This Florida company, Ultrababies, will bring an ultrasound system to your house so you can throw a party featuring images of your precious unborn bundle.
Wow--baby worship now has to start before birth? Let me give moms-to-be a little tip: You probably shouldn’t invite friends who are childless by choice to this soiree. Their eyes will roll so far back in their heads, they may freeze that way and you’ll be responsible for blinding them. (Friends who have trouble conceiving might have different problems with the festivities.)
This same company also offers belly casting, because, “Although pregnancy seems never-ending while it is occurring, years later the memory will fade.” A belly cast—belly only or torso, hands and belly, will become "a priceless, personal piece of art that fits beautifully into any part of your home.”
So tell me, friends who have had babies—do you wish you had a belly cast hanging in your living room “as a lasting reminder of the precious time of your pregnancy”?
And if you have more than one child, would you have more than one belly cast, so nobody would feel left out? Or would this be just one more honor the first child would receive while subsequent kids are popped out with decreasing fanfare?
I’m kinda glad I’m past the age of having to attend baby showers. I've ooed and ahed over enough adorable itty-bitty garments.
Of course, I find grandparenting takes nearly as much of my friends’ time and attention as parenting did so that rebirth of old friendships I expected isn't exactly happening. As with parents, I have to work around the kids.
That’s why we selfish, cold-hearted childfree couples tend to hang together.
While we’re on the subject, here’s an essay I published a couple of years ago:
Don't forget the grown-ups
Look at all those shiny happy children’s faces beaming from my refrigerator door! I get photos in the mail all the time from friends and family -- school photos, holiday cards, graduation photos. The children all are beautiful and I love seeing how my friends’ offspring are growing up.
But few of the people I care about most turn up in my mailbox because only rarely do the photos include mom and dad.
What about the grown-ups?
In every case, the grown-ups in the families represented by these photographs are the point of connection for me. But where are they?
Why is it that once children enter the picture, grown-ups seem to fade out?
I like kids. Though I have none of my own, I enjoy visiting with other people’s children, especially when they are old enough to converse.
But I’m mostly a grown-ups’ grown-up. Given the choice between spending time with friends with or without their small children, I often choose adult-time.
When I’m invited to a baby shower, I usually bring a gift for the mom-to-be, whose body has been taken over and who will spend at least the next 18 years catering to the little need machine. As friends cross this important threshold, I want to honor the women they are as well as the moms they are about to become. Many of my friends seem to give up a lot when they become parents – things like careers, exercising, time for dreams beyond those they have for their children. I try to remind them of all they are along with being parents.
Sometimes it seems our culture treats us like new cars -- the moment you’re driven off the lot, you lose half your value. At holidays, charities are flooded with teddy bears and Barbie dolls but many fewer items for teens. Textbooks about developmental psychology peter out after young adulthood. Current research shows that despite the advice of financial experts, parents are putting money away for their children’s college education instead of their own retirement, even though scholarship money is far more readily available than retirement funds.
Children clearly are valued more highly than grown ups. But aren’t grown-ups just children a bunch of years down the road? Can’t we be as tender with adults as we are with children?
Growing up doesn’t automatically put an end to the need for affirmation and affection. It doesn’t automatically make you secure or confident. It doesn’t mean you don’t need a “there, there” now and then, or an “atta girl,” or a band-aid for a psychic wound. But grown-ups don’t get that stuff often, especially not mommies -- bottomless giving pits who learn to expect no thanks from their miniature masters. I try to be the atta-girl girl for my friends, parents and not.
Being friends with parents can be tough for those of us on the other side of the decision divide. I know my needs will always come second to my friends’ children’s, as it should be. I respect that and don’t count on my parent friends for much time, since they usually have birthday parties, soccer games, piano recitals and car pools running them in circles.
I have been unable to maintain friendships with a couple of people after they became parents. One woman informed me that “life is nothing without a child” – a red flag that our priorities were irredeemably at odds . But other friendships have withstood the addition of children because we both make a concerted effort to appreciate each other as valuable individuals separate from our choices in the children department.
I sincerely care about my friends’ kids. Children are swell. But their parents are even more important to me. I like grown-ups.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
noel coward said it first
Now that the price of flying is skyrocketing, will the world start getting larger again?
Will travel become less egalitarian than it has become in recent decades, as fewer people can afford to do it?
And would that be, necessarily, a bad thing?
Obviously, I’m a big advocate for travel and all its mind-broadening qualities. Nothing more effectively shows us our place in the world, nothing more effectively creates hands across the water than sending entire bodies across the water.
Theoretically.
But since travel got inexpensive and more and more people started seeing the world, it seems that rather than crossing the road to see what’s there, we have started expecting other places to provide amusements. With tourism one of the most powerful industries in the world, “destinations” (as we call them in the biz—a horrible word) are knocking themselves out to provide sights and experiences they think tourists want or need.
You know—lots of shopping. Luxury hotels. Spas. Theme parks.
The kind of stuff you can easily do close to home.
According to research by Amadeus, a travel technology firm, globalization is among the most important trends driving the hotel industry. Although smart companies respect cultural differences, consistency across brands will be key to customer loyalty.
In other words, we want to travel to see the world, but we don’t want things to be too different from what we know.
And according to the Travel Industry of America, the number one pastime for domestic travelers in America is…shopping.
In other words, never too many t-shirts, cheap sunglasses and tsotske.
I’m not entirely above it all. In India recently, I didn’t object to the familiar and solid comfort of a Marriott in Hyderabad. The bed was divine, the shower had pressure. All very nice. But still, not nearly as memorable as two Indian resorts at which I stayed, where the beds were hard and showering involved a bucket.
My souvenir t-shirt celebrating the world’s largest wind damper in Taipei 101, at the moment the world’s tallest building, is a prized possession. As is my Liberace refrigerator magnet. I’m a sucker for tourist gift shops and take pride in seeking out the cheesiest souvenirs I can find.
I’m also not above popping into what some might call tourist traps—I have fond memories of the live mermaid show Weeki Watchee Springs in Florida.
Again, however, I am a kitsch-seeking missile. I’m not interested in the Mall of America—unless I can get a Mall of America t-shirt.
Mostly, when I travel, it’s just to be someplace new and to see what’s there. Sometimes I am hard-pressed to sightsee because when I’m in a new place, the place itself is the sight I want to see. Supermarkets can be as fun as museums, parks as interesting as churches, people-watching as absorbing as photo taking.
I remember a meeting with Taiwanese tourism officials in which one talked about a place (I forget where) that was developing something (I forget what) to attract tourists. When I expressed an interest in seeing the place anyway, she shook her head. “There is nothing there for tourists,” she said.
Eh? If a place exists, there is something there for tourists. There is the place.
That is why I travel, anyway. To see different places for what they are.
With all due respect to the restless masses, I think it takes a sophisticated traveler to fully appreciate the there of somewhere else. And I wonder—if travel becomes harder to do, will traveling dabblers give up the effort and stick to their own malls, allowing the world to just be what it is instead of encouraging it--with dollars, yen and euros—to become what they want it to be?
Will travel become less egalitarian than it has become in recent decades, as fewer people can afford to do it?
And would that be, necessarily, a bad thing?
Obviously, I’m a big advocate for travel and all its mind-broadening qualities. Nothing more effectively shows us our place in the world, nothing more effectively creates hands across the water than sending entire bodies across the water.
Theoretically.
But since travel got inexpensive and more and more people started seeing the world, it seems that rather than crossing the road to see what’s there, we have started expecting other places to provide amusements. With tourism one of the most powerful industries in the world, “destinations” (as we call them in the biz—a horrible word) are knocking themselves out to provide sights and experiences they think tourists want or need.
You know—lots of shopping. Luxury hotels. Spas. Theme parks.
The kind of stuff you can easily do close to home.
According to research by Amadeus, a travel technology firm, globalization is among the most important trends driving the hotel industry. Although smart companies respect cultural differences, consistency across brands will be key to customer loyalty.
In other words, we want to travel to see the world, but we don’t want things to be too different from what we know.
And according to the Travel Industry of America, the number one pastime for domestic travelers in America is…shopping.
In other words, never too many t-shirts, cheap sunglasses and tsotske.
I’m not entirely above it all. In India recently, I didn’t object to the familiar and solid comfort of a Marriott in Hyderabad. The bed was divine, the shower had pressure. All very nice. But still, not nearly as memorable as two Indian resorts at which I stayed, where the beds were hard and showering involved a bucket.
My souvenir t-shirt celebrating the world’s largest wind damper in Taipei 101, at the moment the world’s tallest building, is a prized possession. As is my Liberace refrigerator magnet. I’m a sucker for tourist gift shops and take pride in seeking out the cheesiest souvenirs I can find. I’m also not above popping into what some might call tourist traps—I have fond memories of the live mermaid show Weeki Watchee Springs in Florida.
Again, however, I am a kitsch-seeking missile. I’m not interested in the Mall of America—unless I can get a Mall of America t-shirt.
Mostly, when I travel, it’s just to be someplace new and to see what’s there. Sometimes I am hard-pressed to sightsee because when I’m in a new place, the place itself is the sight I want to see. Supermarkets can be as fun as museums, parks as interesting as churches, people-watching as absorbing as photo taking.
I remember a meeting with Taiwanese tourism officials in which one talked about a place (I forget where) that was developing something (I forget what) to attract tourists. When I expressed an interest in seeing the place anyway, she shook her head. “There is nothing there for tourists,” she said.
Eh? If a place exists, there is something there for tourists. There is the place.
That is why I travel, anyway. To see different places for what they are.
With all due respect to the restless masses, I think it takes a sophisticated traveler to fully appreciate the there of somewhere else. And I wonder—if travel becomes harder to do, will traveling dabblers give up the effort and stick to their own malls, allowing the world to just be what it is instead of encouraging it--with dollars, yen and euros—to become what they want it to be?
Monday, April 28, 2008
instant replay
My friends Chuck and Susan in fine disco form
According to the public radio show Marketplace (spinning off a Forbes Magazine article), while gay businesses in general are booming, gay bars are facing extinction. (Story here.)
This is a good thing because it means we find it less necessary to segregate ourselves according to sexual orientation. One person interviewed suggested—and he may be quite right—that the trend applies more to the coasts than to the rest of the nation, where the risks of hitting on the wrong same sex person may be a lot riskier. Hit on the wrong person in New York City and you’ll probably get a “no thanks,” or maybe a night of experimentation by someone who will claim to have been too drunk to remember the next day. Hit on the wrong person someplace like Wyoming and you may be beaten, tied to a fence and left to die. (You know what I mean.)
But I digress … my intent is to reminisce about gay bars in the 1970s, when I was a card-carrying, Halston perfume-wearing fag hag in four-inch heels and Qiana.
The disco movement may have been popularized by the breeders of Saturday Night Fever (a movie I adore), but it was launched by gay men. The first time I danced until dawn was at a disco called Galaxy 21, on 23rd St., near the Chelsea Hotel, which (like the rest of New York City) was a whole lot seedier then. Nancy Spungen had not yet died there; it was still the kind of place where that kind of thing happened.
I was in 11th grade. Galaxy 21 had three stories and that was the first time I’d ever heard Donna Summer faking an orgasm in “Love to Love You Baby.” After a night of dancing and drinking vodka tonics, I went with friends to breakfast at the Cosmos Coffee Shop, on 58th St. Then I dragged my friend Susan home with me to face my parents. We we were met by the stone-angry face of my father waiting for us at the kitchen table. Yikes. Yeah, I was in all kinds of trouble.
But a fag hag was born.
Our casual weeknight hangout was The Barefoot Boy, a dark, woody (no pun intended), cozy neighborhood bar in the East 30s where I learned to do the Hustle. This place was popular with older men looking for younger—chicken hawks, we called them. It’s also where I tried poppers (amyl nitrate) the first time. Yuck. Never liked it but people dancing by sometimes just stuck under the noses of other dancers for a snort.
Sometimes friends and I went to Ice Palace on 57th Street for their Sunday afternoon tea dances. I saw Ethel Merman sitting at the bar there once, surrounded by fluttery young men. That was when she had a disco album. Ice Palace had a “no open-toed shoes” policy which was designed to discourage women. We went anyway, in closed-toe shoes.
When Xenon opened, that became the hangout for my me and my friends. That wasn’t so much a gay bar as full-out glitzy disco—kind of the poor man’s Studio 54, where I went just once. I saw Robin Williams there. He gave my red pumps and vintage robin’s egg blue silk capri pants a good once over, then looked disappointed when he saw the rest of me.
Xenon was great over-the-top fun, with lots of smoke and flashing lights, a giant neon pinball machine, a spaceship that lowered from the ceiling…
Disco Sally, world’s oldest fag hag, a tiny little lady who I believe was an attorney, was often there, surrounded by an adoring gay entourage. I saw Eartha Kitt there once, dancing with a boa constrictor that was a regular (yes, the snake was regular); and Sylvester Stallone, who was surprisingly short; and Truman Capote, hat and all. And there was a guy, I forget what we called him, who spent every night doing interpretive dance alone.
When I moved to Dallas in the 1980s, my gay bar hangout was the Crews Inn on Fitzhugh, where my friend Stan (RIP) and I would get absolutely blotto on wicked strong happy hour drinks Friday nights. Yikes, I can still remember how quickly those hit, and I remember reeling out of there.
I went to the Village Station only once, as I recall. Same with the Roundup. I was new to Texas at that time and seeing people two-step was interesting in itself. Seeing guys two-step together was like entering a parallel universe. I recall feeling that women were not welcome at the Roundup.
I went to JRs once or twice, too, but by that time I was losing interest in bars in general and gay bars in particular because it was beginning to sink in for me that gay boys weren’t just looking for the right woman.
One of the attractions of gay bars for me at the time was that I could go and have fun and never get hit on, which I actually liked. Plus, I always had someone to dance with. (Old joke: Why did God make gay men? So fat chicks would have someone to dance with.) And gay men told me often how FABULOUS I was, especially when I wore Qiana and Halston perfume, which actually was a gift from a gay boy I knew in high school. I slept with this gay boy at one point--I suspect I was a last ditch effort for him. It wasn’t much fun for either of us…
If gay bars go the way of record stores, it will definitely be the end of an era. Not a bad thing. But they were great fun for me, back in the day.
Friday, April 25, 2008
flotsam friday
Check out this video (sound optional but interesting.) It’s Dallas teens doing a new sport called Parkour. I was never so fearless but I like to watch.
***
According to this article, the whole emoticons ‘n’ acronyms writing style is creeping into teenagers’ schoolwork.
The idea of emoticons in a term paper makes my eyes roll, and I’m not even
anti-emoticon, as is fashionable among smart people. Wiseguys like me sometimes need to flag our wiseguyitude. I don’t emoticon often but I use them when it seems prudent.
However, the statement that really struck me in the article was from Richard Sterling, a Berkeley prof and emeritus executive director of the National Writing Project. He predicts that eventually, the convention of starting sentences with a capital letter will disappear.
