobama.com/. By the way, my political opinions don't necessarily reflect the opinions of the rest of the ec/dc staff or Times-Shamrock Communications (but they'll come around).

Donahue's to Hold Event for Diskin

Jennifer Diskin, local poetess, has been involved in the writing community for more than 15 years. She has attended readings at Cafe Del Sol in Floyd, Va., as well as places in Binghamton, N.Y., Manhattan, Chicago, and throughout the Wyoming Valley. She graduated from Wilkes University with a master of arts in creative writing, and late in 2007, Diskin was published in the Paris Literary Review.

Since her earliest beginnings as a writer, Diskin has created enough poems for numerous chapbooks. Her themes involve strong women and intense, real-life emotions and relationships. Through her poetic words, Diskin amazes with her pronouncements of feminine strength.

In "If We are Married, Then This is the HoneyMoon," she writes:

"And, we took pictures, me / in front of a Norman Rockwell elm, / you dance and twirl in mounds of snow, / I try to figure out a way / I can get you said sled. / Beloved, when I capture your smile, / the pupils do a dance, your eyes skate / in the possibility of tabaggoning like a pro / Oh, the cardinal in the tree agrees / her leaves filled with the brown of hard work, / the red of excitement."

If you know the local writing scene at all, you know that Diskin has always been one to "capture your smile." In fact, after reading the passage above, you might be more likely to think to yourself, "This poem is pretty tame compared to Jen's usual bold statements about sex, love, feminism, and relationships."

Because Diskin has been shocking and connecting audiences with her bawdy poetry for years, here is another selection from her work.

In "Devotion Is Best Left For Church," she writes:

"He's looking at / the next dancer's / tight ass / and whether he / will have to / play top or bottom / or both."

Diskin will be the featured reader at area's most popular reading, The Tazed Monkey reading series, at Donahue's Pub in Wilkes-Barre on Saturday. This reading is your chance to give Diskin the devotion that she has given to our poetry scene during the last 15 years.

Diskin is in the midst of a battle with lymphoma that may require her to receive a bone marrow transplant. In leiu of so many inquisitive responses, the hosts of the reading are accepting donations for Diskin in exchange for raffle tickets. The proceeds from donations will go toward the purchase of bone marrow testing kits for people who are interested in donating marrow to Diskin, but cannot afford the $50 cost.

The tickets will be for a raffle of prizes donated by friends as well as Sensations and Anthology Bookstore. For a $2 donation, you get one raffle ticket. For a $5 donation you recieve three raffle tickets - there is no limit on the number of raffle tickets you can purchase.

Come for the bawdy stuff that real poems are made of.

The Donahue's Poetry reading series is the first Saturday of every month. Because Donahue's is a bar, the series is for 21-and-older. Donahue's is located at 215 S. Main St. in Wilkes-Barre.

You can view the reading's Web site at myspace.com/tazedmonkey.

If you are interested in finding out how you can be type-tested to donate your marrow to Diskin, or millions of others who are on waiting lists, please e-mail Eric Wilson for more information at tazedmonkey@yahoo.com or visit http://www.marrow.org/.

Sadly, It's A Wrap

Sitting at the cafe table, I eat my Tudor wrap, one of my favorite lunches here in the valley, but it just doesn't taste the same today. As I look around the store, among the shelves of a 30-year history, I notice a price tag on an empty curio cabinet. A worker explains, "Everything in the store is for sale. The displays, bookshelves, everything." In March, the gutted storefront will have a sign that reads "For Rent."

When I think about what makes America great, it is that there is something different about other cities, other cultures, other ways that people live that differ from your experiences. That's what family-owned stores do for areas like the Wyoming Valley - they show America's diversity. Unfortunately, it is becoming harder to find locally owned gems in small towns because of the imposition of national corporate giants. That is why this week, it truly saddens me to write this article. I didn't think that the first book interview I'd conduct in 2008 would be about the Tudor Bookstore closing.

Owner Lynn Gonchar explains the closing: "Economically it was just not viable as a business anymore with the competition. We have two very large Barnes and Nobles within five miles as well as others and it's very hard to do business when you have that kind of competition.

"I think we've done things at Tudor that I don't think anybody has done or will do again. Because you're an independent store, you have the freedom to be creative. You can look at your community and decide this is something that might be exciting or interesting. I'm not so sure the chains can do that."

