on bad design

I don't know when I first published this. I do know that we got a new DVD player and are free of that damn remote.

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Today’s topic for discussion is design.

Not cool design. Bad design. Specifically, bad industrial design—the kind of design that makes you aware of design, since unless industrial design is intrusive, we barely notice it.

I will start with bad design as it relates to my morning toilette.

In my shower is a metal corners shelf. I bought at Bed, Bath and BEYOND (insert echo here). It’s got a tension pole and we store our shampoo and conditioners and multiple rusty disposable razors on it. The other day, I noticed large unsightly black flakes in my tub. The tension pole was rusting and large pieces were flaking off. You would think the designers would have considered the possibility that a shower shelf would get wet. I mean, I’m not a professional, but….

Out of the shower, on to the sink. For some reason (so they can sell more toothbrushes) toothbrushes have undergone a renaissance. I can only imagine the toothbrush-related problems that inspired this ...toothbrushing-related carpal tunnel syndrome? Toothbrushes flying out of people’s hands, causing injury to spectators? Fortunately, new-model toothbrushes are ergonomically designed, with all sorts of strategically placed bulges and grips. Toothbrush holders, however, have yet to catch up with these new-generation toothbrushes. The bulbous toothbrush handles don’t fit in holder holes.

Clearly, this industry needs a confab to discuss the future of bathroom organization. Our toothbrushes lie willy-nilly around our sink and that annoys me.

Time to dry my hair. My hairdryer has an on-off switch right where my hand wraps around it, so that I’m continually accidentally turning it off mid hairdry. It’s a small annoyance, but an annoyance nonetheless. Ugly words are spoken.

And now, to dress. I found a pair of wide-leg low-ish slung pants at Ann Taylor that fit so well, I bought three pairs in different colors. The pants fit wonderfully but they require a belt. So, why no belt loop in the center back of these pants? They have loops on the sides, but in the back, where you really need to keep things in place—nothing. Was it really worthy saving the fraction of a cent it would have cost to put another belt loop on when you consider the hours of irritation this causes your customers?

That concludes the grooming part of our discussion, but now I would like to give a special award to the remote control for our Memorex DVD player which, I learned from customer service, is “for some reason” not compatible with any universal remotes.

This remote is about 1.5 inches wide by 4.5 inches long. Tiny. It has itty-bitty buttons marked with itty-bitty type that, even if I fetch my Walgreen’s old lady magnifying glasses, is hard to read. I have to stand under a light and peer.
In addition, there is nothing intuitive about the placement of the buttons. The on-off button is on top, the open-close button is somewhere in the middle, the pause button is nowhere near the play/start/rewind buttons.

And, oh yes, the remote is the only way to access menu buttons on the DVD player, so that’s not an option.

Sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I think of things I’d like to say to the rocket scientist who designed this remote.

a new you!

It's kinda like the old you, minus accessories. Not so exciting, really.

It's been a long time since I mocked Dillard's. But this one touched my heart.

alzheimer's and other forms of dementia

I learned so much while working with Audette Rackley, of The Center for BrainHealth on the book I Can Still Laugh: Stories of Inspiration and Hope from Individuals Living with Alzheimer's. The 13 individuals with dementia whom we profiled, and their caregivers, were warm and friendly, smart and determined, open-hearted and unforgettable.

The book profiles members of the Stark Club, an intervention program at the CBH named for the charismatic Temple Stark, one of the people whose story we tell (and who is quoted in the book's title). The CBH focuses on strength-based intervention--in other words, they figure out what skills and strengths people with dementia retain and help them do those things as long as possible. For example, because Temple retained his ability to read for a long time, the CBH arranged for him to read to children at the Callier Center for Communication Disorders, also part of the University of Texas at Dallas. The children, many of whom had hearing impairments, adored Temple, who joked that it was a perfect set-up, "Because I can't read and they can't hear." It was this sort of humor and good nature from Stark Club members that helped make what could have been a depressing writing job inspiring instead.

The Stark Club brought together a group of people with early-onset Alzheimer's--they developed the disease in their 50s and 60s, while they still held jobs, had children in college, looked forward to continuing long, active lives into retirement and beyond. The club met on a regular basis for guided discussions, led by Audette and graduate students, slowed down and targeted to allow everyone to contribute. This helped maintain members' cognitive functioning as long as possible and helped stave off the isolation and depression that exacerbate the symptoms of dementia.