Hm, I’m not liking that idea. I’m not a language purist. I think the evolution of language is fun and exciting. But I also think that what we write should be easy to read and that includes graphically. The capitalized first letter is an important cue—at least as important as the period and the properly placed comma. I like capitalizations, paragraph breaks, commas and clarity of communication.
Unlike this sentence, which I pulled from the Fair Shares for All: A Memoir of Family and Food
, which I’m trying to finish but have stalled out on:
"...Dad's minaciously short-winded frame had just been rushed to Oldchurch Hospital, the rack-rent lazaretto where I had reflexively frowned when a scalpel's intrusion spelled spasms of flashlight and seizures of bawling where once in umblical darkness I'd dozed to the clockwork berceuse of Mum's heart..."
I think it means the author's father was taken to the same hospital where the author was born by Cesarean section.
I have a decent vocabulary but in that statement alone are four words requiring a dictionary (minaciously, rack-rent, lazaretto, berceuse). One or two words, OK. I blame myself. Four? That's too many obscure words in one convoluted description. It's reader unfriendly.
The whole book is like that. MEGO. That the book was written by a national magazine copy chief makes the rococo writing all the more puzzling. A copy editor's job is to help make writing clearer.
On a related subject: Call me unsophisticated but nothing turns me off a book more than hearing it described as "lyrical." Possibly the only lyrical book I've ever really enjoyed was Bel Canto
, which I loved. So nice I read it twice.
***
Fickle, fickle media (heh heh heh).
***
The Google searches that brought people to my blog got better and better as the week passed.
newspapers:watergate scandal
for sale xoloescuintle
sophie Razzle magazine
"eating is boring"
+2 Bangkok contact email address of doctors of Bangkok "email directory update" OR 2008 OR 2009 "@yahoo.com" –indians
I-35 between dallas and austin fun stops
i can make you thin but jean fain
eagle creek subcontinent pack
2008 @yahoo.com @gmail.com florida company doctors
%2
***
Maybe later I’ll come up with more flotsam for our Friday. Maybe not.
***
According to this article, the whole emoticons ‘n’ acronyms writing style is creeping into teenagers’ schoolwork.
The idea of emoticons in a term paper makes my eyes roll, and I’m not even
anti-emoticon, as is fashionable among smart people. Wiseguys like me sometimes need to flag our wiseguyitude. I don’t emoticon often but I use them when it seems prudent.
However, the statement that really struck me in the article was from Richard Sterling, a Berkeley prof and emeritus executive director of the National Writing Project. He predicts that eventually, the convention of starting sentences with a capital letter will disappear.
Hm, I’m not liking that idea. I’m not a language purist. I think the evolution of language is fun and exciting. But I also think that what we write should be easy to read and that includes graphically. The capitalized first letter is an important cue—at least as important as the period and the properly placed comma. I like capitalizations, paragraph breaks, commas and clarity of communication.
Unlike this sentence, which I pulled from the Fair Shares for All: A Memoir of Family and Food
, which I’m trying to finish but have stalled out on: "...Dad's minaciously short-winded frame had just been rushed to Oldchurch Hospital, the rack-rent lazaretto where I had reflexively frowned when a scalpel's intrusion spelled spasms of flashlight and seizures of bawling where once in umblical darkness I'd dozed to the clockwork berceuse of Mum's heart..."
I think it means the author's father was taken to the same hospital where the author was born by Cesarean section.
I have a decent vocabulary but in that statement alone are four words requiring a dictionary (minaciously, rack-rent, lazaretto, berceuse). One or two words, OK. I blame myself. Four? That's too many obscure words in one convoluted description. It's reader unfriendly.
The whole book is like that. MEGO. That the book was written by a national magazine copy chief makes the rococo writing all the more puzzling. A copy editor's job is to help make writing clearer.
On a related subject: Call me unsophisticated but nothing turns me off a book more than hearing it described as "lyrical." Possibly the only lyrical book I've ever really enjoyed was Bel Canto
, which I loved. So nice I read it twice.***
Fickle, fickle media (heh heh heh).
***
The Google searches that brought people to my blog got better and better as the week passed.
newspapers:watergate scandal
for sale xoloescuintle
sophie Razzle magazine
"eating is boring"
+2 Bangkok contact email address of doctors of Bangkok "email directory update" OR 2008 OR 2009 "@yahoo.com" –indians
I-35 between dallas and austin fun stops
i can make you thin but jean fain
eagle creek subcontinent pack
2008 @yahoo.com @gmail.com florida company doctors
%2
***
Maybe later I’ll come up with more flotsam for our Friday. Maybe not.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
get real
I was reading Daily Kos last night, a political blog that is strongly behind Obama, and I got to thinking about all the calls for Hillary to drop out of the race. My own beloved husband has been saying she should, and even I’ve had that thought (though I hate to admit it), what with the campaign fatigue we’re all feeling.
And it suddenly hit me.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
Really, let’s think this through…
This campaign is the culmination of Hillary’s life’s work.
It’s a key moment in the history of the United States.
She’s not exactly being steamrolled or Obama would already be the Democratic candidate.
Would YOU quit?
Don’t give me that “for the good of the party” bullshit. How can it be bad for Democrats to have two viable candidates fighting for the privilege of running for president?
And how bad can it be to put Obama thoroughly through his paces before we even think about entrusting him with the country’s most important job? I say let him jump through some hoops, put his feet to the fire, throw all those clichés at him and if he’s still standing at the end, then maybe he’s more ready for the job than I think he is. (Maybe. I think he’s a good guy but at this point in his life and career, I still think he's 75% smoke and mirrors.)
This is a nation of people that won’t even give up SUVs for the good of the Earth, but we’re saying this intelligent, accomplished, ambitious, determined woman should give up the race of her life because we’re tired of hearing about it?
Tell me another joke.
And it suddenly hit me.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
Really, let’s think this through…
This campaign is the culmination of Hillary’s life’s work.
It’s a key moment in the history of the United States.
She’s not exactly being steamrolled or Obama would already be the Democratic candidate.
Would YOU quit?
Don’t give me that “for the good of the party” bullshit. How can it be bad for Democrats to have two viable candidates fighting for the privilege of running for president?
And how bad can it be to put Obama thoroughly through his paces before we even think about entrusting him with the country’s most important job? I say let him jump through some hoops, put his feet to the fire, throw all those clichés at him and if he’s still standing at the end, then maybe he’s more ready for the job than I think he is. (Maybe. I think he’s a good guy but at this point in his life and career, I still think he's 75% smoke and mirrors.)
This is a nation of people that won’t even give up SUVs for the good of the Earth, but we’re saying this intelligent, accomplished, ambitious, determined woman should give up the race of her life because we’re tired of hearing about it?
Tell me another joke.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
elections
Dallas is accepting nominations for a new name for Industrial Boulevard. The DMN says:
There are Postal Service restrictions. Names can't be more than 14 characters, so "Down By The River I Shot My Baby Boulevard" is out. Apostrophes aren't permitted, so "What's That Smell Street" won't work. And it can't closely resemble an existing street name. "Turtle Creek Boulevard" is taken.
Want to nominate a name? Click here.
That’s the good writing du jour, IMO. Another fine line comes from Joyce Saenz Harris’ Taste section story about a book/cooking club whose motto, she says, “…might well be a chicken in every plot.” Cute. Too bad the paragraph started with the dreaded “Welcome to…”
In other election news, Oklahoma is accepting nominations for an official rock song. It already has an official state song (“”Oklahoma"), C&W song (“Faded Love”--not my guilty pleasure "You're The Reason God Made Oklahoma"), folk song (“Oklahoma Hills”) and waltz (“Oklahoma Wind.”)
Goodness gracious, who knew Oklahoma was so melodic?
Want to nominate an Oklahoma rocker? Click here.
So, Hillary pulled it out again. You want my theory about why Obama isn’t campaigning negative? He doesn’t have to because his supporters (I call them IOS---Insufferable Obama Supporters) do it for him. I hear many more Obama supporters going on about Hillary’s (and Bill’s) horns and tail than about Obama’s accomplishments. It's perfect--Obama can keep his halo and Hillary still gets smeared.
I would vote for Obama over McCain. No question. I like the guy--what I know of him. It’s his fan base for which I’ve developed a healthy loathing.
There are Postal Service restrictions. Names can't be more than 14 characters, so "Down By The River I Shot My Baby Boulevard" is out. Apostrophes aren't permitted, so "What's That Smell Street" won't work. And it can't closely resemble an existing street name. "Turtle Creek Boulevard" is taken.
Want to nominate a name? Click here.
That’s the good writing du jour, IMO. Another fine line comes from Joyce Saenz Harris’ Taste section story about a book/cooking club whose motto, she says, “…might well be a chicken in every plot.” Cute. Too bad the paragraph started with the dreaded “Welcome to…”
In other election news, Oklahoma is accepting nominations for an official rock song. It already has an official state song (“”Oklahoma"), C&W song (“Faded Love”--not my guilty pleasure "You're The Reason God Made Oklahoma"), folk song (“Oklahoma Hills”) and waltz (“Oklahoma Wind.”)
Goodness gracious, who knew Oklahoma was so melodic?
Want to nominate an Oklahoma rocker? Click here.
So, Hillary pulled it out again. You want my theory about why Obama isn’t campaigning negative? He doesn’t have to because his supporters (I call them IOS---Insufferable Obama Supporters) do it for him. I hear many more Obama supporters going on about Hillary’s (and Bill’s) horns and tail than about Obama’s accomplishments. It's perfect--Obama can keep his halo and Hillary still gets smeared.
I would vote for Obama over McCain. No question. I like the guy--what I know of him. It’s his fan base for which I’ve developed a healthy loathing.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
more tech support hijinx
So...because I never did convince Readyhosting tech support that my e-mail address was unreliable, I am dropping that address and ultimately, eventually, I'll drop that host altogether. Who needs the aggravation?
Anyway, a new e-mail address requires changing my address with all companies that send me notifications.
Among those is iBackup, which does off-site backup. (I don't trust myself to remember to back up so I have this company do it automatically every night.)
Theoretically, I should be able to just go into my profile and change my e-mail address there. Theoretically. Too bad it didn't work. So I contacted tech support.
Evidently, "This issue may occur, if the notification has not be update correctly."
Look at the rigamarole I have to go through simply to change my e-mail address:
Dear sdtex2001,
This is in reference with your Request Ticket Number: ST00082276.
This issue may occur, if the notification has not be update correctly.
We request you to follow the following steps to resolve the issue:
1. Login to the application interface with your login credentials.
2. Disable the existing notifications.
3. Navigate to task manager and kill all the process related to IBackup
for Windows.
4. Navigate to Add and Remove programs in Control Panel, Uninstall the
existing application.
5. Restart the system.
6. Download and install the IBackup for windows application from the
link below:
http://www.ibackup.com/ibwin/downloads/IBWin90502setup.exe
If you require the advanced backup features, We request you to download
and install the the advanced backup plug-in from the link below:
http://www.ibackup.com/ibwin/downloads/AdvBackupPlugin.exe
Once the application is installed, We request you to setup the email
notification again.
Anyway, a new e-mail address requires changing my address with all companies that send me notifications.
Among those is iBackup, which does off-site backup. (I don't trust myself to remember to back up so I have this company do it automatically every night.)
Theoretically, I should be able to just go into my profile and change my e-mail address there. Theoretically. Too bad it didn't work. So I contacted tech support.
Evidently, "This issue may occur, if the notification has not be update correctly."
Look at the rigamarole I have to go through simply to change my e-mail address:
Dear sdtex2001,
This is in reference with your Request Ticket Number: ST00082276.
This issue may occur, if the notification has not be update correctly.
We request you to follow the following steps to resolve the issue:
1. Login to the application interface with your login credentials.
2. Disable the existing notifications.
3. Navigate to task manager and kill all the process related to IBackup
for Windows.
4. Navigate to Add and Remove programs in Control Panel, Uninstall the
existing application.
5. Restart the system.
6. Download and install the IBackup for windows application from the
link below:
http://www.ibackup.com/ibwin/downloads/IBWin90502setup.exe
If you require the advanced backup features, We request you to download
and install the the advanced backup plug-in from the link below:
http://www.ibackup.com/ibwin/downloads/AdvBackupPlugin.exe
Once the application is installed, We request you to setup the email
notification again.
tuesday stuff
To quote a friend, “not saying ‘I told you so’ is extremely overrated. I think we should be able to say it as often as we like. It's like a polite smack upside the head.”
So when I saw The Dallas Morning News quoted this LA Times online feature about the yuckiness that is Dr. Phil, I felt free to holler “I told you so” at my morning paper.
I’m pleased the LA Times mentions our book, however I did write to the paper pointing out that we did not say Dr. Phil had an affair with a 19-year-old patient, as alleged in this feature. In fact, we stuck to the official story, that the unethical dual relationship was because Phil hired this young woman to work in his biofeedback lab. Allegations of sexual impropriety were made by the tabloids, quoting unnamed sources.
Here’s a sobering thought—this Wall Street Journal financial columnist says these days, we’re better off investing in food than in investments. He suggests stockpiling non-perishables, since the cost of food is rising so fast. Woe is me, the sky is falling…
But not that fast, according to another WSJ writer, who points out that as much as we whine about poverty, we do all have iPods, DVD players and flat-screen TVs. (Actually, we don’t have a flat-screen TV and our iPods are second generation clunkers, though they work reasonably well.)
I read this WSJ article, The Do-It-Yourself Tax Cut, with interest. Here the writer suggests numerous ways you can save money with lifestyle changes. I got to be both smug and bummed, since Tom and I do most of the things suggested here and still, as Tom likes to say, we can’t afford our modest lifestyle. At least it’s reassuring that the rest of the country is catching up to us. We don’t feel like have-nots anymore. We feel like everybody else.
Apropos to nothing, we gave stinky Jack a bath in the driveway last night. What a crazy ordeal that was. We tranquilized him (it's gotta be done) and muzzled him and he still went apeshit. He didn’t mind the soap and water as much as the brushing (attempts) of his hairy ass. We finally had to give up on the brushing. He smells a lot better but his hair is a mess. World’s most exhausting canine….
And now, I must whine. Inappropriately. Much as I’m enjoying my adventures in blogging, I admit to being a tad discouraged these days. My readership numbers are stagnant. The freewheeling discussions we enjoyed in MySpace don’t happen here. Many of my frequent commenters have fallen silent, even those who complained about MySpace. Sigh. I still enjoy the exercise but it was more fun when I didn’t feel like I was talking to three people.
The most successful blogs in the blogosphere focus on one topic and I’m considering that—although I haven’t yet decided what that topic should be. Writing? Jack? Money or lack thereof?
So when I saw The Dallas Morning News quoted this LA Times online feature about the yuckiness that is Dr. Phil, I felt free to holler “I told you so” at my morning paper.