Since 1976, Gonchar and the staff of the Tudor Bookstore have bolstered the local writing community and have invited nationally published authors to our area to diversify the minds of our friends and families. Gonchar mentioned that she had kept a scrapbook of the store during the last 20 years and offered to let me peek inside the store's history.

One of the first things that stood out was that Gonchar and her sister published a local book that honors Wyoming Valley residents by including personal stories, newspaper clippings and photographs about locals involved in World War II. Wyoming Valley's Greatest Generation: Personal Reminiscences of World War II came out at Tudor Bookstore in association with Random House. While it is now on display in the bookstore, Gonchar says that after Tudor closes, she may donate it to the Wyoming Valley Historical Society.

Another event that appears in the scrapbook is from five years ago when a famous nude calendar called Ladies of Rylstone created quite a buzz. "A woman lost her husband and as a fundraiser for Leukemia research, all of these women who were really prim and proper and pillars of this small English community, made a nude calendar," Gonchar said. "They were covered in strategic places and wore only their pearls. A movie was made about it and it also inspired the Broadway show The Full Monty. The signing was such a blast. It was wild."

For more than two hours, I leafed through photos, newspaper articles, events calendars, letters, contests, and even poetry about the store. I couldn't help but think of how amazing Lynn Gonchar and her sister have been for our community, and how much we will lose with the store's closing. But, despite a forced early retirement, Gonchar is staying positive. She says, "I certainly didn't think that I'd be retiring this early. So, the last TLC I will do, it will be something big, maybe with a little champagne. Whatever we do, we will make Tudor a celebration."

Tudor will continue to run its events through March, including: Kate Morgenroth, author of They Did It With Love, on Jan. 29 at 7 p.m.; Anne Easter Smith, author of Daughter of York, on Feb. 21 at 7 p.m.; and two authors from the Jewish Community Center on March 9.

Special orders, imprinted stationary and invitation orders are being taken through this month and will be completed by March. The store is also offering discounts on all books, discounts for folks who have gift cards, and 30 percent off for preferred readers.

Tudor Bookstore is located at 651 Wyoming Ave. in Kingston. The hours are 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Wednesday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Thursdays, and 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. on Fridays. For more information, go to www.tudorbookshop.com, e-mail tudorbk@epix.net, or call 288-9697.

If This House Is Rockin'

How some bands literally become household names

By Erin Delaney

On the list of modern-day punk-rock capitals, you'd have to rate New Brunswick, N.J. among the country's elite. But bands like Pavement, The Bouncing Souls, Midtown, Thursday, and Armor For Sleep didn't get their starts playing open mic nights or bars. Instead, these future pioneers came up through the underground, literally.

Basement shows like the ones at Hamilton Street still thrive today, and their spirit is reflected no better than in the old Souls' tune "Party at 174," referring to the band's old digs. It seems New Brunswick isn't the only area with more D.I.Y. bands than venues for them to play.

When the original location of Wilkes-Barre's Cafe Metropolis closed during the late '90s, the Wyoming Valley's D.I.Y. movement and basement bookings really took shape. It was in a Kingston basement, called the 717, where the bands played in a small room separate from the audience. The crowd only had a good view through the doorway.

Adam Vinson, a local artist/musician, recalls one of his favorite reoccurring basement shows at the 717, "We played a small show there in the dead of winter. We had developed a reputation for chaotic performances. During our first song, we freaked, and in the process, kicked dirt and dust all over the place. By mid-set, with a thick fog of dust in the air, our drummer totally flipped and started to thrash his drums around. Drums were flying all over. The energy was unmatched with a stellar climax where I was screaming in people's faces."

Basement shows provide bands with an intimate connection to an audience that attends for no other reason than to see the band. There is no drink special. No karaoke. No $2 appetizers.

You'll often times hear a band talk about a preference of playing to 10 or 15 people who are into the music, rather than 100 people who ignore the set in favor of the football game. That's the draw of a basement show. You'll see an average of 20 or so people who are wired into the buzz, and they make it worth it.

Mark, who hosts shows in his Wilkes-Barre area basement (and withholds his last name for that reason), recalls the first show he held in his parents' home. "I heard that Magnus was playing at someone's house in Swoyersville. I was blown away and I thought that throwing a show at my own house was a great idea, he said. "So, the first show ever in this house was in 1998. My dad was out of town and I held the show in my garage. Ironically, everyone from Magnus was at the house and they just decided to play. That was the first show here and probably the first show I ever booked."

