Saturday, September 29, 2012

UFO or Meteor? Object(s) fall from sky

I honestly have the oddest luck. Some would call me insane, others just a magnet to paranormal activity. This time, I have photo proof and an eye witness.

I am behind in approving and listening to all the 'soon to be released' audio books I have coming out, so Veronica and I took a ride to listen to the tracks. On the way home we saw the oddest light in the sky. Ironically  we were listening to CRY (alien book) The light was stationary, triangular, with several lights. After coming from the farm hills, we saw what appeared to be a stream of smoke, streak across and down from the sky.

Honestly, we thought it was a plane crash because of the tail of smoke. It came down and straight to the ground. Well, we followed it. After chasing the streak that remained in the sky we gave up figuring it was farther away that we thought.

No sooner did we get back home and another one came. It began its decent and we were on it. I flew to the third floor, opened the window, leaned far out and snapped a picture and then another as he sailed downward.

I have attached the pictures.

See what you think. The smoke, don't know if you can tell, spiraled like a ribbon downward. The second picture, I caught an object.

Friday, September 21, 2012

ZombieCon Day One: Infection

Really, I should have known. Just because I can work an iPhone does not mean I am technologically savvy . It was me versus the GPS from moment one

I don’t get the GPS, it says ‘turn’ I turn, apparently I’m turning too late or too early. Despite the fact that we got lost in Altoona, we arrived, I should have seen that as a ‘learn the GPS’ sign.

Then we arrive. My spend thrift habits of not wanting to put out 120 a night brought us to the spookiest hotel. OMG, it was nothing like the pictures or the reviews. It was cheap. Ok, it’s two nights. We pull into the lot and we’re the ONLY car.

I go in, tell the lady we have a reservation. And she says, “Are you sure?”
“Um, am I sure I have a reservation?”
“No,” she said. “Are you sure you want to stay here."
“You’re joking right?”
She didn’t respond only handed me the card key and said, “It’s a handicap room.”
“I don’t need a handicap room, you can save it for someone who does.”
“Think of it as a quick escape. It’s by the door.”

I was torn between wondering if she were serious or joking. The room isn’t bad and yes, we checked thoroughly for bedbugs,

So we hurriedly get ready and find the restaurant, despite the fact that the GPS told us we still had a mile to go.

Wonderful dinner and company. Sat with Scott Baker an author from Permuted and Gary and Russ Striener the brothers who were responsible for Night of the Living Dead. Russ played the brother, “Johnny” in the classic film. You know, “They’re coming to get you Barbara.”

I had to explain that to the actor who plays TDog on Walking Dead. He said, “Whose getting
Barbara? Whose Johnny?”
“Um Night of the Living Dead, the reason you have a job right now.”

 Finally he got it. Of course when meeting him, he introduced himself by his ‘actor name’

 “I’m Iron-E,” he said.
“Iron …E?” I questioned.
“Yeah, Iron-E.”
“Wow, cool. I’m Cliché.”

He didn’t get it.

Scott engaged in more sophisticated and engaging conversation, I’m sure. My conversation with Iron ... E, was more how Jack Daniels would help him digest that Italian food he ate and, yes, how my book The Flu would make him blubber like a baby.

I did say (And he laughed) That I bet it was hard to remember all his lines for episode. Those who watch  the show know he gets three lines, a serious look and nod every episode.

The highlight of my night was talking to the Striener Brothers, they are enchanting and awesome and in my mind Icons to the Zombie industry.

 Although the Rapper, Zombie, comes close. He walked in with the white contact lenses and, no kidding, he brought his own paparazzi.  They took pictures, probably because his pants dropped below his underwear. I didn’t get it. I also didn’t get to talk to him. His security team wouldn’t let anyone but IronE talk to him and I guess he was too famous for us all. Even though I never heard of him.

And let’s  not forget poor Scott, who put his faith in me and my GPS by following me to the Bar. Yes … we got lost.

Really, Amazon? Really?

AGAIN, for the third time, Amazon is making me prove that I own rights to my own book, DUST. Because you know, apparently, Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti owns the rights to the book.

Um … hello?

This is the third time this has happened with DUST.

While updating the cover for DUST (Which has been on sale on Kindle for a year), Amazon blocked the updates ... again, as they did before on DUST. Only before they weren’t blocked only warning letters.