I’m pleased the LA Times mentions our book, however I did write to the paper pointing out that we did not say Dr. Phil had an affair with a 19-year-old patient, as alleged in this feature. In fact, we stuck to the official story, that the unethical dual relationship was because Phil hired this young woman to work in his biofeedback lab. Allegations of sexual impropriety were made by the tabloids, quoting unnamed sources.
Here’s a sobering thought—this Wall Street Journal financial columnist says these days, we’re better off investing in food than in investments. He suggests stockpiling non-perishables, since the cost of food is rising so fast. Woe is me, the sky is falling…
But not that fast, according to another WSJ writer, who points out that as much as we whine about poverty, we do all have iPods, DVD players and flat-screen TVs. (Actually, we don’t have a flat-screen TV and our iPods are second generation clunkers, though they work reasonably well.)
I read this WSJ article, The Do-It-Yourself Tax Cut, with interest. Here the writer suggests numerous ways you can save money with lifestyle changes. I got to be both smug and bummed, since Tom and I do most of the things suggested here and still, as Tom likes to say, we can’t afford our modest lifestyle. At least it’s reassuring that the rest of the country is catching up to us. We don’t feel like have-nots anymore. We feel like everybody else.
Apropos to nothing, we gave stinky Jack a bath in the driveway last night. What a crazy ordeal that was. We tranquilized him (it's gotta be done) and muzzled him and he still went apeshit. He didn’t mind the soap and water as much as the brushing (attempts) of his hairy ass. We finally had to give up on the brushing. He smells a lot better but his hair is a mess. World’s most exhausting canine….
And now, I must whine. Inappropriately. Much as I’m enjoying my adventures in blogging, I admit to being a tad discouraged these days. My readership numbers are stagnant. The freewheeling discussions we enjoyed in MySpace don’t happen here. Many of my frequent commenters have fallen silent, even those who complained about MySpace. Sigh. I still enjoy the exercise but it was more fun when I didn’t feel like I was talking to three people.
The most successful blogs in the blogosphere focus on one topic and I’m considering that—although I haven’t yet decided what that topic should be. Writing? Jack? Money or lack thereof?
Monday, April 21, 2008
earth day predicament
I went to a nifty little Earth Day fair yesterday expressly to consult with native plants experts about the Garden Bed of Death, which some of you might remember as the foundation beds around my patio that kill anything I plant in them. Cruel, cruel Garden Bed of Death.
I am happy to report encouraging signs of life in the GBoD this year. The native grasses are putting forth some tentative green shoots. The purple coneflowers are robust. The American Beautyberry seems to have taken root as has another other shrub whose name escapes me. It’s cute, though, with little round leaves and hot pink berries in winter.
The GBoD isn’t looking lush, but I remain hopeful. I tossed some zinnia seeds in there last week and those are sprouting, too.
But just in case it all goes into a death spiral when the summer sun hits, I decided to consult some experts at the fair. The challenge: Full shade in morning, brutal western sun all afternoon.
The first guy I spoke to—a former colleague, coincidentally—couldn’t help me, though he tried. We talked about all the plants he had for sale and nothing looked promising. He wished me luck and I moved on.
Then I talked to a guy at the Friends of Oak Cliff Parks who suggested I try Cashmere Bouquet. (Remember the soap, Cashmere Bouquet? It’s not that.) He said it’s robust, it has an attractive leaf, a late-summer bloom and it attracts butterflies. It’s also invasive, he cautioned but, I bought a couple of one-gallon pots anyway—for a $1 each, it seemed low risk.
Back home I researched the plant further and found lots of people who are happy with it but also lots of discussion about how invasive it is. It sends out runners that evidently can penetrate kryptonite and one person said it smells kind of like vitamin pills.
Now I’m scared to death of it. The two pots with their puny little stalks lurk on my patio table, threatening to overgrow my garden, my house, my life. If I let it run rampant, will it kill me?
I am paralyzed. Do I plant them in the GBoD and take the risk that they will choke out the other plants making such valiant efforts to survive? Do I find another spot in the yard to plant them? Will they fill the yard with purple blooms that smell of vitamins? Will I have to spend my days fighting back the Cashmere Bouquet?
Last night, I dreamed someone (I can’t recall who) decided to be helpful and plant them in my GBoD. I was horrified, terrified, appalled.
Can anything save me from my new plants? What do I do?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
creative writing
Here are some of my early literary efforts, from my third grade Creative Writing folder. My teacher was Mrs. Fischer, who I didn't like at all. She was tightly wound.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Sept. 30, 1966
Back to school Feelings
When I was walking back to school.
On September 12th.
I felt I never saw the place,
Or any teachers face.
Even though I’m in third grade
I felt I’v never spelled my name
Back then, I spelled it Sophy because it seemed more manageable for a little girl.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 2, 1966
Colors
My favorite two are red and blue.
Now red and blue are nothing new
But every word I’ve said is true.
Black, gold, and silver are all right
Also yellow, green and white.
Green I hate,
But that’s all I ever see.
Green, green, green,
Is all I’ve ever seen.
Green dresses green ribbons or green, green, green books
Green paper green leaves green crayons green trees.
But still my favorite two are red and blue.
Actually, I kind of like green.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 9, 1966
How The Giraffe got his long Neck
Long long ago there was a giraffe and an old bear now in those days a giraffe had a very short neck and one day the bear asked the giraffe to race with him and while they were racing the giraffe got his head cought on a branch and it got stretched out.
Note that the story is all one sentence.
Jimmy the Jolly Jumping Jack
In my toy chest way far down
Is a little box and a little clown
When I open the box up he pops
Into our room but he never knocks
Mrs. Fischer said that one was “very good.”
There was a young man of France
Who asked an old lady to dance
Now how could this be
Well he’s only three
Which gives the old lady a chance
My first dirty limerick.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Dec. 8, 1966
A Flight to Happy Days Land
Happy Days land is beautiful
With birds of red and blue
Happy Days land is wonderful
The place for me and you
Happy Days land is magical
Never will a tear drop (Mrs. Fischer changed it to Never a tear will drop)
Happy days land is gay and happy (She changed it to happy and gay)
All we do is sing and hop (she changed it to We all do sing and hop)
So do take a grip to this wonderful garden,
Full of Girls and Boys
Full of little creatures
Full of a joyful noise
Mrs. Fischer thought Happy Days Land was just "OK." Everybody's a critic.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Sept. 30, 1966
Back to school Feelings
When I was walking back to school.
On September 12th.
I felt I never saw the place,
Or any teachers face.
Even though I’m in third grade
I felt I’v never spelled my name
Back then, I spelled it Sophy because it seemed more manageable for a little girl.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 2, 1966
Colors
My favorite two are red and blue.
Now red and blue are nothing new
But every word I’ve said is true.
Black, gold, and silver are all right
Also yellow, green and white.
Green I hate,
But that’s all I ever see.
Green, green, green,
Is all I’ve ever seen.
Green dresses green ribbons or green, green, green books
Green paper green leaves green crayons green trees.
But still my favorite two are red and blue.
Actually, I kind of like green.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 9, 1966
How The Giraffe got his long Neck
Long long ago there was a giraffe and an old bear now in those days a giraffe had a very short neck and one day the bear asked the giraffe to race with him and while they were racing the giraffe got his head cought on a branch and it got stretched out.
Note that the story is all one sentence.
Jimmy the Jolly Jumping Jack
In my toy chest way far down
Is a little box and a little clown
When I open the box up he pops
Into our room but he never knocks
Mrs. Fischer said that one was “very good.”
There was a young man of France
Who asked an old lady to dance
Now how could this be
Well he’s only three
Which gives the old lady a chance
My first dirty limerick.
Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Dec. 8, 1966
A Flight to Happy Days Land
Happy Days land is beautiful
With birds of red and blue
Happy Days land is wonderful
The place for me and you
Happy Days land is magical
Never will a tear drop (Mrs. Fischer changed it to Never a tear will drop)
Happy days land is gay and happy (She changed it to happy and gay)
All we do is sing and hop (she changed it to We all do sing and hop)
So do take a grip to this wonderful garden,
Full of Girls and Boys
Full of little creatures
Full of a joyful noise
Mrs. Fischer thought Happy Days Land was just "OK." Everybody's a critic.
Friday, April 18, 2008
flotsam friday
Just a soupcon of flotsam today…
This is NOT FUNNY.
Everybody cast your votes! (Thanks, Mary. And no, it has nothing to do with Hillary/Obama. We're all exhausted ...)
Have you finished your Passover gift shopping yet? If not, MsKrit alerts us to these very special items.
Today’s newspaper was chock full of dreary, terrifying news about the economy and believe me, we’re feeling it. How are we going to pay for the electric fence we are having installed at this very moment? We have no idea. Things are a little tense around the house this morning and Jack doesn’t even know yet how his world is about to rocked. All he knows is that there are strange men in the backyard and he’s stuck in the house.
But I digress. I mention the newspaper mostly to show you this photo, the most entertaining thing in today’s paper. What’s the deal with the hoochie mama topiaries? Dallas is SO conflicted about sex….
And finally, huzzah! Not only is Dr. Phil finally, really tumbling from grace, but this MSN reaming actually mentions our book! Now, everybody run out and buy a copy!
OK, let’s get out there an EARN SOME MONEY! Jack-y needs a new pair of shoes. (Or something. He always needs something. A bath, for example.)
This is NOT FUNNY.
Everybody cast your votes! (Thanks, Mary. And no, it has nothing to do with Hillary/Obama. We're all exhausted ...)
Have you finished your Passover gift shopping yet? If not, MsKrit alerts us to these very special items.
Today’s newspaper was chock full of dreary, terrifying news about the economy and believe me, we’re feeling it. How are we going to pay for the electric fence we are having installed at this very moment? We have no idea. Things are a little tense around the house this morning and Jack doesn’t even know yet how his world is about to rocked. All he knows is that there are strange men in the backyard and he’s stuck in the house.
But I digress. I mention the newspaper mostly to show you this photo, the most entertaining thing in today’s paper. What’s the deal with the hoochie mama topiaries? Dallas is SO conflicted about sex….
And finally, huzzah! Not only is Dr. Phil finally, really tumbling from grace, but this MSN reaming actually mentions our book! Now, everybody run out and buy a copy!
OK, let’s get out there an EARN SOME MONEY! Jack-y needs a new pair of shoes. (Or something. He always needs something. A bath, for example.)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
you lookin' for me?
The statistics counter I use allows me to view what pages people come from to find my blog and I have become fascinated—nay, obsessed—with the searches people use that bring them to this blog.
A number of people search my name, which is swell and I love that. In France, Google asked Será que quis dizer: Sophia Doubling but the person knew better and found me anyway. Someone from Australia searched for me, which is way cool. And someone searched for Sophie Mayeux, which morphs together me and my friend Lara Mayeux, whose blog is on my roll. Someone searched yankee chick colums, someone searched sophie d travel writer and someone searched needlepoint – Sophia. I clicked through to that search and learned that Sophia is a prolific designer of needlepoints—and that this person went through 20 search pages of the right Sophia before clicking through to the wrong one. She probably thought it was the right Sophia’s blog and wouldn’t that have been exciting? I’m sure I disappointed her.
A post about driving from Austin to Dallas attracted people searching Dallas rest stops I-35 and txdot safety rest stop saledo(sic) A couple of jerky fans checked in, one who searched where can i find best beef jerky in between dallas and austin texas and another who just plugged in texas I-35 jerky. And one person is shopping for art and searched chainsaw sculpting Dallas.
Another traveler wondered, What do females wear in Dallas texas in the winter. Dunno where that one ended up.
A few people counted on me to save them embarrassment by seeking pronunciation guides: name pronunciation nygaard, (you know who you are), pronunciation of names Iggy (know anyone in Poland, Iggy? That’s where the inquiry came from), clara name pronunciation, pronunciation of the baby name maile and someone from the Philippines wondered how to pronounce Loehmann, although Google asked Ibig mo bang sabihin ay: pronounce Lohmann,. I assume these folks were directed to the post about tricky names.
The searches bullying vs. narcissism and can empathy be learned brought seekers to a post about bullies and narcissists
Two people searched for Jean Fain, who taught us self-control when eating Twinkies (if the two aren’t mutually exclusive). One person looked for jean fain twinkie and another believes, jean fain make you thin.
I assume it was Donnas fans who searched the donnas and the inexplicable the donna bullies. They were taken to the same post as the person who searched sophie bent over. I don't want to think about that one...
A post about my mom’s sewing stuff attracted a couple of seamstresses, one of whom was seeking, around neck hanging magnifying glass sewing –loupes, and another less specific searcher who just wanted a sewing gizmo.
A couple of folks must be wanting thoseodd-looking Aztec dogs I photographed and searched, how long xoloescuintle in heat, and adopt xoloescuintle.
There were some random searches for poo-pourri, Jennifer Weiner and middle-aged broads, (not to reopen that can of worms).
A search for boomers and mistrust of government brought the seeker to the post on growing up in the 1970s.
And then, saving the best for last, there were the truly oddball searches:
cartoon cow daylight savings
"special delivery" dallas texas what to do when man comes with package
lusty thai companion in Bangkok (I don’t know what page they found, but I’m deeply disturbed.
And my personal favorite, which is practically an anagram of my name:
I feel blind again Sophie
A number of people search my name, which is swell and I love that. In France, Google asked Será que quis dizer: Sophia Doubling but the person knew better and found me anyway. Someone from Australia searched for me, which is way cool. And someone searched for Sophie Mayeux, which morphs together me and my friend Lara Mayeux, whose blog is on my roll. Someone searched yankee chick colums, someone searched sophie d travel writer and someone searched needlepoint – Sophia. I clicked through to that search and learned that Sophia is a prolific designer of needlepoints—and that this person went through 20 search pages of the right Sophia before clicking through to the wrong one. She probably thought it was the right Sophia’s blog and wouldn’t that have been exciting? I’m sure I disappointed her.
A post about driving from Austin to Dallas attracted people searching Dallas rest stops I-35 and txdot safety rest stop saledo(sic) A couple of jerky fans checked in, one who searched where can i find best beef jerky in between dallas and austin texas and another who just plugged in texas I-35 jerky. And one person is shopping for art and searched chainsaw sculpting Dallas.
Another traveler wondered, What do females wear in Dallas texas in the winter. Dunno where that one ended up.
A few people counted on me to save them embarrassment by seeking pronunciation guides: name pronunciation nygaard, (you know who you are), pronunciation of names Iggy (know anyone in Poland, Iggy? That’s where the inquiry came from), clara name pronunciation, pronunciation of the baby name maile and someone from the Philippines wondered how to pronounce Loehmann, although Google asked Ibig mo bang sabihin ay: pronounce Lohmann,. I assume these folks were directed to the post about tricky names.
The searches bullying vs. narcissism and can empathy be learned brought seekers to a post about bullies and narcissists
Two people searched for Jean Fain, who taught us self-control when eating Twinkies (if the two aren’t mutually exclusive). One person looked for jean fain twinkie and another believes, jean fain make you thin.
