REBOOT - "Raised By Wolves" is now Recklass In The Next Chapter

As I wrote in my book, I was/am part of a group of television professionals who hail from San Diego State’s Department of Telecommunications & Film, TCF for short. The Telecom part was, I like to think, a recognition of the efforts of one great man, Dr. Don Wylie, a professor at SDSU, who, as a Naval Reserve Officer, was instrumental in guiding our military satellite technology into the civilian commercial broadcast world. The truth is, by the time I entered the BS program in 1980, the technical aspects and this engineering discipline had given way to the glamorous world of TV and Film production, but the name stuck to remind us of our legacy… maybe. Either that or the University just didn’t get around to updating our name. And, so TCFers we were. Proudly. But Dr. Don, Dr. Wylie, Wylie, or the Old Man (which was how my father, a Navy man himself loving referred to him) was the Spiritual Leader of a “Cadre” (his name for this dynamo production unit) of 9 men and 2 women. We immer...

I’m not sure if I should watch the news anymore. Even my sane spaces are cray. I don’t trust anyone to give it to me straight, except (and here goes, I’m outing myself) Trevor, Rachel, Sam B, or Joy. But even they are at a loss to describe the events of our country right now. Each night, I’ve gone to bed with a stomach ache and a bloody tongue… but not for the reasons you may imagine. Being Raised by Wolves, and especially being a Madden, the bile that rises in my throat when  injustice  rears its ugly head usually poisons my tongue as it sharpens my wit – and then I will cut you. Deep. And that’s not only scary. It really hurts my heart to think I’m capable of even fantasizing someone else’s destruction. The other day, Senator Elizabeth Warren was silenced in the committee hearings for Sen. Jeff Sessions. Silenced. An obscure parliamentary rule was used on one of the prominent women in our Senate as she read from the 1986 testimony of another prominent woman, Cor...

I sat down to write this week's posting, and realized... I had already said  everything (this week) in an interview for another woman's blog. So I decided to throw light (the opposite of shade) on a fellow blogger for the great work she does, which is this: She interviews the Heroines in her Life, and as of this week's count, I am honored to be number 362.And in the three days since my post dropped, she added three more... Yes, it's some amazing company. You'll find the "usual suspects," great women whom you have heard of, who have lead our community (either metaphorically or by real world sweat and tears) but it's also women you need to know. Women who have made a difference doing nothing more than the greatest act of courage - truly, being themselves.  Which, we're learning, is even more mystifying than previously thought.  I received an invitation a week ago from Monika Kowalska - and this started our journey together. Monika paid me ...

Last week, Marcy and I were treated to, and I won't hesitate to say, a  tour de force  (for once it's actually used correctly)   named Alexandra Billings in her performance, "I'm still here." It was... life affirming, life changing and... just plain ole life. But, an extraordinary one... as there’s nothing, not even her propensity for McDonald’s, is  ever  plain. Now fair disclosure, Alexandra and I are getting to be better friends every day (when she picks up the phone), and I've written about her many times. Yes, I do think she walks on water and, no, you will never catch me saying that out loud—especially to her. Nonetheless, her show consisted of more than an hour and half of songs belted to the rafters, enrobed in comedic bon mots that were both planned and spontaneous. Perfect example was when spilling her water glass on the piano became a Groucho Marx routine complete with enlisting help from the hapless, off-stage manager, and an innocent 80 yea...

Okay… really. Where to start? Yes. We marched along with the millions of people around the world – including Antarctica… for women’s rights. Seriously. Antarctica! And, while a millions stories and posts are and will be written about this proud moment in history, and many will be trying to understand it, quantify it, lionize it, and rationalize it, I want to just revel in it. The bask in the brilliant light of community, sisterhood, and graceful power of us. Of we. Of all. And, before we go any further, there are so many people to thank. The organizers of every March. The speakers at every march. Whoever started the pink pussy knitting circles. The unbelievably creative and clever signs. The men who marched alongside. The police who kept us safe. The parents who brought their children. And everyone who participated from home. And everyone who marched for marching with our respect, caring, joy and intelligence. Not one incident of violence or vandalism. And this simple act of...

Each morning my workout is to “power hike” (no other word for this – it’s not quite running, and way faster than hiking) in the hills that are the northern border of the Santa Monica Mountain Conservancy. Locals here call it “dirt Mulholland.” It’s the stretch of the infamous Mulholland Drive between Topanga Canyon Boulevard and Havenhurst – a fire road that’s the mother artery for hundreds of smaller trails that feed off of this idyllic length of paradise between ocean and valley. It’s a favorite for a morning cult of dog walkers (I’m one), mountain bikers (one of those too), trail runners, casual strollers and… well, it’s as a diverse a group of humans as the wildlife that call it home. Why am I telling you this? To put you in the same morning-sunshined, ocean-caressed, crisp-aired, rosy-cheek-kissed bliss that could only be made better by Return to Forever’s, “Romantic Warrior” pouring from my earbuds and marinating my soul… You there?  Ahhh, yes, there you go… now, bre...