And as much as basement shows can be an inspirational experience, they can equally be a nightmare depending on how much (or how little) the people putting on the show care about the bands and music. Phillip Price, keyboardist for An Albatross and M80, is no stranger to basement shows. He remembers his first time playing with An Albatross.

"In New Jersey, we showed up to this kid's basement wearing uniforms, which were just black Dickies, and we all had gas masks on," he said. "We didn't talk to anyone. Instead, we just made hand motions to each other. I could tell the people there didn't seem to like the showmanship very much."

"We played our set, which was about 10 minutes long or so. (Singer) Eddie wound up naked on the floor with a concussion and he had to be taken to the hospital."

At the time, An Albatross was playing more than 40 percent of shows in basements across America, using unconventional stage antics to shake up the audience right from their earliest beginnings.

Now, as an international touring band with three CDs, a six-page spread in Decibel, and features in Metal Hammer, Modern Fix magazine and others, Price explained the importance of basements, houses, and other alternative venues.

"I don't know if our fanbase grew as a result of basement shows, but if you are somebody who's going to show up to a house and go into a nasty basement to watch a band with a single light bulb and no sound system, then you're probably the kind of person who is really truly interested in music," he said. "And you're really hungry for being creative.

"You're the kind of person who will stick around and be involved. So those friends are the people that you would really want in your corner as a band. That's why independent music is what it is and why the tradition of D.I.Y. punk and hardcore and whatever-core is so strong ... because of the contribution to everyone to create something larger than the sum of its parts."

Recently, Mark ran his show total to 18. The last big turnout was for prominent local band Tigers Jaw. "It's nice to see more kids trying to do things on their own again," he said. "I guess that had a lot to do with me starting up the basement shows again. I really want to help them out as much as I can. Adam from Tigers Jaw booked the most recent show for my basement. It was all word of mouth and people were talking about it on the Internet. We had a turnout of about 60 kids. It was so packed that I didn't even know what was going on."

A unique venue makes for a more interesting show. In the past two months, Mark has even taken the extra steps to accommodate the bands and fans. "I spent $200 on renovations," he said. "I bought paint, fabric, speaker cables, microphones, and a bunch of other music gear. I had to Shop Vac the floor multiple times, and I probably emptied out about 100 pounds of dirt."

After the surgery, the decorated basement looks like the TV show, Twin Peaks, (a town where everyone knows everyone and nothing is what it seems). "There's a room in 'Twin Peaks' which is actually the gateway to the dark side in the woods. It's this mystical room. It has red fabric walls and a black and white zig-zag floor. This place is a gateway for everyone who walks down those stairs and into the basement."

But one of the most important parts of a basement show is the D.I.Y. crowd involvement. Mark explained, "I thought the most recent show should be free, but Adam suggested I take donations at the door. So we put a can outside, not expecting anything. People just kept putting money in it. At the end of the night there was $100 in the can. And even though I tried to give the bands money at the end of the night, they insisted that I keep it because they liked playing here. I didn't need the money or anything, but it's nice to have that sentiment shown to me." A family of friends is cultivated from inside the close quarters at basement shows that allows natural generosity to happen.

Because of that kinship, Mark has been inspired to continue the shows in his basement. He says, "If it wasn't for the passion of these younger kids, like Tigers Jaw, coming to my house, enjoying the shows, and giving musical inspiration, I probably wouldn't do it. They are really the people I do it for. I definitely wouldn't have gone through the trouble of cleaning the basement if it weren't for these bands. They are the kids who are going to carry it on."

Panked! Ugh.

The dance party that rocks the body

Finally, dance parties have become a staple of nightlife in the Valley, and December is a special month for Brian Langan and Conor McGuigan's Panked! disco fiestas. In addition to the standard party, which will be held this Thursday, Dec. 27, McGuigan and Langan are hosting the All Ages Snowball this Saturday, Dec. 29.

Said Langan, "We're hoping everyone dresses nice. It is a ball ... but you can still get down and dirty." The Snowball is the first all ages Panked! party and will be hosted by Afa Gallery. Music will be provided by The Sw!ms and Orange Opera along with the DJ skills of the Panked! pals. The Snowball will have photo booths and "That's What I Call Panked!" CDs will be door prizes.