I assume it was Donnas fans who searched the donnas and the inexplicable the donna bullies. They were taken to the same post as the person who searched sophie bent over. I don't want to think about that one...
A post about my mom’s sewing stuff attracted a couple of seamstresses, one of whom was seeking, around neck hanging magnifying glass sewing –loupes, and another less specific searcher who just wanted a sewing gizmo.
A couple of folks must be wanting thoseodd-looking Aztec dogs I photographed and searched, how long xoloescuintle in heat, and adopt xoloescuintle.
There were some random searches for poo-pourri, Jennifer Weiner and middle-aged broads, (not to reopen that can of worms).
A search for boomers and mistrust of government brought the seeker to the post on growing up in the 1970s.
And then, saving the best for last, there were the truly oddball searches:
cartoon cow daylight savings
"special delivery" dallas texas what to do when man comes with package
lusty thai companion in Bangkok (I don’t know what page they found, but I’m deeply disturbed.
And my personal favorite, which is practically an anagram of my name:
I feel blind again Sophie
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
lowbrow talk
I’ve spared the highbrow among you long enough. It’s time for a little American Idol chatter. Not a lot, just a little.
First of all, were we all SHOCKED and APPALLED when handsome Michael Johns was booted last week? Not that I voted, but I can’t imagine why he was sent home when Carly stayed on—I liked her tons in the beginning but she’s choking. Not to mention the bland little blonde, Kristy (who reminds me of Carrie Underwood, who I also think is a yawn) and the singing Smurf, Archuleta. Yeah, yeah, he’s got a great voice but he needs a few years of seasoning before he’s interesting. Or even Brooke, who was my first favorite but who appears to lack the stamina for stardom. At the moment I’m backing David Cook, who I call “the little Tom guy” because he reminds me of my favorite rock and roller. I like dredlockboy OK, too.
The guys outdid the girls last night but that doesn’t surprise me—they had to be creative with Mariah Carey songs while the girls would naturally suffer in comparison.
Which brings me to Mariah Carey. First of all, are those things real? They are a force of nature. I think Archuleta lost his virginity when he hugged her.
Second, Mariah has reached towering heights of fame without entering my consciousness at all. I knew she was out there but couldn’t tell you a single hit before last night, even though she’s out-hit Elvis (but it’s kind of apples and oranges when you consider the changed media landscape).
I did recognize Always Be My Baby which I actually don’t mind. And I know Without You, but the Nilsson version ‘cause I’m old.
Mostly, though, I struggle to find the song in Mariah Carey songs. I feel that way about a lot of modern R&B—it just seems to noodle and meander with a lot of layers and beats and heavenly choirs but with nothing for my brain to latch on to. Which might be a good thing, since it saves me from earworms.
Now, did you know Bulgaria has an Idol competition? Here (thanks to Vagabondish) is a notable audition:
First of all, were we all SHOCKED and APPALLED when handsome Michael Johns was booted last week? Not that I voted, but I can’t imagine why he was sent home when Carly stayed on—I liked her tons in the beginning but she’s choking. Not to mention the bland little blonde, Kristy (who reminds me of Carrie Underwood, who I also think is a yawn) and the singing Smurf, Archuleta. Yeah, yeah, he’s got a great voice but he needs a few years of seasoning before he’s interesting. Or even Brooke, who was my first favorite but who appears to lack the stamina for stardom. At the moment I’m backing David Cook, who I call “the little Tom guy” because he reminds me of my favorite rock and roller. I like dredlockboy OK, too.
The guys outdid the girls last night but that doesn’t surprise me—they had to be creative with Mariah Carey songs while the girls would naturally suffer in comparison.
Which brings me to Mariah Carey. First of all, are those things real? They are a force of nature. I think Archuleta lost his virginity when he hugged her.
Second, Mariah has reached towering heights of fame without entering my consciousness at all. I knew she was out there but couldn’t tell you a single hit before last night, even though she’s out-hit Elvis (but it’s kind of apples and oranges when you consider the changed media landscape).
I did recognize Always Be My Baby which I actually don’t mind. And I know Without You, but the Nilsson version ‘cause I’m old.
Mostly, though, I struggle to find the song in Mariah Carey songs. I feel that way about a lot of modern R&B—it just seems to noodle and meander with a lot of layers and beats and heavenly choirs but with nothing for my brain to latch on to. Which might be a good thing, since it saves me from earworms.
Now, did you know Bulgaria has an Idol competition? Here (thanks to Vagabondish) is a notable audition:
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
bullies and beeyotches
We might as well discuss the shocking story du jour—that gang of girls in Florida who beat up another girl for YouTube fame.
First, allow me to say the obvious: Would the news media be all a-dither if the girls hadn’t been white cheerleaders with names like April, Brittany and Brittini? (Yeah, really.) I say no, but maybe I’m just cynical.
My developmental psychologist friend Lara, who studies popularity and aggression, has blogged on this issue with interesting new insights such as—“the combination of being popular and knowing that you’re popular predicts the very highest levels of physical and relational aggression in a given high school grade.”
You would think popular people would feel so secure they could afford to be nice, but I guess not. Actually, researchers find that being popular and being liked are two different things altogether.
I guess this isn’t surprising, when you think about it.
While popularity wasn’t a huge issue in my high school full of oddballs and artsy-fartsy people, it was big in junior high and I never felt that the really popular girls even liked each other all that much. Rather, they seemed connected in some sort of uneasy bond.
I was not popular in junior high school. The Dedes, Alisons and Amys made fun of me and singled me out for destruction in dodgeball. I wasn’t particularly crushed by this (although evidently, I’ve never forgotten) because I had my own friends outside of school. And that makes all the difference. I suppose not going to a neighborhood school (I was in a horrid private school at the time) helped, since I wasn’t always surrounded by people who didn’t like me. The popular girls lived on the Upper East Side, I lived on the Upper West Side. (Back in the day, this coded as “rich” vs. “not-rich.”) I had friends of my own who were grubby as I.
Among the things researchers know about bullying is that its negative consequences on the bullied are greatly mitigated if that poor soul has one friend. Just one is all it takes. Just one person to confirm that you are not actually the scum of the universe, the butt of all jokes, the whipping post for all. Just one to affirm your humanity.
In junior high, another oddball and I found each other and it then mattered even less that the other girls didn’t like us. Though Eve and I didn’t hang out together outside of school, we both discovered drugs around the same time and bonded over that, transforming ourselves from geeks to freaks and gaining grudging respect that way. (Again, the 1970s. Things were different then.)
Research into childhood abuse at the hands of adults similarly finds that abused children with one adult in their lives who can be trusted implicitly and who advocates for them, are more emotionally resilient than those who don’t.
Which brings me to an interesting op-ed in today’s Dallas Morning News that points out that the only people who can really save kids from kids is kids. Yelling and screaming at schools to end bullying is not productive. Rather, parents need to encourage compassion among their own children. (Unlike, say, the freakshow parents who joined in the MySpace torture of the girl who ultimately killed herself—what a chilling story that was.)
I remember sitting silently and pained a couple of times when school and camp oddballs were tormented—once overtly and once covertly—by the more fortunate. I still feel guilty. Speaking up is horribly difficult under those circumstances, especially for those of us who are not among the chosen.
It was easy in elementary school, when I was both liked and popular, to befriend the girl who was too shy to raise her hand in class and wet the floor instead. I had no fear then and could see past her oddness to her intelligence.
But when you’re unpopular and the attention is directed elsewhere, you learn to bite your tongue and be thankful that for the moment, you are safe.
But perhaps parents of outsider children can teach them of the power and safety of numbers—even if the number is just two.
The last line of Lara’s blog about the YouTube beeyotches is particularly disturbing to me. She writes, “Something tells me this story is being told and retold among their high school peers with a level of awe and respect that would make us cringe.”
Do you think this is true? Are kids this mean these days? And is this the kind of popularity to which outcasts secretly aspire?
If so, what are we doing wrong?
First, allow me to say the obvious: Would the news media be all a-dither if the girls hadn’t been white cheerleaders with names like April, Brittany and Brittini? (Yeah, really.) I say no, but maybe I’m just cynical.
My developmental psychologist friend Lara, who studies popularity and aggression, has blogged on this issue with interesting new insights such as—“the combination of being popular and knowing that you’re popular predicts the very highest levels of physical and relational aggression in a given high school grade.”
You would think popular people would feel so secure they could afford to be nice, but I guess not. Actually, researchers find that being popular and being liked are two different things altogether.
I guess this isn’t surprising, when you think about it.
While popularity wasn’t a huge issue in my high school full of oddballs and artsy-fartsy people, it was big in junior high and I never felt that the really popular girls even liked each other all that much. Rather, they seemed connected in some sort of uneasy bond.
I was not popular in junior high school. The Dedes, Alisons and Amys made fun of me and singled me out for destruction in dodgeball. I wasn’t particularly crushed by this (although evidently, I’ve never forgotten) because I had my own friends outside of school. And that makes all the difference. I suppose not going to a neighborhood school (I was in a horrid private school at the time) helped, since I wasn’t always surrounded by people who didn’t like me. The popular girls lived on the Upper East Side, I lived on the Upper West Side. (Back in the day, this coded as “rich” vs. “not-rich.”) I had friends of my own who were grubby as I.
Among the things researchers know about bullying is that its negative consequences on the bullied are greatly mitigated if that poor soul has one friend. Just one is all it takes. Just one person to confirm that you are not actually the scum of the universe, the butt of all jokes, the whipping post for all. Just one to affirm your humanity.
In junior high, another oddball and I found each other and it then mattered even less that the other girls didn’t like us. Though Eve and I didn’t hang out together outside of school, we both discovered drugs around the same time and bonded over that, transforming ourselves from geeks to freaks and gaining grudging respect that way. (Again, the 1970s. Things were different then.)
Research into childhood abuse at the hands of adults similarly finds that abused children with one adult in their lives who can be trusted implicitly and who advocates for them, are more emotionally resilient than those who don’t.
Which brings me to an interesting op-ed in today’s Dallas Morning News that points out that the only people who can really save kids from kids is kids. Yelling and screaming at schools to end bullying is not productive. Rather, parents need to encourage compassion among their own children. (Unlike, say, the freakshow parents who joined in the MySpace torture of the girl who ultimately killed herself—what a chilling story that was.)
I remember sitting silently and pained a couple of times when school and camp oddballs were tormented—once overtly and once covertly—by the more fortunate. I still feel guilty. Speaking up is horribly difficult under those circumstances, especially for those of us who are not among the chosen.
It was easy in elementary school, when I was both liked and popular, to befriend the girl who was too shy to raise her hand in class and wet the floor instead. I had no fear then and could see past her oddness to her intelligence.
But when you’re unpopular and the attention is directed elsewhere, you learn to bite your tongue and be thankful that for the moment, you are safe.
But perhaps parents of outsider children can teach them of the power and safety of numbers—even if the number is just two.
The last line of Lara’s blog about the YouTube beeyotches is particularly disturbing to me. She writes, “Something tells me this story is being told and retold among their high school peers with a level of awe and respect that would make us cringe.”
Do you think this is true? Are kids this mean these days? And is this the kind of popularity to which outcasts secretly aspire?
If so, what are we doing wrong?
Monday, April 14, 2008
@#$&#$()$&*%!@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Subject: emails not arriving
Hi,
My domain is yankeechick.com
Not all the emails I send from the address sophia@yankeechick.com are arriving at their destinations. I tried calling tech support, but the test emails I sent to him arrived so he didn't believe me.
However, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that many of my emails are not reaching their destinations because I have been running tests this morning with my husband, a friend, and to another email account of my own.
For example, I sent a friend five emails with the subject lines Test 1, Test 2, Test 3, Test 4, Test 5. She received Test 1 and Test 5 but not the others. I have also sent two emails to my Gmail account that never arrived.
I use Outlook 2002, but I also sent a couple of tests to my Gmail account via Webmail. One arrived, the other didn't.
This is happening on more than one computer.
Sophia Dembling
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have tested the e-mail sending functionality of your Mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com . I was able to send the e-mails without any issue. Could you please check it once again from your end? If the issue still persists and receives any bounce back message, please get back to us with the latest bounce back message with the complete header information so that we can further investigate on the issue. Also, the information given below.
1. From and To address
2. Subject line of the e-mail
3. Time and time zone
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Morris Fredrickson
Customer Support
I'm not getting bounceback messages. The emails are simply not arriving =
at their destinations.
I just sent four messages to my Yahoo account and only two arrived. I sent three to my Gmail account and one arrived. I use the auto-fill in on Outlook so I am certain they all went to the same address.
Sophia Dembling
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for your reply.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. In order to investigate further on your e-mail issue, could you please get back to us with the following information?
1. The mailbox username and password where you are experiencing the issue.
2. Answer to the Security Question you have set in your account ‘sdtex’ so that we can authenticate you as the owner of the account and proceed further.
The Security Question is: What is your mother's maiden name?
Please get back to us with more information, so that we can assist you further.
Sincerely,
Dorin Hardy
Customer Support
email: sophia@yankeechick.com
password: XXX
Mother's maiden name: XXX
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting us.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have checked your account by sending and receiving emails and it worked fine. Could you please try it once again by sending and receiving emails from your end? If the issue still persists, then get back to us with the error message.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Elston Dunn
Customer Support
IS ANYONE EVEN READING MY DESCRIPTION OF THE PROBLEM?
I DON'T GET AN ERROR MESSAGE. THE EMAILS SIMPLY DO NOT ARRIVE AT THEIR DESTINATION.
I just sent 10 emails from sophia@yankeechick.com to sdtex2001@yahoo.com. In the subject line, I wrote Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. Five of those emails turned up in my Yahoo mailbox, five did not.
I sent five emails to sdtex2006@gmail.com. The subject lines said Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. NONE of those emails turned up.
To test those accounts, I sent two emails from Yahoo to Gmail. Both of those arrived immediately.
I then sent two emails from Gmail to Yahoo. Both of those emails arrived immediately.
I know from friends and business contacts that emails I have sent from sophia@yankeechick.com have not been received. I have done specific tests with friends and family.
Whatever the problem is, it's on your end. You just keep doing the same thing over and over and telling me everything is fine. It's time to try something else.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. We always try hard to continuously help our users to have better services and give our suggestions whenever and wherever possible. Could you please elaborate the issue that you are experiencing so that we can assist you in the better way?
Please reply to this e-mail with the requested information, so that we can assist you further.
Sincerely,
Aldred Robinson
Customer Support
Please tell me you're kidding...
What more can I tell you? Here's, again, is what the problem is, as explained in my last email:
I DON'T GET AN ERROR MESSAGE. THE EMAILS SIMPLY DO NOT ARRIVE AT THEIR DESTINATION.
Using Webmail, I just sent 10 emails from sophia@yankeechick.com to sdtex2001@yahoo.com. In the subject line, I wrote Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. Five of those emails turned up in my Yahoo mailbox, five did not.