When they first did this, I thought, “okay, this has to do with the fact that iUniverse does the print edition’. I promptly forwarded them the email from iUniverse, stating that they didn’t have exclusive e-book rights.

Amazon, “Cool, no biggie”. Maybe they didn’t use that phrasing.

BTW, the iUniverse thing got out of control. They decided to put up their own Kindle edition of my books. Hence starting a war. One that lasted months. I won.

Back to Amazon. Problem solved, book updated. Months go by, Amazon removed the iUniverse Kindle copy. I update the book file again and bam …. Another warning from Amazon that I didn’t have the rights to the book, Dust. WHAT?

Again, being nice, I wrote back explaining I was the author, I had rights and this was the second time it happened. No reply from Amazon, the book updated.

This time, the letter was nasty. It stated I ignored repeated warning, they stated, that I do not have the right to publish DUST, the rights belong to Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti and I need to show proof that she is allowing me to put the book on Kindle. Until I prove she gave me rights, the book is BLOCKED.

Are you freaking kidding me?

What Einstein at Amazon looked at the DUST author name of Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti and the Kindle Direct Account name of Jacqueline Druga and said, “Hey, whoa, these are two different people.”

Has no one heard of divorce?

My response to Amazon this time wasn’t pleasant. I told them to fix it ASAP and stop this nonsense. They nee to take one moment and review the history, see how many times this has happened and  to look at the name  on the Kindle Account and the Author name. I know it’s tricky, I know there’s that hyphenated thingy, but come on …

Maybe I should produce a letter. I’ll write a letter to myself telling myself that I assign myself the rights to publish my own book. Maybe that’s what I need to do?

Or better yet … How’s this:

To whom it may concern:
Please allow this letter to serve as proof, that I, Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti,Author of the book DUST. Who by the way, is no longer is Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti, but now is just Jacqueline Druga because of a divorce in 2004, hereby assigned all publishing rights to the novel Dust, to Jacqueline Druga.
Jacqueline Druga.

Maybe they’ll get it now.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

EVP - I accidenitly Captured this. What do you hear?

If you are one of those people who want to discredit, disbelief, or Blow the Smoke of Doubting Thomas up everyone's ass, you can ... ignore this blog.

This blog post is aimed for those who like freaky stuff. I don't want ridiculed, I want some help. Like what is this thing saying?

Huh? You ask. Okay.

I set up my large walk in closet on the third floor attic to be my sound room for recording audio for audio books. About the only problem I had in the beginning was the occasional loud motorcycle, truck or plane. Other than that, it's pretty quiet. And hot, the room is hot because it's on the top floor and there is no air conditioning and I certainly can't run the AC while I record.

Then last week, I got this weird sound. A heartbeat was loud and clear, slow and steady.. Noah said it was my own, even though I'm not using a headset microphone and my heartbeat generally tends to be fast from all the espresso. I took his word and was assured by his expertise and forgot about it.

Then this happened ....

I opened the closet to grab the audio box. I run it from my lap top. I keep all electronics away from the closet, and heck the laptop is even far way.

It was a warm day and I was oddly surprised how cold the closet was. Thinking, sweet, I won't sweat bullets, I cued up my kindle, let the closet, walked to my laptop, hit record, walked back to my closet shut the door, sat down and recorded. As usual.

When I came out, I stopped the recording. Because it takes a few seconds for me to get into the closet form my laptop it's not usual for their to be a visually long strand of nothing before the waves of speaking. But as I looked at the audio, the whole file looked off.

There were no flat lines of silence, it was thick.

What the heck. That never happened. I listened. Over my voice was an entire clicking track. At first I thought ... shit, then I noticed the click was a pattern. It was, no kidding, Morse Code.

Visually it was easy to see the dot dashes and dots. I took a section, put the dots and dashes as I saw them in a Morse Code trans coder and it kicked back 'This is a ...'

I didn't go any further. I will. other than SOS, I have no idea about Morse Code or that I was putting in actual letters. Apparently, I was.

But that wasn't the weird part. When I amplified, starting at the beginning, Clearly there was a voice that spoke BEFORE I even entered the room.

Spooked a bit, I amplified it again. It was there. Buried beneath the clicks so I removed the Morse Code and amplified again. It is a ghostly male voice and below is a link to the clip. I can make out what I think is 'Lucy' but I can't make out anything else. Can you? I may be wrong. What do you hear?


Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Good Lord, I'm a sex Goddess for Geriatric men.

I’m getting old. I can tell. I skipped over the men in their fifties hitting on me and went straight for the centurions. I’m still shaken.
There is a elderly man named Ron who comes to my show on Tuesdays. Not always, but lately it’s been regularly. Ron is 93 years old. Consumes 5 whiskey sours and drives home. Something scary about that … anyhow.
He’s kind of frightening because he looks exactly like the preacher from Poltergeist 2. No kidding, down to the hat and clothes. So keep that picture in mind as I tell this story.
Each week Ron comes in and gives me a hug. Today he asks, can I hug him a little longer because he’s had a bad day. Ah, I think, poor soul. Absolutely.. I embrace him.
He said, “You smell good.”
“It’s my laundry detergent,” I told him. “I make it myself. Everyone comments on it.”
“You know … I come here to see you.”
“Thanks, Ron, that’s sweet.”
“You’re a good looking gal,” He nudged me with his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Really, I was trying to do my job. I stared at the computer.
“I get around you know.” He winked.
“Of course you do.” I mean, really that was obvious, he drove to my show.
“Could use some company, can I call you some time and we can go around?”
So, I’m sipping my drink, thinking he needs me to help him grocery shop. He’s 93 years old. Probably doesn’t have any family. So, being the nice person I am. I told him. “Sure, I would love to go around with you and help you out.”
“Nice, very nice. That makes me day and give me something to look forward to.”
So, I’m thinking. I’m shining in the eyes of the powers that be. Brightening the day of a man nearing a centurion age.
Until of course he taps a my butt with his boney fragile hand. “Wanna let you know, I’m told I’m quite good.”
Clear throat. Reach for drink. “Um, uh, wow. Good to know.”
“When can I get that number of yours?” he asked.
“Um, I don’t have it. It’s a cell phone and I don’t know the number.” Yeah, that was it. He’d buy that story. Heck, I’d buy that story. I rattled. “Next week. Ask my son for it.” I brought my drink to my lips.
“And just so you know,” he said. “In case you’re wondering. It still works.”
I didn’t want to say anything. I wasn’t wondering … okay, maybe I was. Until he said.
“Yep, I work it out twice a day.”
SPLAT. Everything in my mouth voluntarily sprayed outward.
He chuckled, nudged me again and walked off. I stood dumbfounded. This was a true story. And I swear to God I’ll kick my son’s ass if he give him my number. I can see Drew doing that to be funny.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Where were you?

The anniversary comes around. Some people pause to remember, some don’t think about it. But like Pearl Harbor, the events of September 11, 2001, shook this nation and in a rare occasion, brought us together. For a short span of time, we all hung flags, we played patriotic music and we weren’t Democrats, Republicans or Independents. We were Americans.

Thousands of people lost their lives to the senseless violence and millions of people still miss those they lost. Their hearts broken from the sudden unexpected loss. A loss that could never be replaced. Unresolved because it didn’t make sense. They miss them today as much as they did yesterday.

The tragedy had the Senate, standing side by side singing God Bless America on the steps of the capital. Does anyone remember that?

We were saddened and outraged, we cried over the loss and held our breath over the heroic struggles. A plethora of emotions ran so rampant in this country that four days post after 9/11 started a stress ‘cold’ epidemic that swept through the nation inflicting more people than the Spanish Flu. Even our president coughed, sneezed and lost his voice. This was all the first week.

We were for a moment in time, one nation Under God, indivisible. But that didn’t last long …

We hugged our families, stayed home, and prayed. We felt enraged over what had happened and we vowed to not bow our heads.

I remember that day, those who were alive do and always will.

I had just gotten home from taking the twins to school when the phone rang. I was on the phone with my then husband as the second plane hit. I was on the phone with my friend, Don when the towers fell and the Pentagon was struck.

I’ll always remember exactly what I was doing and what I was told. “A plane just hit the twin tower, hurry, turn on the news.”

I’ll pause today to think of that day, to pray for the families that lost and for this country, that one day; we may be united again, only perhaps without the tragedy being the cause.

Where were you and what were you doing when you heard?

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Let them be little ... just a bit more

My grandson is cuddled in my bed, sleeping finally after being fussy. But I don’t dread a restless night. Not with him, not with any of my grandchildren. It’s odd, because as you become a grandparent, suddenly you get a different view of things. You don’t mind getting woke up after only a few hours sleep, that trip to McDonald’s isn’t a problem, and you will gladly walk the floor with them, even if it means they throw up on you. Who cares? It’s different.