These festive parties began nine months ago. "We DJ, but we're not DJs," said McGuigan. "We just have a big record collection and we play lots of fun music. We just want people to dance. That's what I like about our dance parties."

Panked! dance parties have exciting, spur-of-the-moment set lists. If there's someone in the room who's dancing their face off and they look ridiculous, it makes getting up there and strutting your stuff easier. McGuigan and Langan allow you to do that every month.

If you missed November's Panksgiving Dance Party, then you missed McGuigan in a pair of shiny gold pants, a "shut up and dance" T-shirt, and a sweatband around his forehead swirling around the dance floor like a break dancer. The duo dresses more ridiculously with each outing and has the innate ability to get people to loosen up. "We try to look as ridiculous as possible for the most part. Short shorts are always fun. We never dress the same way twice," said McGuigan.

"We also try to get new music for every party, but we have some diehard songs that we just won't stop playing," he added. Said Langan, "Yeah, we definitely have our classics. 'I'm Gonna Do It Right' by Kenny Loggins is our big closer. It's off 'Danger Zone.' It's a good end of the night dance number. Not like 'Lady in Red' end of the night, but like dancing your way out the door dance number."

"And we're not too cool where we play things that no one is ever going to know," said McGuigan.

The last Thursday of every month is the regular Panked! party at The Bog. The first hour is upbeat music, like rock and soul, as a motivator for easing everyone into dancing to driving bass beats (like "Rump Shaker," or "Push It") during the second hour. "We love The Bog," said McGuigan. "We like doing the dance parties there because of the bartenders and the fact that it is a small venue. People aren't awkward about dancing because it fills up pretty fast. And that way you don't have Goofy Gus in the corner tappin' his toe."

The Panked! Snowball is sponsored by Magpie Vintage, Embassy Vinyl, and Northern Light Espresso Bar. The party is 6 p.m. to midnight. Cover is $8. The Artists for Art Gallery is located at 514 Lackawanna Ave., Scranton. The Panked! parties at The Bog ($5) are at 341 Adams Ave., Scranton.

Top Shelf

Cabinet closes out an eventful 2007 with a new CD and a hefty award

By Erin Delaney

The Cabinet mantra is a simple one. As long as you keep dancing, Cabinet will keep playing. Its willingness to musically expand combined with a unique bluegrass style is likely what dc readers enjoyed most when they selected Cabinet as Best local band in this year's Readers' Poll.

Like so many before them, the guys in Cabinet said it wasn't always that simple.

The band's first gig was "a mess," but Pat Marcinko at River Street Jazz Cafe saw the potential in J.P. Biondo's mandolin, Dylan Skursky's bass, and Mickey Coviello's guitar. The right combination evolved when Biondo's cousin, Pappy, moved from Cleveland in search for some musical inspiration. He dusted off J.P.'s banjo and joined the trio. Soon after, Todd Kopec added in his fiddle, and Jami Novak completed the band with drums and percussion.

Strangely enough, they laughably admitted that the exceptional sound they now have was a development over their two years together, and was not their original concept.

"Originally, I had a different idea of the music's direction," Biondo said with a laugh. "But I think we all ended up with the right instruments in our band."

Traditionally, bluegrass bands use acoustic stringed instruments. Cabinet's originality stems from the combination of traditional bluegrass elements like vocal harmonies and melodic instrument-to-instrument improvs with new rock 'n' roll jams and resounding drums.

"We were influenced by Old and In the Way, Ryan Adams, Nickel Creek, and Tony Rice," Biondo said.

The Readers' Poll award was great timing for Cabinet, which has a few gigs to close out the month, not to mention a new CD due at year's end. The guys have been working on the album since November and they are planning to release it in early January. Cabinet has been working on the recording with Eric Ritter at Windmill Agency Studio in Mt. Cobb, and the CD will include many tunes that are favorites at live shows as well as new material.

Next year, the band is planning to learn some more traditional material for some new songs in '08. Mickey added, "We're still in the process of fully exploring our instruments."

Catch two Cabinet events this month. This Saturday, Dec. 15, Cabinet plays River Street Jazz Cafe with Gordon Stone and Mike Mizwinski. On Dec. 30, Cabinet is loading up buses to Penn's Peak to play a show with Railroad Earth.