I sent five emails to sdtex2006@gmail.com. The subject lines said Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. NONE of those emails turned up.
To test those accounts, I sent two emails from Yahoo to Gmail. Both of those arrived immediately.
I then sent two emails from Gmail to Yahoo. Both of those emails arrived immediately.
I know from friends and business contacts that emails I have sent from sophia@yankeechick.com have not been received. I have done specific tests with friends and family.
Whatever the problem is, it's on your end. You just keep doing the same thing over and over and telling me everything is fine. It's time to try something else.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. We have tested the e-mail functionality for your account by sending and receiving test e-mails. The e-mail reached successfully. Could you please try sending e-mails once again?
If the issue still persists, please provide us with the following information in order to investigate further on your issue:
1. If you are any bounce back message while sending the e-mails? If yes, please provide us with the bounce back e-mail with the complete header information.
2. The From and To address that you have mentioned in the e-mails.
3. Subject line of the e-mails.
4. Exact time the e-mails have been sent. Make sure to include the date and time zone.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Simon Adams
Customer Support
1.If you are any bounce back message while sending the e-mails? If yes, please provide us with the bounce back e-mail with the complete header information.
NO BOUNCE BACK MESSAGE!
2. The From and To address that you have mentioned in the e-mails.
All are sent from sophia@yankeechick.com
The following emails were sent and not received:
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 1
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:00 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 2
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:11 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 3
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:23 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 4
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:31 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 5
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:42 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: Test 6
Time sent: 10:41:52
---
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 1
Time sent: 10:44:05 EDT
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 3
Time sent: 10:44: 29 EDT
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 4
Time sent: 10:44: 40 EDT
Perhaps they are falling into a black hole?
http://www.livescience.com/technology/080411-cyber-black-holes.html
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have checked your mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com and I was able to send and receive e-mail through it with out an issue. Please try to send and receive from your end. If the issue persists, please let us know.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Rex Boyd
Customer Support
As far as I can tell, you sent one frigging email and it arrived. Send 10 emails. Send 12. You see how many tests I sent? Half arrive, half don't. If ALL my emails don't reach their marks, then the service is useless to me.
I want the same tech support person to work with me on this issue until it is solved or at least until you acknowledge the problem. I'm getting a new support person each time and each time you're just doing the same lame-ass test again and again. You're wasting my time.
I am about to dump Readyhosting for GoDaddy. This is the worst tech support I have ever received.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for getting back to us.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. I have checked the e-mail functionality for your mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com and was able to receive all the e-mails sent for this mailbox. Please check this once again from your end. Also, please make sure to configure the e-mail client by using the following settings:
1) Incoming e-mail server: pop.readyhosting.com
2) Outgoing e-mail server: smtp.readyhosting.com
3) Username: full mailbox name.
4) Password: mailbox password.
5) Incoming POP port: 110
6) Outgoing SMTP port: 25 or 587
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Sally Pearson
Customer Support
Hi,
My domain is yankeechick.com
Not all the emails I send from the address sophia@yankeechick.com are arriving at their destinations. I tried calling tech support, but the test emails I sent to him arrived so he didn't believe me.
However, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that many of my emails are not reaching their destinations because I have been running tests this morning with my husband, a friend, and to another email account of my own.
For example, I sent a friend five emails with the subject lines Test 1, Test 2, Test 3, Test 4, Test 5. She received Test 1 and Test 5 but not the others. I have also sent two emails to my Gmail account that never arrived.
I use Outlook 2002, but I also sent a couple of tests to my Gmail account via Webmail. One arrived, the other didn't.
This is happening on more than one computer.
Sophia Dembling
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have tested the e-mail sending functionality of your Mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com . I was able to send the e-mails without any issue. Could you please check it once again from your end? If the issue still persists and receives any bounce back message, please get back to us with the latest bounce back message with the complete header information so that we can further investigate on the issue. Also, the information given below.
1. From and To address
2. Subject line of the e-mail
3. Time and time zone
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Morris Fredrickson
Customer Support
I'm not getting bounceback messages. The emails are simply not arriving =
at their destinations.
I just sent four messages to my Yahoo account and only two arrived. I sent three to my Gmail account and one arrived. I use the auto-fill in on Outlook so I am certain they all went to the same address.
Sophia Dembling
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for your reply.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. In order to investigate further on your e-mail issue, could you please get back to us with the following information?
1. The mailbox username and password where you are experiencing the issue.
2. Answer to the Security Question you have set in your account ‘sdtex’ so that we can authenticate you as the owner of the account and proceed further.
The Security Question is: What is your mother's maiden name?
Please get back to us with more information, so that we can assist you further.
Sincerely,
Dorin Hardy
Customer Support
email: sophia@yankeechick.com
password: XXX
Mother's maiden name: XXX
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting us.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have checked your account by sending and receiving emails and it worked fine. Could you please try it once again by sending and receiving emails from your end? If the issue still persists, then get back to us with the error message.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Elston Dunn
Customer Support
IS ANYONE EVEN READING MY DESCRIPTION OF THE PROBLEM?
I DON'T GET AN ERROR MESSAGE. THE EMAILS SIMPLY DO NOT ARRIVE AT THEIR DESTINATION.
I just sent 10 emails from sophia@yankeechick.com to sdtex2001@yahoo.com. In the subject line, I wrote Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. Five of those emails turned up in my Yahoo mailbox, five did not.
I sent five emails to sdtex2006@gmail.com. The subject lines said Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. NONE of those emails turned up.
To test those accounts, I sent two emails from Yahoo to Gmail. Both of those arrived immediately.
I then sent two emails from Gmail to Yahoo. Both of those emails arrived immediately.
I know from friends and business contacts that emails I have sent from sophia@yankeechick.com have not been received. I have done specific tests with friends and family.
Whatever the problem is, it's on your end. You just keep doing the same thing over and over and telling me everything is fine. It's time to try something else.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. We always try hard to continuously help our users to have better services and give our suggestions whenever and wherever possible. Could you please elaborate the issue that you are experiencing so that we can assist you in the better way?
Please reply to this e-mail with the requested information, so that we can assist you further.
Sincerely,
Aldred Robinson
Customer Support
Please tell me you're kidding...
What more can I tell you? Here's, again, is what the problem is, as explained in my last email:
I DON'T GET AN ERROR MESSAGE. THE EMAILS SIMPLY DO NOT ARRIVE AT THEIR DESTINATION.
Using Webmail, I just sent 10 emails from sophia@yankeechick.com to sdtex2001@yahoo.com. In the subject line, I wrote Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. Five of those emails turned up in my Yahoo mailbox, five did not.
I sent five emails to sdtex2006@gmail.com. The subject lines said Test 1, Test 2, Test 3 etc. NONE of those emails turned up.
To test those accounts, I sent two emails from Yahoo to Gmail. Both of those arrived immediately.
I then sent two emails from Gmail to Yahoo. Both of those emails arrived immediately.
I know from friends and business contacts that emails I have sent from sophia@yankeechick.com have not been received. I have done specific tests with friends and family.
Whatever the problem is, it's on your end. You just keep doing the same thing over and over and telling me everything is fine. It's time to try something else.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. We have tested the e-mail functionality for your account by sending and receiving test e-mails. The e-mail reached successfully. Could you please try sending e-mails once again?
If the issue still persists, please provide us with the following information in order to investigate further on your issue:
1. If you are any bounce back message while sending the e-mails? If yes, please provide us with the bounce back e-mail with the complete header information.
2. The From and To address that you have mentioned in the e-mails.
3. Subject line of the e-mails.
4. Exact time the e-mails have been sent. Make sure to include the date and time zone.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Simon Adams
Customer Support
1.If you are any bounce back message while sending the e-mails? If yes, please provide us with the bounce back e-mail with the complete header information.
NO BOUNCE BACK MESSAGE!
2. The From and To address that you have mentioned in the e-mails.
All are sent from sophia@yankeechick.com
The following emails were sent and not received:
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 1
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:00 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 2
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:11 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 3
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:23 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 4
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:31 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Subject line: Test 5
Date: April 13, 2008
Time sent: 10:41:42 EDT
To: sdtex2001@yahoo.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: Test 6
Time sent: 10:41:52
---
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 1
Time sent: 10:44:05 EDT
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 3
Time sent: 10:44: 29 EDT
To: sdtex2006@gmail.com
Date: April 13, 2008
Subject line: gmail 4
Time sent: 10:44: 40 EDT
Perhaps they are falling into a black hole?
http://www.livescience.com/technology/080411-cyber-black-holes.html
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for contacting Support.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. I have checked your mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com and I was able to send and receive e-mail through it with out an issue. Please try to send and receive from your end. If the issue persists, please let us know.
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Rex Boyd
Customer Support
As far as I can tell, you sent one frigging email and it arrived. Send 10 emails. Send 12. You see how many tests I sent? Half arrive, half don't. If ALL my emails don't reach their marks, then the service is useless to me.
I want the same tech support person to work with me on this issue until it is solved or at least until you acknowledge the problem. I'm getting a new support person each time and each time you're just doing the same lame-ass test again and again. You're wasting my time.
I am about to dump Readyhosting for GoDaddy. This is the worst tech support I have ever received.
Hello Sophia,
Thank you for getting back to us.
We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you. I have checked the e-mail functionality for your mailbox sophia@yankeechick.com and was able to receive all the e-mails sent for this mailbox. Please check this once again from your end. Also, please make sure to configure the e-mail client by using the following settings:
1) Incoming e-mail server: pop.readyhosting.com
2) Outgoing e-mail server: smtp.readyhosting.com
3) Username: full mailbox name.
4) Password: mailbox password.
5) Incoming POP port: 110
6) Outgoing SMTP port: 25 or 587
If you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are available 24x7.
Sincerely,
Sally Pearson
Customer Support
rolling stones reflections
On Saturday night, Tom and I went to see Shine A Light, the Scorsese Rolling Stones documentary.
It was a lot of fun and by the end, I felt a little like I’d been to a real concert--kind of worn out and invigorated. We saw it in IMAX and it was a bit hard to watch at times because there were so many cuts and short scenes, but it was still fun to see Mick’s every pore, even if seeing Keith that close up was a little bit terrifying.
Tom was bummed that Mick seems to be a caricature of his former self, so full of jumping and twitching and dancing and mugging that it’s hard to take him seriously. And what happened to Keith? He is no longer the mystery man he once was and now seems like someone’s dotty old uncle. Kind of a rock 'n' roll Smurf, and a little sloppy on guitar. (According to Tom. I was not that discerning during this spectacle.)
Does every old rock band have to go Borscht Belt on us? We saw the Dictators a few years ago and they were full of shtick. Ditto Sylvain Sylvain.
Anyway, as always happens during concerts, my mind wandered during the movie, and this time I started paying attention to its twists and turns. I wondered…
Do Mick and Keith dye their hair? Ron Wood clearly does, it’s too black for reality at any age. Charlie Watts has gone gray and one camera angle exposed a balding spot on the top of his head. He still looks great. (Overheard after the movie, one plump middle-aged woman to another: “Who do you think is better looking? The drummer or Mick Jagger?")
Are all those excited young babes in the front few rows ringers? No way would these hot young things be all worked up over a bunch of grandpas.
What is that nasty schmatta Keith wears on his head? How would I describe it in a blog? It looks like it grew there naturally, like some sort of fungus. Does he sleep in it? Does it keep his wig on?
How does Keith find his eyes to apply eyeliner amidst all those leathery wrinkles? He looks like a dried apple head.
Are they really having as much fun as they seem to be?
Does Mick bother with groupies anymore?
Do the other guys ever get tired of Keith getting up in their faces? He sure does like to get close.
Did Jack White dream he forgot the lyrics or otherwise fucked up the night before the show? He looked pretty thrilled to be on stage with the Rolling Stones.
Does the band use stylists?
Is that girl in the front row anorexic?
Does Mick feel as silly as he looks using a guitar strap with the Rolling Stones logo on it?
Did Mick have liposuction on his bingo arms? They don’t look nearly as wobbly as they did when they played the Super Bowl halftime show.
And so on…
It was a lot of fun and by the end, I felt a little like I’d been to a real concert--kind of worn out and invigorated. We saw it in IMAX and it was a bit hard to watch at times because there were so many cuts and short scenes, but it was still fun to see Mick’s every pore, even if seeing Keith that close up was a little bit terrifying.
Tom was bummed that Mick seems to be a caricature of his former self, so full of jumping and twitching and dancing and mugging that it’s hard to take him seriously. And what happened to Keith? He is no longer the mystery man he once was and now seems like someone’s dotty old uncle. Kind of a rock 'n' roll Smurf, and a little sloppy on guitar. (According to Tom. I was not that discerning during this spectacle.)
Does every old rock band have to go Borscht Belt on us? We saw the Dictators a few years ago and they were full of shtick. Ditto Sylvain Sylvain.
Anyway, as always happens during concerts, my mind wandered during the movie, and this time I started paying attention to its twists and turns. I wondered…
Do Mick and Keith dye their hair? Ron Wood clearly does, it’s too black for reality at any age. Charlie Watts has gone gray and one camera angle exposed a balding spot on the top of his head. He still looks great. (Overheard after the movie, one plump middle-aged woman to another: “Who do you think is better looking? The drummer or Mick Jagger?")
Are all those excited young babes in the front few rows ringers? No way would these hot young things be all worked up over a bunch of grandpas.
What is that nasty schmatta Keith wears on his head? How would I describe it in a blog? It looks like it grew there naturally, like some sort of fungus. Does he sleep in it? Does it keep his wig on?
How does Keith find his eyes to apply eyeliner amidst all those leathery wrinkles? He looks like a dried apple head.
Are they really having as much fun as they seem to be?
Does Mick bother with groupies anymore?
Do the other guys ever get tired of Keith getting up in their faces? He sure does like to get close.
Did Jack White dream he forgot the lyrics or otherwise fucked up the night before the show? He looked pretty thrilled to be on stage with the Rolling Stones.
Does the band use stylists?
Is that girl in the front row anorexic?
Does Mick feel as silly as he looks using a guitar strap with the Rolling Stones logo on it?
Did Mick have liposuction on his bingo arms? They don’t look nearly as wobbly as they did when they played the Super Bowl halftime show.
And so on…
Saturday, April 12, 2008
saturday stuff
Here’s a WSJ interview with Jennifer Weiner about her book Certain Girls,
in which she addresses Jane Smiley’s review, which I linked to earlier this week.
Weiner says, in part: “What shocked me was that she said I have to stop writing about nice Jewish characters. [In her review, Ms. Smiley wrote that Ms. Weiner "seems boxed in by her chosen genre" and should "address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters."]
