Personally, I would hate to be the person on the other end of the phone, wondering what all those noises were. *aaack*. Some things are just meant to be private. Besides, that person can now hear ME, which I don't agree with at all because now I have now been made an unwilling participant in the conversation.

Personal feelings aside, here is my simple solution for ending "cell phone restroom conversations", and I encourage everyone out there to follow suit. As soon as you hear one of these idiots chattering away in the stall next to you - flush. Repeatedly. 6 or 7 times in a row really does the trick. The next thing you know you hear the offender speaking louder and louder. "What? Say (flush) that again? (flush) Jerry did what? (flush) Terry, not Jerry? (flush) You know, I'm going (flush) have to call you back...(flush).

It works every time. :)

Stop. Stop it right now. If you churn out one more movie “remake” I am going to go start screaming.

You just don’t get it do you? You complain about how the film industry is just not making money any more, that audiences are not going to the theaters like they used to. Hello…..? Get a clue! It’s because we have already seen the movies you are releasing! They are remakes, and mostly stupid ones. What’s not to understand here? Are you Hollywood executives so drained of talent that the only thing you can do is remake movies from the past? I know you’ve got talent there, so what happened to these people? Are they locked in a closet somewhere? Were they poisoned by the “Movie Remake” crowd that is now wandering your hallways?

Do old movies need to be more modern, sexier, with flashier special effects? The answer is a resounding NO. Leave them be. They were made at the time with the budget they had, the technology that was available, and with the actors of the time. Everyone is OK with this except you, apparently.

Here is a small list of remakes that I will never see, and that irritate the living daylights out of me by their very existence:

Planet of the Apes
The Pink Panther
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Psycho
The Stepford Wives

And, Hollywood – what is with the movie versions of old TV shows? Do we really need “The Brady Bunch”, Scooby Doo” , “Bewtiched” or “The Dukes of Hazard” on the silver screen? Ugh. Nobody sees these films. With the exception of the Star Trek franchise, I believe that the movie going public is trying to tell you that old TV shows are meant to be just that.

So, please Hollywood – no more remakes or film versions of old TV shows. Until I see previews for something new and fresh, I will take my entertainment money and buy books.

I know when Springtime arrives because 1) the creosote and the Palo Verde trees are blooming in full yellow splendor, and 2) the ground squirrel colony on my property comes out of hibernation.

Strange to think that ground squirrels feel the need to hibernate in the mild desert winter, but they do. They tuck themselves into their little comfy burrows sometime in September and I don’t see them until March. Usually the dog notices when they become active because she stands over the colony, starting intently at the holes in the ground. I assume she can hear them down there, going about their little ground squirrel business. She’ll stuff her snout down in the hole and give it a big sniff, only to sneeze and splutter and walk off in defeat. I keep telling her not to poke her face down here because God only knows how many stinging, biting creatures share the burrows with the ground squirrels. (I once saw a big honking, hairy tarantula come crawling out of one of those holes, so I fully expect to see my dog racing around the yard one day with that sucker stuck to her face).

I love the ground squirrels. I once watched one leaping up off the ground in an attempt to grab hold of a low lying branch on a mesquite tree. The branch contained the juicy seed pods that the squirrels love to eat and she was determined she was going to reach it. She did, eventually.

They play, they scurry and they always have a sentinel, one who is standing upright looking for danger while the others go about their business. When a hawk flies overhead the sentry sounds the alarm and the entire crew disappears down the nearest hole in nothing flat. You gotta love the teamwork.

In the early 20th century my great-grandparents came to this country from Europe looking for a better life. They arrived by boat, were processed through Ellis Island and settled in the midwestern US. They assimilated into the culture and became hard working, contributing members of society, paid taxes, raised their families, and lived their version of the American dream. They were proud of where they came from and proud of who they had become.