To find out more about Cabinet, upcoming shows, or the new CD, visit the band's Web sites at www.cabinetmusic.com or www.myspace.com/cabinetwax.

The kick in the ass that you needed in 2008

A few years ago, I was bartending at Cafe Rouge, now called Fuse. One evening, when the bar was a bit slow, an older man dressed in a sharp black suit sat down, ordered a dirty martini and asked me what I did for a living. I told him that I was a writer trying to get paid for my art and that I was bartending to make money. He wrinkled his forehead, lifted his eyebrows and said, "So, you're a bartender."

I slapped his drink down on the bar in front of him and insisted, "No, I am actually a writer." He laughed and took a sip of his martini before saying, "I dreamed of doing that writing thing once too, but I grew out of it." For some reason, right before the ball dropped on New Year's Eve, in my champagne and red wine-induced drunken haze, I thought about that man again.

I thought about everyone I'd ever met who told me that they were writing a novel or had a great idea for a story that they never started. I thought about my friends who write constantly but never try to publish. I believe that this new year is about making revolutions, not dreamy resolutions that you won't keep. So, consider this the reality-kick-in-the-ass that you need to start off this year right.

First off, if you call yourself a writer and don't write every day, then you are not a writer (yeah, I did just say that). Realize that occasionally you may need to distance yourself from your work so that you can get a more objective view of it, but you should be writing something for at least 30 minutes a day.

Also, if you've been writing for a while, then you know that the first 10 or 15 minutes of a writing session is usually garbage mingled with a few good sentences. But, by showing up to the blank notebook every day and keeping that routine, you will get into writing more of the "good stuff " sooner. It doesn't matter when, where or what gets you to write: Write in praise of a new morning, sneak up on your words during your lunch break, let it be the last moments of your day before you fall asleep, or write in defiance of your boss who is too busy to notice that you aren't doing the company's work. Whatever it takes, get the words out of you and onto that page.

Secondly, you need to stay in the "conversation." I heard somewhere that you should surround yourself with what you wish to become. We artists already have it tough enough since the traditional world doesn't take us seriously, so why not team up? You'll be surprised how much new material you create when you step outside of the isolation you've created for yourself in your home. Every weekend there are writing events around the area. Make a point to go to them. Drop by an indie music venue. Go to a local art opening. I truly believe what makes this valley great is that it is jam-packed with amazing talent. These artists will truly make a statement about our generation.

Third, the world doesn't revolve around you, so don't wait around to get discovered. If you are reheating your New Year's Eve pork and sauerkraut dinner in the microwave while you read this article, enjoy your instant gratification. But the world of writing is not a dry microwavable leftover dinner. It's more like a mouth-watering homemade heavy stew after six hours in a slow cooker. You should be prepared to work hard from washing and chopping the vegetables to the last fulfilling spoonful. You have to be prepared to write, edit and revise. You have to research publishing places (in fact, grab a Writers Market 2008 or go to http://www.pw.org/), ask your published friends tons of questions, perfect your cover letters and always mail out your best work. Get excited about good responses. Be driven when you receive bad responses. Keep writing no matter what. Happy 2008.

Now wake up and get busy!

Reinventing Weight Loss

Dr. Paul Mandich’s desire to help his clients with painless and more effective weight loss solutions lead him to two years of extensive research in Auricular Therapy. As a result, Dr. Mandich discovered that while Auricular Therapy utilizes over 200 electrical points on the external ears and re-balances those corresponding places in the body, it could also lead the body toward healthy weight loss by eliminating cravings, speeding the metabolism, and balancing the appetite and hunger. Sandy Harvey took part in Dr. Mandich’s test study before joining Dr. Paul Mandich’s team as a Board Certified Auricular Therapist and the Manager of the Progressive Weight Loss Center. Both Dr. Mandich and Mrs. Harvey have now taken Auricular Therapy to the next level by offering a ten-week weight loss clinic based on helping patients balance their bodies and healthfully lose weight.