I couldn't believe that made it past the copy desk. The idea you can tell a writer of a specific religion to stop writing about that religion is presumptuous. When an older writer tries to tell a younger writer through a review what kind of career she should be pursuing, it tends to speak to the reviewer's anxieties rather than the book itself…”
I didn’t interpret Smiley’s review as dissing anyone’s religion as much as suggesting Weiner look farther afield for her characters. Big difference. On the other hand, Smiley has written about horses and academia, which is the stuff of her life, so she should talk.
Speaking of chick stuff, Mary and I rented Private Benjamin last night and I am pleased and relieved to report that it held up. Sure, the fashions are 1980s as is some of the humor, but it’s still clever and thoughtful and fun. The cast includes Goldie Hawn, a few minutes of Albert Brooks, Eileen Brennan, Mary Kay Place, Armand Assante, Sam Wanamaker, Harry Dean Stanton…not too shabby. I love it.
More girltalk: A very kind blog reader sent me a link and asked my opinion of this article from The Atlantic, titled Marry Him!--the Case for Mr. Good Enough. It is an interesting argument for women to stop being so picky about their men and "settle" for someone who might be too short or too bald or too something or not something enough. I wasn't sure what to think of it--I had a knee-jerk negative reaction--and hemmed and hawed, but the woman who sent it managed to sum it up in one very neat sentence: I think what she says is to settle, I say is maturity. Yes, yes. Of course. That's exactly what I meant to say.
Deelish for Dallasites: The city elders plan to rename Industrial Boulevard to reflect the glamorous (very distant) future they plan for it. For you outtatowners, Industrial Boulevard is pretty much what it sounds like—a gritty stretch of auto businesses, titty bars, the county jail, bail bondsmen and, as happens to any area that abuts a dry district (that is, areas with no alcohol sales), a whole lot of liquor stores. (Read about it here.)
Among the names being floated:
Big D Boulevard (gak)
Dallas Delta (makes it sound romantic, don’t it?)
Kirk Parkway (presumably after former Mayor Ron Kirk)
Rio Vista (and what a vista the Trinity River offers!)
Stanley Marcus Boulevard (I’d rather see them name the planned Calatrava Bridge for him)
The Promenade (how grand!)
I say call it Beer Run Boulevard.
Speaking of Eileen Brennan, Tom and I watched most of the movie FM the other night. It was mildly entertaining--the hairdos alone gave us something to talk about--but we wondered which came first, FM or WKRP in Cincinatti? Anyone?
Finally, because my workout DVD shelf runneth over, and because reviewing DVDs helps keep me fit, I have decided to launch a second blog dedicated to reviews, called Suit Up and Show Up. I’ve posted a few old reviews and one new one up already and will keep up as best I can. Please check in from time to time if you’re interested, I’ve added it to my blogroll to the right.
in which she addresses Jane Smiley’s review, which I linked to earlier this week.Weiner says, in part: “What shocked me was that she said I have to stop writing about nice Jewish characters. [In her review, Ms. Smiley wrote that Ms. Weiner "seems boxed in by her chosen genre" and should "address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters."]
I couldn't believe that made it past the copy desk. The idea you can tell a writer of a specific religion to stop writing about that religion is presumptuous. When an older writer tries to tell a younger writer through a review what kind of career she should be pursuing, it tends to speak to the reviewer's anxieties rather than the book itself…”
I didn’t interpret Smiley’s review as dissing anyone’s religion as much as suggesting Weiner look farther afield for her characters. Big difference. On the other hand, Smiley has written about horses and academia, which is the stuff of her life, so she should talk.
Speaking of chick stuff, Mary and I rented Private Benjamin last night and I am pleased and relieved to report that it held up. Sure, the fashions are 1980s as is some of the humor, but it’s still clever and thoughtful and fun. The cast includes Goldie Hawn, a few minutes of Albert Brooks, Eileen Brennan, Mary Kay Place, Armand Assante, Sam Wanamaker, Harry Dean Stanton…not too shabby. I love it.
More girltalk: A very kind blog reader sent me a link and asked my opinion of this article from The Atlantic, titled Marry Him!--the Case for Mr. Good Enough. It is an interesting argument for women to stop being so picky about their men and "settle" for someone who might be too short or too bald or too something or not something enough. I wasn't sure what to think of it--I had a knee-jerk negative reaction--and hemmed and hawed, but the woman who sent it managed to sum it up in one very neat sentence: I think what she says is to settle, I say is maturity. Yes, yes. Of course. That's exactly what I meant to say.
Deelish for Dallasites: The city elders plan to rename Industrial Boulevard to reflect the glamorous (very distant) future they plan for it. For you outtatowners, Industrial Boulevard is pretty much what it sounds like—a gritty stretch of auto businesses, titty bars, the county jail, bail bondsmen and, as happens to any area that abuts a dry district (that is, areas with no alcohol sales), a whole lot of liquor stores. (Read about it here.)
Among the names being floated:
Big D Boulevard (gak)
Dallas Delta (makes it sound romantic, don’t it?)
Kirk Parkway (presumably after former Mayor Ron Kirk)
Rio Vista (and what a vista the Trinity River offers!)
Stanley Marcus Boulevard (I’d rather see them name the planned Calatrava Bridge for him)
The Promenade (how grand!)
I say call it Beer Run Boulevard.
Speaking of Eileen Brennan, Tom and I watched most of the movie FM the other night. It was mildly entertaining--the hairdos alone gave us something to talk about--but we wondered which came first, FM or WKRP in Cincinatti? Anyone?
Finally, because my workout DVD shelf runneth over, and because reviewing DVDs helps keep me fit, I have decided to launch a second blog dedicated to reviews, called Suit Up and Show Up. I’ve posted a few old reviews and one new one up already and will keep up as best I can. Please check in from time to time if you’re interested, I’ve added it to my blogroll to the right.
Friday, April 11, 2008
flotsam friday
I’m having an intermittent problem with my e-mails not hitting their destinations. And you know what intermittent means—tech support will not believe me because the tests I sent to “Jason” arrived, of course. He said things like, “Sometimes when you type the wrong e-mail address…” C’mon, Jason. Don’t you think I checked that? If I coulda reached through the phone line and throttled him…
So what do I do now other than slump at my desk?
Anyway, if you’re wondering why I didn’t respond to your e-mail, I probably did.
This is an exciting weekend in Duncanville, where the second-annual Texas Open Bonspiel will take place. And you know what that means, don’t you? Yes indeed, the Duncanville will be all abuzz with curlers from across the country! (Read all about it here.) Perhaps I can persuade a couple to come sweep my kitchen floor. Talk about flotsam--Jack tracks in all kinds of mess on his giant feet that we're not allowed to touch.
Got an email with this subject line the other day: Save 15% on Col-Pure at The Collagen Store Grand Opening!
The Collagen Store?
Cartoon du jour.
So, evidently and not surprisingly, the same newspaper decline that’s occurring here is also happening in France. But those French journalists are not gonna take it sitting down. They’re striking! Yeah, like that’s gonna help…
Here’s a new book concept that I find totally bizarre and yet bizarrely compelling:
THANK GOD I
Most controversial book ever launches later next week
New York City, NY “Rape, Cancer, Death, and Divorce. Can you imagine being grateful for any of these things? Finally a book that transforms the human experience according to creator of the Thank God I series”, John Castagnini.
“Thank God I, soon to be the largest inspirational book series since Chicken Soup for the Soul, unites a world-wide community of individuals to share personal stories of gratitude for their past adversities. Thousands of writers will reveal gut-wrenching accounts of how they transformed perceived crisis into blessings” added Castagnini.
So what do I do now other than slump at my desk?
Anyway, if you’re wondering why I didn’t respond to your e-mail, I probably did.
This is an exciting weekend in Duncanville, where the second-annual Texas Open Bonspiel will take place. And you know what that means, don’t you? Yes indeed, the Duncanville will be all abuzz with curlers from across the country! (Read all about it here.) Perhaps I can persuade a couple to come sweep my kitchen floor. Talk about flotsam--Jack tracks in all kinds of mess on his giant feet that we're not allowed to touch.
Got an email with this subject line the other day: Save 15% on Col-Pure at The Collagen Store Grand Opening!
The Collagen Store?
Cartoon du jour.
So, evidently and not surprisingly, the same newspaper decline that’s occurring here is also happening in France. But those French journalists are not gonna take it sitting down. They’re striking! Yeah, like that’s gonna help…
Here’s a new book concept that I find totally bizarre and yet bizarrely compelling:
THANK GOD I
Most controversial book ever launches later next week
New York City, NY “Rape, Cancer, Death, and Divorce. Can you imagine being grateful for any of these things? Finally a book that transforms the human experience according to creator of the Thank God I series”, John Castagnini.
“Thank God I, soon to be the largest inspirational book series since Chicken Soup for the Soul, unites a world-wide community of individuals to share personal stories of gratitude for their past adversities. Thousands of writers will reveal gut-wrenching accounts of how they transformed perceived crisis into blessings” added Castagnini.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
hurrah!
According to a highway sign I saw today, this is Work Zone Safety Week!
Did you buy me a present?
Did you buy me a present?
chick stuff
Chick flicks and chick lit are under discussion these days. In a review by Jane Smiley of Jennifer Weiner’s Certain Girls, Smiley bemoans the pinkness of the cover, which relegates the book to the girl ghetto. Actually, she laments Weiner’s evident decision to aim for the chick lit shelves.
Smiley writes:
In her latest novel, she seems boxed in by her chosen genre, and it's a shame, because she's got the intelligence and the ambition to address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters. For whatever reason, though, she doesn't dare.
Meanwhile, Hollywood is trying to figure out what the Next Big Thing in chick flicks will be, now that Meg Ryan is getting long in the tooth. (OK, Hollywood didn’t say that, I did. But to me, Meg Ryan epitomizes the last round of chick flicks. She’s just so cute and inoffensive.)
My first question: Why is chick lit considered a ghetto while guy lit is considered the real deal? Why should the psychological ups and downs of Martin Amis’ characters be more respected than Weiner’s?
For that matter, why wasn’t Wally Lamb’s massive bestseller, She’s Come Undone given a pink cover? I wonder if Henry James was considered chick lit in his day, since his stories are all about intimate relationships? What about Jane Austen? Is Anne Tyler chick lit?
I have similar questions about chick flicks. I love the entire Bette Davis canon—are those chick flicks? What about Gone With the Wind? (Movie and book, actually.) If a book or movie has staying power, does that move it out of the ghetto into the good neighborhood?
I guess what is considered hardcore chick lit today is written to a formula that includes lots of shopping, brand name-dropping, cocktails and looooove. And chick flicks basically are boy+girl= happily ever after, eventually. Unless they’re a about somebody dying. (Beaches—which I’ve seen and didn’t care about.)
I don’t read a ton of hardcore chick lit, but I read The Devil Wears Prada and was surprised by how well-written it was. I also enjoyed the movie. Then I read Lauren Weisberger’s second book, Everyone Worth Knowing, and found it to be the exact same story, different career (public relations). Tedious. I read Bridget Jones’ Diary and enjoyed that and the movie, but decided not to read the follow-up for fear it would suck. (I rarely see movie sequels either, for the same reason.)
I am a sucker for a few recent-ish all-out chick flicks. Although I usually find Julia Roberts irritating, I do have a soft spot for Notting Hill. (I suspect my aversion to Julia Roberts has something to do with my loathing for her breakthrough movie, Pretty Woman. No, don’t get me started.) I catch Legally Blonde on TV whenever I come across it. I love the fact that Elle gets the degree and, only incidentally, the good guy.
Most of my favorite chick flicks are moldy olides, though. An Officer and a Gentleman got me through some hard times when I first moved to Texas and things weren’t going well. I saw it several times in one week because I needed escapism so badly. I love Private Benjamin, with Goldie Hawn, in which she is widowed on her wedding night and joins the army. The ending tickles me every time I see it (and it’s been a while—I might have to find it for fun). I also like Rich and Famous, with Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, which follows a friendship over decades.
I suppose my favorite chick lit and flicks involve women going for something other than the guy. You know, finding a guy is great, but that’s not all there is to us.
Smiley writes:
In her latest novel, she seems boxed in by her chosen genre, and it's a shame, because she's got the intelligence and the ambition to address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters. For whatever reason, though, she doesn't dare.
Meanwhile, Hollywood is trying to figure out what the Next Big Thing in chick flicks will be, now that Meg Ryan is getting long in the tooth. (OK, Hollywood didn’t say that, I did. But to me, Meg Ryan epitomizes the last round of chick flicks. She’s just so cute and inoffensive.)
My first question: Why is chick lit considered a ghetto while guy lit is considered the real deal? Why should the psychological ups and downs of Martin Amis’ characters be more respected than Weiner’s?
For that matter, why wasn’t Wally Lamb’s massive bestseller, She’s Come Undone given a pink cover? I wonder if Henry James was considered chick lit in his day, since his stories are all about intimate relationships? What about Jane Austen? Is Anne Tyler chick lit?
I have similar questions about chick flicks. I love the entire Bette Davis canon—are those chick flicks? What about Gone With the Wind? (Movie and book, actually.) If a book or movie has staying power, does that move it out of the ghetto into the good neighborhood?
I guess what is considered hardcore chick lit today is written to a formula that includes lots of shopping, brand name-dropping, cocktails and looooove. And chick flicks basically are boy+girl= happily ever after, eventually. Unless they’re a about somebody dying. (Beaches—which I’ve seen and didn’t care about.)
I don’t read a ton of hardcore chick lit, but I read The Devil Wears Prada and was surprised by how well-written it was. I also enjoyed the movie. Then I read Lauren Weisberger’s second book, Everyone Worth Knowing, and found it to be the exact same story, different career (public relations). Tedious. I read Bridget Jones’ Diary and enjoyed that and the movie, but decided not to read the follow-up for fear it would suck. (I rarely see movie sequels either, for the same reason.)
I am a sucker for a few recent-ish all-out chick flicks. Although I usually find Julia Roberts irritating, I do have a soft spot for Notting Hill. (I suspect my aversion to Julia Roberts has something to do with my loathing for her breakthrough movie, Pretty Woman. No, don’t get me started.) I catch Legally Blonde on TV whenever I come across it. I love the fact that Elle gets the degree and, only incidentally, the good guy.
Most of my favorite chick flicks are moldy olides, though. An Officer and a Gentleman got me through some hard times when I first moved to Texas and things weren’t going well. I saw it several times in one week because I needed escapism so badly. I love Private Benjamin, with Goldie Hawn, in which she is widowed on her wedding night and joins the army. The ending tickles me every time I see it (and it’s been a while—I might have to find it for fun). I also like Rich and Famous, with Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, which follows a friendship over decades.
I suppose my favorite chick lit and flicks involve women going for something other than the guy. You know, finding a guy is great, but that’s not all there is to us.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
didn't work
I had coffee with a friend and talked about all sorts of things and listened to the city council meeting on the way home and stopped at the post office and made myself grilled cheese for lunch and still...STILL...I have Smoke on the Water wearing a groove in my brain. And not in a good way.
wandering wednesday
Here comes high-maintenance season, and I don’t just mean yard work. (Though we did finally clear the leaves from the yard and the Garden Bed of Death is showing encouraging signs of life.