Why the history lesson? To point out that my great-grandparents did the exact same thing in the 1900s that is going on today, except they did it correctly – legally. I believe that what was good enough for my family is good enough for everyone else’s. After all, rules are rules and form the basis for a society. If we feel the rules are unfair and need to be changed, then by all means let’s get them changed. The power is with the people – write your Congressperson and express your views. Let's all work together to get the laws changed to more accurately reflect what we all want.

I asked myself the following questions as I pondered this issue:

• It appears to me that people who are walking across the border are asking to be given preferential treatment over those who arrive by a plane or a boat. Does the geographical advantage of the walker mean he/she is exempt from the rules?

• Why are some pro-illegal immigration groups referring to those of us against illegal immigration as “racists”? How does my desire that the laws of this country be obeyed and respected mean I am a racist? I find this highly offensive. I don’t care where a person originates from -- the rules apply to all persons equally.

I fully support legal immigration. America, after all, is a country of immigrants.

It will be interesting to see how it all plays out in the coming weeks as politicians tackle this issue. I am hoping for a resolution that will work for both sides.

U2 – Ok, I get that Bono is quite the humanitarian but am I the only person who thinks that U2’s music all sounds the same? You can interchange lyrics from one song to the next and not miss a beat. Ditto with the guitar riffs. Sorry, The Edge, this chick likes a little more variety in her tunes.

The Rolling Stones. Before you all flame me, let me explain. I understand that this band is all about showmanship, headed up by the “Old Man of Rock” Mick Jagger, but it seems that showmanship is all they can stand on. Sure, some of their material is catchy and there’s not a person on planet Earth who doesn’t recognize the opening chords of “Satisfaction”, but how does this explain their endless popularity? Is it the fact that there is a walking, smoking corpse in the band? Or is it their thought-provoking lyrics, a la “You make a dead man (censored)?”

Nirvana. A suicidal rocker wailing away on a guitar. Unintelligible lyrics. What am I missing?

Frank Zappa. Where do I even begin…?

Pearl Jam. No offense, Eddie Vedder, but I don't get the attraction of your band, either.

I’ll think of more and add them later. Meanwhile, share with me what bands you don't "get".

It’s a simple enough compromise. If you’re in a group of Christians, wish them a Merry Christmas. If you are with your Jewish friends or family, wish them a Happy Hanukkah. If you are with your pagan friends, wish them a Merry Yule, or Kwanzaa celebrants a very Happy Kwanzaa. If you are uncertain about the people you are with then wish them a HAPPY HOLIDAYS! What’s the big deal, America?

I thought back to that evening when I was 13, the day that I learned that Fred was so much more than just my best friend’s moody father. That night I was introduced to a world that I didn’t know even existed – the world of domestic violence.

It started out as an ordinary evening, spending the night with my best friend and her sister. We played games, baked brownies and talked about boys. We had the run of the house because her parents had gone to a party. We finally went to sleep late, exhausted after hours of talking and giggling.

Enter the dragon.

Suddenly the house exploded, or so my sleepy 13-year-old mind thought. As I fully awoke I heard yelling and things breaking. I recognized Fred’s voice in the living room, but he was saying things that I couldn’t wrap my mind around – horrible, hateful things about his wife and his children. More items being destroyed. More yelling. A huge “gong like” sound that I later learned was Fred throwing the grandfather clock across the room at his wife. Glass breaking. My friend, her sister and brother all crying and yelling for their dad to PLEASE STOP.

I had to get out of that room. My survival depended on it. As I ran towards the open window, my friend grabbed me and begged me not to go. My concern for my friend overcame my fear and I agreed to stay so long as he didn’t come into the room. I told her if he came anywhere near the bedroom I was leaving, period. She said that he wouldn’t, that he never did.

She was right. Fred never came into the room. He passed out on the floor amidst the broken glass and busted clock. I later learned he had broken every dish in the house.

My friend, her sister and mom later told me all the things that happened during his violent rages, which had been happening for years. I had the dubious honor of being the only person outside the family who witnessed one first hand. As for Fred, right after this episode he found himself divorced (FINALLY) and unable to believe that his family had “abandoned” him. Shortly thereafter he gave up drinking and found religion.