“The hardest thing for most people is to walk out of their car and into our building,” says Sandy Harvey. “We focus on changing people’s lives. We want to increase the longevity and quality of a person’s life. By making the patient aware of food choices, and understanding how weight gain occurs, as well as understanding emotional attachments to food or cravings for meals, patients can successfully overcome their weight frustrations.” The clinics patients range from those who have as little as 20 lbs. to lose to those who have been through gastric bypass surgery but haven’t addressed their cravings, as well as, off and on dieters who have slowing metabolisms due to the aging process. Some patients have gained weight as a result of hypothyroidism, diabetes, and cancer treatment medications. Dr. Mandich says, “Most people are more apt to notice the physical effects of weight gain, as opposed to the internal harm that weight gain can cause such as diabetes.”

Another part of the Progressive Weight Loss Center’s successful practice is through blood work. By personalizing the program with blood testing, the center helps their patients heal internally as well as externally. Dr. Mandich describes the importance of blood work in regards to weight loss, “With obesity and diabetes on the rise, blood testing is the only way that you can measure if a patient is properly decreasing their triglyceride levels and cardiac risk factors, while losing inches and percentage body fat.”


As an extension of Auricular Therapy sessions, the duo adds important techniques, such as vitamin supplementation, physical education, stress reduction, and most importantly, diet re-education, which many weight loss programs lack. Harvey says, “As a society, we’re taught to be obsessed with the scale and our weight. Instead, we try to get our patients to focus on how their clothes are fitting them and how they’re feeling, We get them to focus on the fact that they are not craving food; to disconnect them emotionally from eating and to think about food as fuel for their bodies. So when you educate someone on how and why they are gaining weight, then they are more apt to stay on a healthy path.” After remaining on the clinic’s natural diet with a balance of proteins, vegetables, fruits, and healthy carbohydrates, patients learn how the body responds to certain foods. Harvey states, “It does not mean that you can’t have a piece of pie or have the foods that you love for the rest of your life. When I was in the program, I finally realized what certain foods were doing to my body, and I began to understand how they made me feel. For example, I love apple pie. I still have it occasionally, but now I am aware that the sugars will make me feel bloated, and lethargic.”

Dr. Mandich’s procedures have had tremendous positive effects on their patients. Sandy says, “We have patients who have eaten chocolate everyday for their entire life and are able to stop eating it in 1 to 3 treatments by doing away with the cravings. It’s those moments where I really feel like I am making a difference. I feel as though I’ve taken part in improving my own life as well as the lives of others.”

Dr. Mandich is a Chiropractor, Acupuncturist, and Board Certified Auricular Therapist and Sandy Harvey is a Board Certified Auricular Therapist and the Manager of the Progressive Weight Loss Center. They offer a free initial consultation at the Progressive Weight Loss Center for patients seeking the weight loss and healthful benefits of Auricular Therapy. You can contact The Progressive Weight Loss Center at 219-922-7573 or stop in the office at 2617 – 45th Street, Suite A Highland, IN 46322.

Reconstructing Humanity

When most of us hear the phrase Plastic Surgery, we imagine glamorous Hollywood stars with new pouty lips, dappled cheekbones, and perky breasts. But plastic surgery isn’t all aesthetics. Every year, thousands of selfless doctors, like Dr. Marshall T. Partington, and other experienced medical staff, provide another service in plastic surgery: reconstruction.

Reconstructive surgery is performed on abnormal structures of the body, caused by birth defects, trauma, injury, tumors, or disease. The procedures are performed to improve bodily functions, but may also be done to create a natural appearance.

Dr. Partington is the former director of Microsurgery at the University of Pennsylvania where he learned the intricacies and dexterity of his craft. His work lead him to establish his own plastic surgery practice in Redmond, Washington.

Twice a year, Dr. Partington offers full reconstructive surgery to children worldwide with a group of multi-international doctors and nurses through Interplast, a non-profit medical organization. “We take care of exposed bones, toe transplantation, scalp reconstruction, cosmetic burns, and cleft palates. I know the experience has made me a happier and fulfilled person. It reinforces my original calling to be a physician. It challenges you to see if that flame is still burning.”

His first overseas undertaking was in Shanghai, China in 1991, and during his sixteen years of service with Interplast, he has done work throughout Mongolia, Brazil, Ecuador, and the Philippines. Partington recalls the first time he met the locals. “Traveling to a new place through doing service is the best way to travel because you are immediately integrated into a community. You are introduced to families. People are entrusting their children, their dearest belongings, to you.”