Which is probably why I have the outlook that has spawned this blog.

Before I continue …. let’s establish, this isn’t aimed toward full time, working moms and dads who need daycare of have no choice. This is my opinion for those who have options and make the choice.

Preschool at 3. I have a problem with it.

My daughter Ali, brought up that she was going to send Violet to preschool at 3. Why?

She retorted, “Mom, that’s what they do now. So the kids can adjust and be smart.”
Really, because I’m pretty sure, her pediatrician is smart and I’m willing to bet he didn’t start school at 3. Hell, Einstein didn’t even go to Kindergarten.
“Mom, if I don’t send her at 3, she’ll be behind.”
“No, she won’t.”
My grandson won’t go until he’s four. What will he not know?  That the other kids do. He knows colors, he knows numbers and alphabet on sight. He can work a kindle, ipad, iphone, xbox, and Atari, probably better than his peers.
I make him work the bluray for me.
Yep, I’m teaching him words to read … on his own time. Not mine.
School at 3. It is far too young, in my opinion for a child, who will go to school for at least 16 more years. When does it stop?  When I was young there really wasn’t preschool and kindergarten was an option. Yeah, it was. When my oldest son was 4, preschool was an option and really not a lot of kids went. All day kindergarten was a rarity.
Why? Society deemed them too young to be away from home.
What changed? Are 3 year old suddenly more mature. No.  We just want them to be. Well, guess what, they aren’t. They are babies. Toddlers.

They will have plenty of structured education. Allow them to be children. To sleep when they want, play when they want and enjoy not being in school. Learn when they feel like learning.
3 is too young. My, God, let them be babies.

I look at my grandson.

He’s 3. And you know what? He’s really still a baby, a toddler. He hasn’t even surpassed being called a toddler, yet there are his peers, donning backpacks and going to school.

Think about that for a second, Sending a toddler to school.
I realize that every parent wants their child to be educated, but those teachers who teach them … didn’t go to school at 3. The doctors who care for them, were still drinking sippy cups.

Granted my grandson goes to therapy for speech, so he has structure and he complains. He actually doesn’t want to go at times.

In my opinion, if your child is able to be home and be a child, then let him. Teach him at home. We as a society are forcing children to be older and more mature. This makes me wonder, how much creativity will be lost? How much imagination will they not acquire because they are being structured too early? Told what to draw, what to read, how to behave.

At 3 a child should be free to draw where his imagination takes him, play with the toys he chooses and pretend all he wants. Not be conformed. If we to teach them ABC’s and they walk away. Ok, that’s cool. They’re 3!

Then there’s the health issue. How many more germs are they exposed to? Ask any mom who has to put her child in daycare, how often her child gets sick.

And the biggie …

They send out lice letters in preschool, yeah, lice letters, I said it. Itching yet? 3 year olds don’t comprehend not to touch heads or hair. Who the hell wants to deal with a 3 year old with lice?

Just thought I’d rant a bit about the subject. I realize many will disagree with me. But those who do? Did you go to school at 3?

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Tribute to the Long Lost Locks

This blog is dedicated to my children who felt the need to inform me of the situation. They did so gingerly, too. Even posting on my wall.

Once every couple years, something knocks me through a loop and saddens me. The death of Ronald Reagan made me mourn for weeks, Charlton Heston’s death, even 5 years later is still real to me, one of my husbands left me – as painful as that was, it passed. But … this … this … I’m still not sure I’ll recover.

Professional Wrestler Triple H, my future 4th ex husband, cut off his long hair. WHAT? He didn’t just cut it, he took a pair of clippers and shaved it.

I am shocked and devastated by this. You need to understand as a demented writer, this man, in his image graced my writing room wall. I envisioned him as Mick Owens in The Flu as I painstakingly wrote each passage.

I personally perfected his ring entrance, including the ‘flip my hair and spit out water thing’. Although the people in my house weren’t amused by that.

“Mom, come on, you’re old. You don’t flip your hair and spit.”

Hating to admit it, the age thing was probably the reason I got dizzy and lost my balance when I flipped my hair..

Those who know me, know I am obsessed with this wrestler and have been for a decade. I mourned when he ripped his quad and was out for nine months.