Fast forward to the funeral, many years later. I was there out of respect for my friend, who had made peace with her dad during his illness. It was out of respect for her that I didn’t leap up in the middle of the service and say “Let me tell you about the Fred that I knew, the one who existed before you all met him”.

Was Fred “a good Christian”? Did finding religion make up for the time he held a gun to his wife’s head and threatened to kill her? Did his daily Bible reading atone for the times he would look his daughter dead in the eye and say “I wish you had never been born.”? Did his teaching Sunday school make up for the terror he put an innocent 13-year-old kid through, who this very day freezes in fear at the sound of breaking glass?

Do people really change that much?

Case in point #1. On Monday afternoon the office was disturbed by cries of “Wow! Check THAT out!”, “Do you think we should call the police?!” and “Some people pay money to see that!” As I wondered what on earth was going on, one of my co-workers pops into my cubicle and announces that a couple was outside our office building engaged in a rather dramatic public display of affection, shall we say. Nothing was left to the imagination, and the only thing missing was the cigarette afterward. “Get a room!” we shouted through the glass, but alas, the double paned windows of Corporate Tower were too thick for the love birds to hear us. As we all marched back to our cubicles, we laughed ourselves silly over people who are stupid enough to think that they cannot be seen by residents in a 4 story building 50 feet away.

Case in point #2. Today the same co-worker pops into my cubicle and says, “Neo, we have more action over by the bus stop!” Sure enough, in the same spot occupied by the “Affectionate Couple” now sit two guys who are passing time waiting for the bus…and smoking dope. Plain as day, passing a pipe back and forth, lighting it often and making no effort to be discreet. This emboldens the Residents of Suite 100 who begin yelling “Hey, pass that over here, will ya?” while ineffectively banging on the windows again. We laughingly take note of the fact that these guys are wearing the uniforms of a local eating establishment, which spawns a round of jokes about what to order next time we go there for lunch.

Remember – if you are going to do something bold today, be sure to take your Invisible Pill first. You never know who’s watching…

We desert dwellers have a “love-hate” relationship with these retiree Snowbirds. We love the fact they bring a huge amount of tourist dollars with them and pump it into our local economy. We hate the congestion on the roads and freeways. My plea to all Snowbirds is this – DO NOT, repeat DO NOT drive on any freeway in this city between the hours of 7-8 am Monday through Friday. Why? Because you are driving 30 miles per hour in a 65 miles per hour zone and making me late for work! All Snowbirds are hereby barred from morning rush hour during their stay. There will be no exceptions, and thank you for your cooperation.

I have made an interesting observation with regards to our annual influx of Snowbirds based on their license plates. 99% of them come from two places – Minnesota and Canada. Note to all criminals: If you want to steal anything from Minnesota or Canada, do so between September and April because both places are empty during those months. They’re all here, sitting by the pools sipping extra dry Martinis or golfing.

Sure enough, each July and August we have a somewhat modified version of what most people view as a classical monsoon. Dry, desert air meets with humid, moist air moving down from the northern mountain ranges and everyone knows what that means -- thunderstorms. SEVERE thunderstorms. These storm cells shoot up the humidity in nothing flat (from 8% to 40% in a matter of a few hours) and a torrential downpour hits like you would not believe. This is followed by flash flooding as the arroyos attempt to expel the water from the desert floor.

I love the monsoons. I love the supercharged feel of the air as the lightning flashes, the boom of thunder as it claps above my head, and the sound of the rain as I watch it march across the desert. I love the wind blowing so hard that the rain strikes the ground horizontally. But most of all I love the smell of the desert after the rain -- the smell of mesquite and creosote fills the air with their clean, refreshing aromas.

Monsoons cleanse the desert and give it sustenance during its most hellish season. Mother Nature takes care of itself in ways we cannot truly understand.