Partington’s recalls working in Ecuador with a two-year-old burn victim, named Paulina. “She was begging in the market with her family and had a big bubble of scar tissue. The damage fused her arm to her body. Anxious to help her, we asked the family for permission to do the surgery. But she was the breadwinner because of her pitiful appearance and the family was torn about losing the income. We personally had pooled resources to support the family and were allowed operate on the little girl. Now, I have this wonderful picture of her. Her arms are pointed straight up in the air. It is this kind of gratitude, without even understanding their language, that makes performing plastic surgery rewarding.”

But Dr. Partington and Interplast’s teamwork doesn’t end when the patients have recovered. The skilled group cultivates an international relationship through education and follow-up visits. “Our primary purpose is to empower the site. A lot of our effort is to demonstrate how to do procedures. Our goal is to have local doctors perform their own surgeries, which we very carefully follow.”

In Nepal, Dr. Partington engaged in one of Interplast’s most successful educational ventures. “We set up a cleft palate program and there was a general surgeon, Dr. Rey, who showed such an interest that he trained in plastic surgery. He now has organized initiatives with at least five different fellows. Dr. Rey has also become one of our volunteers. It is a nice picture of that giving and receiving cycle.”

In the United States, Dr. Partington continues to create awareness throughout his daily life. He comments, “I use plastic surgery as a conversation to help people understand the greater context of this practice.” He also informs and educates every client that comes to his office for cosmetic surgery by donating ten dollars in their name to www.nothingbutnets.net. Established by the Gates Foundation, the program supplies African villagers with mosquito netting to prevent malaria. He recalls, “my father always taught me that success was finding satisfaction in who we are rather than in what we have.”

Dr. Partington is brushing up on his French, getting his shots, and is reorganizing his schedule for his next volunteer trip to Mali, Africa. His wife, Jeanette, is a nurse and is a member of Interplast, and the Partington’s 15 year-old twins, Trevor and Olivia are finishing their summer working with Littlebit, a therapeutic riding center for kids and adults with physical disabilities.

Not so Secret

My friends insisted that I read the national bestseller, The Secret by Rhonda Byrne. They passed it around, and when it came to me, I was the hesitant skeptic. People were wishing things into existence with the power of positive thought and the laws of attraction? Really? Did Rhonda Byrne really think I was going to fall for this silly self-help junk? But of course, I had to see what the hype was all about and I started to read.

The forward began with the author admitting her life was in shambles, but “out of [her] greatest despair was to come the greatest gift.” Her daughter, Hayley, had given her a hundred-year-old book that introduced her to the “Great Secret—The Secret of life.” I laughed out loud thinking that some completely unnamed hundred-year-old book was going to reveal to Byrne—and me the secret of life. It was like she was trying to convince the world that she found the Lost City of Atlantis or Jimmy Hoffa.

The chapters were set up like a Google Sponsored Link for a book titled Lose Weight in Thirty Seconds or Less with quotes from random sources followed by the author’s exposition. I expected to get to the end of The Secret and see a link stating: Click Here to Buy this Amazing Book as a Twelve Disk Set! But my friends insisted that it was a worthwhile read and I pushed through the book. By the third chapter, I was completely drawn in.

First, Byrne quoted a man named Michael Bernard Beckwith, an international spiritual center founder. “You can begin right now to feel healthy […] prosperous. And what will happen is the universe will correspond to the nature of that inner feeling and manifest, because that’s the way you feel.” Beckwith might sound new agey, but then Byrne quoted Matthew 21:22 in the bible, “Whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.” But her book wasn’t based on biblical or religious texts. It’s based on the laws of quantum physics and by attracting good things to yourself through positive thoughts and actions. She mixed in a quote from Winston Churchill to bring her point home, “You create your own universe as you go along.”

So now I was completely awe-struck and some of my friends who haven’t read the book thought I was completely bonkers over this hokey self-help book, but yesterday, when my roommate told me that she was getting a laptop that night and she did, I almost fell off my chair. I don’t mean that she went to Bestbuy or Circuit City and bought a laptop either. She had mentioned the laptop to a friend in a passing conversation and he ended up selling his to her for next to nothing. She got the laptop and saved a few grand.