This is going to take some time. Let me take a moment to reflect.


I keep telling myself maybe he did it for Locks of Love, or to help his friend Shawn Michaels embrace the baldness. Shawn sadly is going bald and now has resorted to that swopping thing with his hair.

Ironically it came on the heels of my getting old blog. Perhaps he read it and was inspired to cut his hair in the wake of his approaching 50th birthday. I just hope that Miley Cyrus didn’t inspire him. Maybe she did. Who knows.

But they’re gone. And this blog is my memorial to this long hair.

Yes, I know the hair isn’t everything. But when the image of the man and what he looks like is a focal point and inspiration to writing, it’s… it’s character killing.

I feel as if I lost a character. Mick. Mick. Mick. Sigh.

Anyhow, here’s is my tribute to his hair. 

Sung to the tune of Elton John’s ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’

When are you gonna grow back
When are you going to flow
Should have stayed the course with your current look now
Should have left those damn clippers alone

Now you look like a big thug
I hope that you wife is enthralled
Many fans, including yours truly
Is nothing but really appalled.

So Goodbye Yellow long locks
Hair that you used to flip
You can’t throw it back from your face now
It will lose the impact when you spit
Back to the old drawing board
Looking like an every day guy
So I finally discovered my secret love
Of you it was your yellow long lo-ah-ocks!

Ok, I’ll stop. Demented enough?

Monday, September 3, 2012

40 is NOT the new 30. It's still 40.

Lately there has been a rash of articles how 40 is the new 30. Which I guess means 45 is the new 35. I’m really not able to figure this one out, because no matter how you look at it you are still 40.

At forty I didn’t go to the DMV and the lady there tell me that I was in luck, my license would now reflect that I was thirty. Some weird new thing where the clock sets back. Daylight savings time for age.

The basis for the articles state that we exercise more and look younger than our previous generations. I don’t think I look any younger than my mother did at my age. I look better than my grandmother, but that’s because all she had was Ponds Cold cream and lard to slap on her face.

How can they say most people in their forties look in their thirties? Wouldn’t that just be the new look of forty? If I have more energy in my forties that’s because I’m not working along with raising school age kids who have activities after activates.

I don’t know about you, but seemingly with the strike of my fortieth birthday and the fast passing sequential years, suddenly..
  • My knees hurt
  • My back ached when I slept wrong (And even when I didn’t)
  • The skin on my legs is a bit thinner
  • Actors in their twenties were no longer hot, they were cute kids.
  • I lost the ability to see small print.
  • Red was remarkably a better shade of lipstick for me.

I don’t recall experiencing any of those in my 30’s.

They say diet and exercise will help you feel young.  “Feel” being the operative word. Honestly, take a look at skinny woman that is 50. She looks … 50. Add some weight to her, you take at least ten years off of her face. Bottom line, to feel young, diet and exercise, to look young, eat a Twinkie. I’ll take the Twinkie please, I’m too old to be obsessed with my body. It eventually will all hang anyhow, no matter what I do. For my body, I’ll stick with the chair exercises I used to teach my seniors at the retirement home and focus more on exercising my mind, thank you. I’ll need that more at sixty-five than tight skin under my biceps that doesn’t flap.

If 50 is the new 40 and 40 is the new 30, does that make 30 the new 20? When do we age? If we’re really the new 40 when we’re 50, then we’re actually 30 because 40 is the new 30, which makes us really 20?

UG! Too confusing.

I don’t know about you, but I am embracing the aging process.

In your forties and beyond, you are an adult. There’s a level of respect that comes from people. I can look at a magazine in the store without someone telling me to buy it or put it down. I can take the fast moving ‘I’m way over 21 and don’t need to be carded’ line into the casino.

I look forward to the days when Polyester is my fabric of choice and you know what, I can see how that happens. I hate tight clothes and already hate restrictive clothing.

I can’t wait until I can wear bright colors, mix matched patterns, clothing from decades earlier and get away with that. Wait, I already do. Ha.

My plan, you know is to achieve the age where I embarrass my grown children by being that crazy old lady who always has a drink in her hand, toilet paper attached to the back of my pants and screams out, “Frank!” for no reason.

I’m absolutely fine if the ’40 is the new 30’ rule doesn’t apply to me.  Growing old is a part of life. We don’t have to like it, we do however have no choice but to accept it.