But more than that, the months of shaggy legs and toes au naturel are waning. Body parts must be toned and exfoliated, pits must be pristine. It was warm enough for shorts or a summer skirt this weekend but my legs were in no shape to expose and so I sweated it out in jeans.
A young woman in one of my yoga classes is toned and fit and hairy-legged as a little boy. I envy her insouciance. I can’t do that and never could—the stereotype of the hairy feminist is just bigotry. Most feminists I know are as vigilant about body hair as any beauty queen.
So, it’s time to get out the wax and start ripping hair out by its roots. It’s a dreary, not to mention painful, and unending chore. Shaving is no better because it must be done more often.
And time to start booking pedicures, which are pleasant but ultimately pricey, by the end of our long spring and summer.
But a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do.
I read in the paper this morning that the London Tech Music School named Smoke on the Water the greatest guitar riff of all time. So naturally, that’s been on a maddening tape loop in my head all morning. Maybe I can exorcise it by passing it on to you.
This recipe for garlicky garbanzo burgers sounds yummy to me. The DMN Taste section consistently has great recipes, I plan to try this one soon.
I like today’s Dilbert. (April 9, if you’re coming to this blog another day.) Hostility is fun!
I got blogrolled by Poopouri and it’s getting a lot of clicks. I’m sure people are disappointed when they get there to find me just mocking rather than reviewing. But evidently, a lot of people are worried about bathroom odors. Maybe I could ask for a review sample …
I always mean to link to my articles when they run but don’t always remember. So, here’s one about ADD that ran in December.
And another about Earthwatch that ran in October, I think.
Black and Blue has two more gigs booked at the AllGood—May 3 and May 23. Mark your calendars and come have fun!
But more than that, the months of shaggy legs and toes au naturel are waning. Body parts must be toned and exfoliated, pits must be pristine. It was warm enough for shorts or a summer skirt this weekend but my legs were in no shape to expose and so I sweated it out in jeans.
A young woman in one of my yoga classes is toned and fit and hairy-legged as a little boy. I envy her insouciance. I can’t do that and never could—the stereotype of the hairy feminist is just bigotry. Most feminists I know are as vigilant about body hair as any beauty queen.
So, it’s time to get out the wax and start ripping hair out by its roots. It’s a dreary, not to mention painful, and unending chore. Shaving is no better because it must be done more often.
And time to start booking pedicures, which are pleasant but ultimately pricey, by the end of our long spring and summer.
But a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do.
I read in the paper this morning that the London Tech Music School named Smoke on the Water the greatest guitar riff of all time. So naturally, that’s been on a maddening tape loop in my head all morning. Maybe I can exorcise it by passing it on to you.
This recipe for garlicky garbanzo burgers sounds yummy to me. The DMN Taste section consistently has great recipes, I plan to try this one soon.
I like today’s Dilbert. (April 9, if you’re coming to this blog another day.) Hostility is fun!
I got blogrolled by Poopouri and it’s getting a lot of clicks. I’m sure people are disappointed when they get there to find me just mocking rather than reviewing. But evidently, a lot of people are worried about bathroom odors. Maybe I could ask for a review sample …
I always mean to link to my articles when they run but don’t always remember. So, here’s one about ADD that ran in December.
And another about Earthwatch that ran in October, I think.
Black and Blue has two more gigs booked at the AllGood—May 3 and May 23. Mark your calendars and come have fun!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
bad headline du jour
Abuse probed at polygamist compound
Hm, somehow the use of "probed" in this headline makes the icky even ickier.
Hm, somehow the use of "probed" in this headline makes the icky even ickier.
today's assignment
Everyone must read this story, which just won a Pulitzer Prize for feature writing. The gist? World-famous violinist Joshua Bell does a stint as a busker in a DC metro station.
bleah
Here comes griping so if you’re not in the mood, move along. There’s nothing for you here.
I am totally out of sorts these days, all at sixes and sevens and I don’t know why. I’m not working worth a damn. I’m behind on deadlines, cranky with everyone, and just don’t care.
I’m about to turn 50 and I’m still waiting for life to kick in. There’s nothing wrong with my life except I can’t seem to live up to my own potential. I’m pissing away time with piss-ant stories. I have a half-cooked book proposal that’s been growing moldy, a first draft of a novel that I should be revising instead of playing Scrabulous and I really need to be drumming up more paying work but can’t seem to get motivated.
Most of what I’ve accomplished in life has floated my way. The jobs I’ve had, the books I’ve written—I’ve pursued none of it, it’s all come to me. But now that nothing is coming my way and initiative is in order, I am instead sinking into inertia. Well, not inertia, exactly. I stay busy, but it’s a hamster wheel going nowhere. Well, actually, at least if I were on a hamster wheel I would be working out. I’m not doing enough of that, either.
I’ve started making lists and using a kitchen timer to discipline myself. I managed to scratch most items off my list yesterday but “make dentist appointment” has migrated to today’s list. It’s not that I don’t want to go to the dentist, it’s that I don’t want to pay for it, what with Jack’s expensive new fence we’re getting this month.
It would help if I could drum up some good work. But I’m tired and bored and waiting for the Next Big Thing to come my way. Except I should be creating my own Next Big Thing.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Send Twinkies.
I am totally out of sorts these days, all at sixes and sevens and I don’t know why. I’m not working worth a damn. I’m behind on deadlines, cranky with everyone, and just don’t care.
I’m about to turn 50 and I’m still waiting for life to kick in. There’s nothing wrong with my life except I can’t seem to live up to my own potential. I’m pissing away time with piss-ant stories. I have a half-cooked book proposal that’s been growing moldy, a first draft of a novel that I should be revising instead of playing Scrabulous and I really need to be drumming up more paying work but can’t seem to get motivated.
Most of what I’ve accomplished in life has floated my way. The jobs I’ve had, the books I’ve written—I’ve pursued none of it, it’s all come to me. But now that nothing is coming my way and initiative is in order, I am instead sinking into inertia. Well, not inertia, exactly. I stay busy, but it’s a hamster wheel going nowhere. Well, actually, at least if I were on a hamster wheel I would be working out. I’m not doing enough of that, either.
I’ve started making lists and using a kitchen timer to discipline myself. I managed to scratch most items off my list yesterday but “make dentist appointment” has migrated to today’s list. It’s not that I don’t want to go to the dentist, it’s that I don’t want to pay for it, what with Jack’s expensive new fence we’re getting this month.
It would help if I could drum up some good work. But I’m tired and bored and waiting for the Next Big Thing to come my way. Except I should be creating my own Next Big Thing.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Send Twinkies.
Monday, April 7, 2008
my newspaper
The front page of today’s Dallas Morning News includes articles about new trails and a nature center along the Trinity River; about the raid on a polygamist ranch in West Texas; about the problems with privatization of Texas’ social services; about a debate over nets people who live on golf courses are erecting to catch errant balls before they do damage and, oh yes, a small wire story about Iraq.
So I’m wondering if the newspaper front page is even relevant anymore. Except for that wee international story and two state stories, how does this front page differ from the Metro section?
Newspapers are so confused these day.
The Metro section front page leads with the story I care about most—four teenagers were arrested as suspects in last month’s 26 car fires in Oak Cliff. Why is that not on the front page rather than the golf balls story? If people decide to live on golf courses, aren’t flying balls, um, par for the course? (Evidently, improvements in golf equipment allow bad golfers to hit balls farther and so the problem is growing. Poor, poor people on golf courses.)
I’m not sure why I’m expected to care so much about this that the story needs to be on the front page of my morning paper. Some people might suggest that it’s because the golf balls problem is in (wealthy) Plano whereas the car fires are in (depressed) Oak Cliff. That’s what some people might suggest. After all, aren’t crime and burning cars par for the course in Oak Cliff? Some people might think so.
Perhaps newspaper redesigns should be less about typeface than how the news is categorized. Perhaps we should have good news/bad news sections. Or rich man/poor man news. And sports, of course—although then we’d have to decide where today’s story about selling top-tier season tickets for the new Cowboys stadium should go. Is this sports or rich man news, since these seat licenses range between $16,000 and $150,000, with an additional $340 per ticket per game. (Woe is me, what is the world coming to?) It’s in the business section today, along with a story about how it’s getting harder to get loans for college. Interesting story and it's in the business sevtion …why?
Maybe we don’t even need to divide the newspaper into sections anymore, although that would make it hard to share in the morning.
An unrelated note: Writing in the New York Times, Nicholas Kristof cites evidence supporting my theory that sexism is more entrenched than racism.
So I’m wondering if the newspaper front page is even relevant anymore. Except for that wee international story and two state stories, how does this front page differ from the Metro section?
Newspapers are so confused these day.
The Metro section front page leads with the story I care about most—four teenagers were arrested as suspects in last month’s 26 car fires in Oak Cliff. Why is that not on the front page rather than the golf balls story? If people decide to live on golf courses, aren’t flying balls, um, par for the course? (Evidently, improvements in golf equipment allow bad golfers to hit balls farther and so the problem is growing. Poor, poor people on golf courses.)
I’m not sure why I’m expected to care so much about this that the story needs to be on the front page of my morning paper. Some people might suggest that it’s because the golf balls problem is in (wealthy) Plano whereas the car fires are in (depressed) Oak Cliff. That’s what some people might suggest. After all, aren’t crime and burning cars par for the course in Oak Cliff? Some people might think so.
Perhaps newspaper redesigns should be less about typeface than how the news is categorized. Perhaps we should have good news/bad news sections. Or rich man/poor man news. And sports, of course—although then we’d have to decide where today’s story about selling top-tier season tickets for the new Cowboys stadium should go. Is this sports or rich man news, since these seat licenses range between $16,000 and $150,000, with an additional $340 per ticket per game. (Woe is me, what is the world coming to?) It’s in the business section today, along with a story about how it’s getting harder to get loans for college. Interesting story and it's in the business sevtion …why?
Maybe we don’t even need to divide the newspaper into sections anymore, although that would make it hard to share in the morning.
An unrelated note: Writing in the New York Times, Nicholas Kristof cites evidence supporting my theory that sexism is more entrenched than racism.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
rocks on
Black and Blue rocked the AllGood Café. Rocked it right.
Mike Snyder, who owns the AllGood, was tired and grumpy when Black and Blue arrived and told them to go on by 9 and get it over with so he could get the hell outta there. Nobody expected much of the evening.
We were all surprised by the full house. Black and Blue started cautiously but over the course of a two-hour set hit its groove. By Satisfaction, DJ Mr. Rid was dancing, cute girls were dancing, L7 couples from Addison were dancing (yes! that’s the target market!), white-man overbites were occurring, a stray drunken (or something) queen in mirror shades and stylish denim and black was dancing and annoying people. Black and Blue planned to cut their set down in deference to Mike’s exhaustion but ended up playing everything they had with one repeat (Rocks Off) before leaving the stage.
It's the Rolling Stones. What's not to like? No costumes, just the rock.
Mike was a lot less grumpy by the end—one might even say giddy. The band made a few hundred dollars off the door alone, with a $5 cover. (And Mike made his money in drinks, of course.)
Much smiling occurred at the end of the evening.
We all were, dare I say it?, satisfied. (Yikes. That’s really beneath me.)
Saturday, April 5, 2008
don't look at me
Exercise. Sheesh. I love it, hate it, love it, hate it.
While I have remained consistent with my yoga practice (except while in India, oddly), I’ve lost interest in everything else of late. The Dallas Morning News has decided it doesn’t want anymore fitness DVD reviews (it’s all local, local, local these days—see yesterday’s blog) and so that's no longer keeping me active. I used to do several DVDs to find one worth reviewing (and unless a DVD clearly and unmistakably bites early on, I do all of them all the way through). Now my fitness library is great and growing but I have no outlet for reviews. I could review them here, but it’s more fun to get paid. Any volunteers?
Yoga and dog walking have not been enough to keep me in shape so I’m now bullying myself back onto the program—yoga, cardio, strength. I’m not sure why I go off exercise sometimes, considering how much better it makes me feel about myself and everything else. When I’m really off the program, even the mantra “suit up and show up” doesn’t work for me like it usually does. I suit up and sit around.
Partly it’s just scheduling. Fitting in workouts around travel can be difficult. Then, once I’m out of the habit, it takes a kick in the ass to get me back in. My kick in the ass came last night, while lolling on the couch watching Gimme Shelter. (We’re all Stones all the time here these days. And, btw, the movie is even better than I remember.) I was wearing sweats and I still felt fat and flabby. Bleah. I kept rearranging my elastic waistband, looking for the place that didn’t make me feel bad about myself. Hm. Now I know why old guys wear their pants under their armpits. It’s the only place the waistband doesn’t cut right through a fat roll. (TMI? Sorry.)
So I just did 40 minutes of dance aerobics
and 10 minutes of core on a fitness ball
and boy, I’ve slipped. It happens so fast. A month off the program and my abs were screamin’ through the crunches.
Sometimes I wish I could stop caring and just pork out on Popeye’s and chocolate. But I’m hooked. Knowing how good fit can feel, I just can’t let go. Not permanently, anyway. I'll be sore tomorrow, though.
A reminder for locals: Black and Blue, Tom’s new Rolling Stones tribute band, makes its debut at the AllGood Café in Deep Ellum tonight. It should be fun, so if you’re out and about, please stop by. They’ll go on around 9-9:30—nice and early! They’ll do two sets and Tom says the second set will really rock.
While I have remained consistent with my yoga practice (except while in India, oddly), I’ve lost interest in everything else of late. The Dallas Morning News has decided it doesn’t want anymore fitness DVD reviews (it’s all local, local, local these days—see yesterday’s blog) and so that's no longer keeping me active. I used to do several DVDs to find one worth reviewing (and unless a DVD clearly and unmistakably bites early on, I do all of them all the way through). Now my fitness library is great and growing but I have no outlet for reviews. I could review them here, but it’s more fun to get paid. Any volunteers?
Yoga and dog walking have not been enough to keep me in shape so I’m now bullying myself back onto the program—yoga, cardio, strength. I’m not sure why I go off exercise sometimes, considering how much better it makes me feel about myself and everything else. When I’m really off the program, even the mantra “suit up and show up” doesn’t work for me like it usually does. I suit up and sit around.
Partly it’s just scheduling. Fitting in workouts around travel can be difficult. Then, once I’m out of the habit, it takes a kick in the ass to get me back in. My kick in the ass came last night, while lolling on the couch watching Gimme Shelter. (We’re all Stones all the time here these days. And, btw, the movie is even better than I remember.) I was wearing sweats and I still felt fat and flabby. Bleah. I kept rearranging my elastic waistband, looking for the place that didn’t make me feel bad about myself. Hm. Now I know why old guys wear their pants under their armpits. It’s the only place the waistband doesn’t cut right through a fat roll. (TMI? Sorry.)