In fact, I tried a small test of my own. I decided on my way home to Wyoming from Wilkes-Barre, I’d have all green lights down Wyoming Ave, a pretty difficult feat considering it was mid-day during rush hour. I sat in my car and stated out loud, “the road is clear. I’ve got all green lights.” Believe it or not—I had green lights all the way home even with slow moving traffic.

So even to me, it seemed so easy to insult the credibility of The Secret. But ultimately, it didn’t matter that the hundred-year-old book found by the Byrne’s daughter is unnamed. It didn’t matter that most of the ordinary people being quoted in this book may or may not be credible sources. The positive message that this book conveys is powerful on its own and if you can push past your initial skeptical thoughts, The Secret can reveal at least: how to think in a new way and feel good about your life— at most: maybe you can conjure up that winning lottery ticket. Just don’t forget to give me half of your after-tax winnings for mentioning this book to you.

Wilkes-Barre’s Desert Rose

“People always ask me where I get my ideas. I think of inspiration as dominoes. You just need that one idea to knock over that first domino and then it all spirals into a novel,” says Wilkes-Barre native and sophomore at Elizabethtown College, Kat Momenzadeh. She published Desert Rose, her first novel, with Edwardsville Indie Press, McCarren Publishing just before her senior year of high school. Now, just after turning 19, Momenzadeh has published the second novel in her Desert Rose trilogy, Midnight Rose.

In Midnight Rose, the main character, Princess Neterra, leaves her home, and must masquerade as a servant to protect the heir to her kingdom. As a deadly plot is uncovered and old enemies are revealed, Neterra’s journey becomes more than just an effort to protect the heir, she must also protect herself. In the first book of her trilogy, Desert Rose, the feisty Princess Neterra finds herself sold into slavery, where she discovers a world of vampires and other beings, and how they play a part in her own bloodline.

While the overall setting in her trilogy is based on Medieval times, what makes Momenzadeh’s trilogy special is how her own life experience has inspired her novels.

The summer before her senior year of high school, Momenzadeh got involved in a program called People to People, a student ambassador group. The group invited Momenzadeh to tour England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales for three weeks. She discusses how the trip created a more realistic and personal approach to her second book.

“Neterra goes from being the princess of her own land to pretending to be a servant in a new kingdom that she’s never been to before. So when I first wrote Midnight Rose, I kind of took for granted that Neterra would be able to adapt easily to the whole change of setting and social class. After I went to England, I realized that it was difficult for me to adjust, and it would also be hard for Neterra—who’s completely changing where and how she’s been raised and growing up.”

Another element to Momenzadeh’s writing involves one of her hobbies, dancing. She began dancing as a child and continues in Elizabethtown’s dance company, called Emotions. “I like to create the mannerisms of a dancer in my characters—very strong and confident in themselves, and in what they’re doing. The characters don’t stay as dancers once I rewrite, but I keep those dancer-like characteristics and qualities. In fact, the setting for Desert Rose,” Momenzadeh explains, “was inspired after watching a middle eastern infused modern dance to Sting’s song, ‘Desert Rose.’ ”

Aside from dancing, Momenzadeh’s age has also been a major factor in her writing. Being a teenager when she published her first book, and tailoring her books to a teenage audience has changed her life. While most teens were riding bikes, playing video games, or practicing musical instruments or sports, Momenzadeh was home studiously scribbling notes for her books. She says, “I’m not crazy, I swear. I just love writing.”

Luckily, for Momenzadeh and her readers she kept working hard. She was very modest when reflecting on the difficulty involved in being a young and published author entering a university setting. “I tried to keep my publishing experience a secret because I wasn’t sure how people would react. I didn’t want my professors or peers to treat me differently because I was published. But my attempts at hiding it didn’t stay a secret for long. I was relieved when the teachers still graded me fairly and the school ended up writing a few articles on me for the paper. All of the sudden, I heard comments like: Kat, you’re that girl whose book is in the campus bookstore. It was all very flattering.”

Now Momenzadeh’s books are for sale nationwide and can be found on MySpace and Internet bookstores as well. Desert Rose and her new book, Midnight Rose, are also available direct from the publisher at http://www.mccarrenpublishing.com/. For those of you who are interested in meeting an up and coming, well-spoken local author, Momenzadeh will be reading and signing copies of her work at Barnes & Nobles on South Main Street in Wilkes-Barre at 1:00 pm—Saturday September, 15th.