So I just did 40 minutes of dance aerobics
and 10 minutes of core on a fitness ball and boy, I’ve slipped. It happens so fast. A month off the program and my abs were screamin’ through the crunches.Sometimes I wish I could stop caring and just pork out on Popeye’s and chocolate. But I’m hooked. Knowing how good fit can feel, I just can’t let go. Not permanently, anyway. I'll be sore tomorrow, though.
A reminder for locals: Black and Blue, Tom’s new Rolling Stones tribute band, makes its debut at the AllGood Café in Deep Ellum tonight. It should be fun, so if you’re out and about, please stop by. They’ll go on around 9-9:30—nice and early! They’ll do two sets and Tom says the second set will really rock.
Friday, April 4, 2008
friday bummer
Yesterday I went to see Stop the Presses: The American Newspaper in Peril, a documentary about what appears to be the inevitable demise of the newspaper as we know it. (The film was co-produced and directed by Manny Mendoza a former Dallas Morning News critic who took a buyout.) It’s playing as part of the AFI Film Festival here in Dallas and shows one more time, on Saturday, at the Angelika.
To an extent, of course, I didn’t hear anything I didn’t already know—Craiglist killed classified, advertising is going to the web (where rates are lower), nobody is willing to pay for news on the web, going public put too much emphasis on profits, young people aren’t reading newspapers, yadda yadda yadda.
Nonetheless, hearing wizened newsmen (Ben Bradlee to Ed Asner) and women talk, seeing footage inside daily planning meetings (which I attended from time to time as an assistant editor) and watching newspaper-related clips from old movies made me feel even more poignantly the loss. I had great fun at the Dallas Morning News, when it was fun. Even in features (as opposed to hard news) we felt ourselves part of the pulse of the city . Our perceptions of our importance were greatly inflated, of course, but it was a giddy, heady feeling to be part of something the entire city shared (we imagined). I loved walking into the big, downtown monolith each day, with the pompous inscription carved above the front door:
Build the news upon the rock of truth and righteousness. Conduct it always upon the lines of fairness and integrity. Acknowledge the right of the people to get from the newspaper both sides of every important question.
I loved the pace of the newspaper, loved knowing the people behind the byline, loved seeing myself in the paper, even loved seeing myself smiling up from the bottom of a gerbil tank in my vet’s office one day.
As a consumer, I love that transitional time of day, between sleeping and work, spent drinking coffee and reading my newspaper. Alas, that time gets shorter and shorter as the paper contains less and less to read. The other morning, Tom tossed the newspaper on the bed for me as he does every morning and it felt no more weighty than a napkin hitting the bed. It’s fading. It’s fading away.
But the loss will be more than just about nostalgia. The newspaper really is the watchdog of our democracy and the more it buckles under the weight of the marketplace, the more I fear for us all. Nobody does investigative reporting like the newspapers. Watergate, the Catholic Church scandals, the Walter Reed hospital exposé—all these were the work of diligent, committed, creative and hard working reporters. And believe me, good reporters work their asses off. I’ve seen it.
As the documentary points out, all the TV and radio news shows and pundits draw information from newspapers. Those guys will have nothing to talk about if the New York Times, LA Times, and Washington Post go under. Then it will be all Britney all the time. When it’s not Paris.
What I do? It’s just piffle. I love writing features and I’m glad to entertain people, but you can get features anywhere. OK, they do help the rest of the newspaper go down more easily--I’ll read about the latest Dallas Independent School District scandal if I know I can reward myself with Carolyn Hax afterwards. I would miss features if my newspaper carried news alone. Still, nobody needs them. They’re just newspaper candy.
But we do need reporters, the kind of tough nuts who will knock on strangers’ doors and ask hard questions, who will go past the surface and then past the surface and then past the surface to find out what’s at the bottom. The kinds of people—and they do exist, I know lots of them—who would rather starve than violate the code of ethics by which newspapers operate. (By taking subsidized trips, I cannot count myself fully among them but I am meticulous about fairness in both my travel and non-travel stories.) Bloggers are taking up the slack to an extent, but they are unsupervised and simply not as trustworthy. No, don’t argue. They’re not.
The real bummer is that nobody sees a solution. They laugh about it in the documentary, but it’s a hysterical laugh. An entire, vital industry is scrambling to save itself but nobody knows how.
I feel like I’m standing on shore watching the Titanic go down and can’t do anything to stop it.
To an extent, of course, I didn’t hear anything I didn’t already know—Craiglist killed classified, advertising is going to the web (where rates are lower), nobody is willing to pay for news on the web, going public put too much emphasis on profits, young people aren’t reading newspapers, yadda yadda yadda.
Nonetheless, hearing wizened newsmen (Ben Bradlee to Ed Asner) and women talk, seeing footage inside daily planning meetings (which I attended from time to time as an assistant editor) and watching newspaper-related clips from old movies made me feel even more poignantly the loss. I had great fun at the Dallas Morning News, when it was fun. Even in features (as opposed to hard news) we felt ourselves part of the pulse of the city . Our perceptions of our importance were greatly inflated, of course, but it was a giddy, heady feeling to be part of something the entire city shared (we imagined). I loved walking into the big, downtown monolith each day, with the pompous inscription carved above the front door:
Build the news upon the rock of truth and righteousness. Conduct it always upon the lines of fairness and integrity. Acknowledge the right of the people to get from the newspaper both sides of every important question.
I loved the pace of the newspaper, loved knowing the people behind the byline, loved seeing myself in the paper, even loved seeing myself smiling up from the bottom of a gerbil tank in my vet’s office one day.
As a consumer, I love that transitional time of day, between sleeping and work, spent drinking coffee and reading my newspaper. Alas, that time gets shorter and shorter as the paper contains less and less to read. The other morning, Tom tossed the newspaper on the bed for me as he does every morning and it felt no more weighty than a napkin hitting the bed. It’s fading. It’s fading away.
But the loss will be more than just about nostalgia. The newspaper really is the watchdog of our democracy and the more it buckles under the weight of the marketplace, the more I fear for us all. Nobody does investigative reporting like the newspapers. Watergate, the Catholic Church scandals, the Walter Reed hospital exposé—all these were the work of diligent, committed, creative and hard working reporters. And believe me, good reporters work their asses off. I’ve seen it.
As the documentary points out, all the TV and radio news shows and pundits draw information from newspapers. Those guys will have nothing to talk about if the New York Times, LA Times, and Washington Post go under. Then it will be all Britney all the time. When it’s not Paris.
What I do? It’s just piffle. I love writing features and I’m glad to entertain people, but you can get features anywhere. OK, they do help the rest of the newspaper go down more easily--I’ll read about the latest Dallas Independent School District scandal if I know I can reward myself with Carolyn Hax afterwards. I would miss features if my newspaper carried news alone. Still, nobody needs them. They’re just newspaper candy.
But we do need reporters, the kind of tough nuts who will knock on strangers’ doors and ask hard questions, who will go past the surface and then past the surface and then past the surface to find out what’s at the bottom. The kinds of people—and they do exist, I know lots of them—who would rather starve than violate the code of ethics by which newspapers operate. (By taking subsidized trips, I cannot count myself fully among them but I am meticulous about fairness in both my travel and non-travel stories.) Bloggers are taking up the slack to an extent, but they are unsupervised and simply not as trustworthy. No, don’t argue. They’re not.
The real bummer is that nobody sees a solution. They laugh about it in the documentary, but it’s a hysterical laugh. An entire, vital industry is scrambling to save itself but nobody knows how.
I feel like I’m standing on shore watching the Titanic go down and can’t do anything to stop it.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
putting the fast in breakfast
“You eat like a truck driver,” a friend commented amiably over dinner the other night.
He’s right, too. Not so much in terms of quantity—although I can pack it away given the opportunity—but speed.
“You just put your head down and when you looked up, the plate was clean,” another friend once said.
It’s true and I’m not proud of it. I particularly hate when waiters take my plate away as soon as I’m done, making my shame more obvious.
So I’ve been trying this whole mindful eating thing. I caught the TLC show I Can Make You Thin the other day. It's mostly a lot of repackaged razzmatazz about something that’s been around a while. My friend Jean Fain, who does psychotherapy and hypnosis, has been teaching it to her clients for a long time. She make videos and CDs, too. See, here’s someone eating a Twinkie mindfully.
Hm. If it had been me, that Twinkie would never have known what hit it.
I’m trying, really. When I remember, I put my fork down between bites. I’ve tried to chew my food 20 times like the I Can Make You Thin guy recommends but that’s really kind of disgusting. I become aware of the chewed food in my mouth. (Hm, might that be the point? Some sort of aversion therapy?) And a peanut butter and banana sandwich cannot withstand 20 chews.
But my biggest struggle with the whole deal is that you’re not supposed to do anything else while you’re eating. Conversation, maybe, but no TV or reading or working. I tried this and realized that while I like food, eating is boring. I usually eat lunch (such as it is) at my desk. The other day, I sat at the kitchen table and tried to eat mindfully. Just me, alone, in the quiet, chewing. Whee.
I need to find a compromise between cramming lunch down my gullet as quickly as possible and sitting silently chewing for 30 minutes. Don’t know what that is yet.
Next I’ll try Jean’s hypnosis video. Can’t hurt, might help. Wish I had a Twinkie.
He’s right, too. Not so much in terms of quantity—although I can pack it away given the opportunity—but speed.
“You just put your head down and when you looked up, the plate was clean,” another friend once said.
It’s true and I’m not proud of it. I particularly hate when waiters take my plate away as soon as I’m done, making my shame more obvious.
So I’ve been trying this whole mindful eating thing. I caught the TLC show I Can Make You Thin the other day. It's mostly a lot of repackaged razzmatazz about something that’s been around a while. My friend Jean Fain, who does psychotherapy and hypnosis, has been teaching it to her clients for a long time. She make videos and CDs, too. See, here’s someone eating a Twinkie mindfully.
Hm. If it had been me, that Twinkie would never have known what hit it.
I’m trying, really. When I remember, I put my fork down between bites. I’ve tried to chew my food 20 times like the I Can Make You Thin guy recommends but that’s really kind of disgusting. I become aware of the chewed food in my mouth. (Hm, might that be the point? Some sort of aversion therapy?) And a peanut butter and banana sandwich cannot withstand 20 chews.
But my biggest struggle with the whole deal is that you’re not supposed to do anything else while you’re eating. Conversation, maybe, but no TV or reading or working. I tried this and realized that while I like food, eating is boring. I usually eat lunch (such as it is) at my desk. The other day, I sat at the kitchen table and tried to eat mindfully. Just me, alone, in the quiet, chewing. Whee.
I need to find a compromise between cramming lunch down my gullet as quickly as possible and sitting silently chewing for 30 minutes. Don’t know what that is yet.
Next I’ll try Jean’s hypnosis video. Can’t hurt, might help. Wish I had a Twinkie.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
one more photo
Because I'm pressed for time today, I'll toss out another photo. It's my absolute favorite from my India trip, of the bride and a cluster of aunties etc. during a pre-wedding blessing.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
show and tell
I’m tired of words so here is a random selection of photos from Mexico City.
One of the best things about Mexico City is that, as my mother-in-law-says, "There's a treasure around every corner." I don’t know what church this is and didn’t bother finding out but it’s a stumbled-upon treasure.
The Pyramids of Teotihuacan are the remnants of a civilization that predates the Aztecs, who found this former metropolis already in ruins. The pyramids were spectacular, although we did spend somewhat more time there than I would have liked, what with everything else the city has to offer.
Our guide was knowledgeable and meticulous and had a lot to say about the pyramids.
Random artsy-fartsiness.
The Aztec dog, the xoloescuintle, is a little odd looking, with those big ears and hairless skin like a lizard. These dogs are endangered but we met this one by the pyramids.
This little pack of xoloescuintles (dunno how to pronounce it) lives at the Museo Doloros Olmedo, which I loved.
Dolores Olmedo was friend, lover, patron and sometime model of Diego Rivera. Her collection is housed in her former home, a lovely hacienda surrounded by lawns and gardens. Art ranges from pre-Columbian forward, including numerous artworks by Rivera and his wife Frida Kahlo, and the collection is stunning.
However, I was mesmerized by numerous photos and portraits of Dolores herself—so glamorous, so fabulous. In one photo that appears to be from the 1950s (I looked for a postcard in the museum shop but alas, there were none), she crosses a tarmac from a small plane wearing a pencil skirt with a fur stole around her shoulders, flanked by slender dark-haired men in suits and sunglasses. I have a new role model.
Random artsy-fartsy photo of the museum courtyard.
The gardens are home to a flock of peacocks and the boys were randy this day, showing their stuff.
A different view, in case you wondered.
We also visited the Frida Kahlo Museum, in her former home in the town of Coyoacan. I’m sure it’s lovely but it was so crowded I got woozy and tore through it. I’ll have to return someday. Nevertheless, here’s a photo of her garden.
And in conclusion, another random artsy-fartsy photo from the Frida Kahlo museum.
That is all. And it took forfrigginever to post.
One of the best things about Mexico City is that, as my mother-in-law-says, "There's a treasure around every corner." I don’t know what church this is and didn’t bother finding out but it’s a stumbled-upon treasure.
The Pyramids of Teotihuacan are the remnants of a civilization that predates the Aztecs, who found this former metropolis already in ruins. The pyramids were spectacular, although we did spend somewhat more time there than I would have liked, what with everything else the city has to offer.
Our guide was knowledgeable and meticulous and had a lot to say about the pyramids.
Random artsy-fartsiness.
The Aztec dog, the xoloescuintle, is a little odd looking, with those big ears and hairless skin like a lizard. These dogs are endangered but we met this one by the pyramids.
This little pack of xoloescuintles (dunno how to pronounce it) lives at the Museo Doloros Olmedo, which I loved.
Dolores Olmedo was friend, lover, patron and sometime model of Diego Rivera. Her collection is housed in her former home, a lovely hacienda surrounded by lawns and gardens. Art ranges from pre-Columbian forward, including numerous artworks by Rivera and his wife Frida Kahlo, and the collection is stunning.
However, I was mesmerized by numerous photos and portraits of Dolores herself—so glamorous, so fabulous. In one photo that appears to be from the 1950s (I looked for a postcard in the museum shop but alas, there were none), she crosses a tarmac from a small plane wearing a pencil skirt with a fur stole around her shoulders, flanked by slender dark-haired men in suits and sunglasses. I have a new role model.
Random artsy-fartsy photo of the museum courtyard.
The gardens are home to a flock of peacocks and the boys were randy this day, showing their stuff.
A different view, in case you wondered.
We also visited the Frida Kahlo Museum, in her former home in the town of Coyoacan. I’m sure it’s lovely but it was so crowded I got woozy and tore through it. I’ll have to return someday. Nevertheless, here’s a photo of her garden.
And in conclusion, another random artsy-fartsy photo from the Frida Kahlo museum.
That is all. And it took forfrigginever to post.
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