But the book is not just about the meetings; it also is about the individual members, each of whom had his or her own strengths. The chapters look at the many ways they lived active and engaged lives for as long as possible. As Audette said to me at our first meeting about the book: "When you've met one person with Alzheimer's ... you've met one person with Alzheimer's." People with dementia are no less individuals after the disease than they were before.

What the CBH hadn't really expected when they formed the Stark Club was the intense and very important bonding that developed among the members, who understood each others' challenges and fears in ways even the most compassionate and knowledgable caregivers never could. Support groups for caregivers are common, but members of the Stark Club (as well as the caregivers) became a tightly knit group. They grew to rely on each other for emotional support, understanding, and fun--they had parties, outings, a couple of the couples even took a cruise together.

The members of the Stark Club were all very successful professionals before the disease struck. I was terribly nervous about my first Stark Club meeting, but that anxiety dissipated the minute I entered the room--it was like entering a boardroom while a conference was in session. The conversation was more free form, but everyone in the room contributed to his or her ability and the warmth and camaraderie were palpable.

This book, self-published by the CBH, was actually released last year, but it was kind of unattractive and expensive and I was a little reluctant to promote it. But now it has been redesigned and the price is right and I am proud and happy to spread the word. I learned tons from the members of the Stark Club and you can too. We included not only inspirational profiles, but also practical tips and advice.

Many of the people in this book are no longer with us but, as the title says, they wanted their stories to bring hope and inspiration to others facing this terrible, still-incurable disease. I think of all of them often and feel grateful for having had the opportunity to meet and work with them. In fact, many of the lessons they taught me about living with Alzheimer's apply to life in general--lessons about living in the moment and appreciating the here and now.

Working with Audette was also a great pleasure--she taught me so much, our writing styles were compatible, and she was lots of fun.

love songs i love

First published November 15, 2007

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A friend sent me a video clip of The Beatles singing "‘Til There Was You" (quick--what Broadway musical is that song from?) and it got me thinking about a live performance of "This Boy" we have on a Beatles documentary. The first time I watched it, I melted right off the couch. A young friend was visiting at the time and laughed at me and at my very special lovable moptops—she found them “goofy.” But the Beatles were, absolutely, my first true love and I will never see them as anything but transcendent.

That John, Paul and George could step up to a microphone and produce harmonies so exquisite is a miracle. Plus, this is one of those songs I liked to imagine they were singing just to me. I have watched that performance many times and it makes me swoon every time.

So this got me thinking about other love songs that touch a soft spot for me and "You're Gonna Lose That Girl" comes to mind immediately. (Does that count as a love song? No matter.)



I could probably list a dozen Beatles songs that should have been written for me but let’s give others a chance.

Steve Earle’s "Fearless Heart," if only for this line in the chorus: I got me a fearless heart, strong enough to get you through the scary part.

Goofy as it is, "Make Believe," from Show Boat.

Also goofy, Billy Joel’s "She’s Got A Way About Her."

James Taylor’s "Something in the Way She Moves." (James Taylor was great before he became Raffi for adults.)

Simon and Garfunkle’s "Why Don’t You Write Me." (Obscure, I know, but I grew to love it back when I was in summer camp pining for a boy back home.)

"Planet of Love," which was written by a Nashville songwriter guy named Jim Lauderdale but which Mandy Barnett sings the crap out of. You can listen to it on her website—look under Listening Room and the 1996 album Asylum.

Hm, and while we’re in the country vein, "My Secret Flame" by The Mavericks.

I also like a sassy little version of "Slow Boat to China" that Bette Midler and Barry Manilow do. Maybe that’s more lust than love, but it makes me tingle even with those two cartoon characters (and I say that with affection) singing it.

I could probably go on and on but I’ll stop here. Tell me your swooners. (And next time, we’ll do heartbreak songs.)

my life, circa 1970s

First published 5/9/07

If only I’d known then how cool my life was, I’d have taken better notes.

I kept a diary every night from the time I was 12 years old until I was 28. I’ve been rereading my diaries from the 1970s, when I was a teenager in New York City. While many of the entries are hilarious in the way of adolescent profundities and trauma, they also are a microcosm of a time and place.

Some samples:

April 6, 1972
I’m going to see the Allman Brothers, Edgar Winter and Dave Mason.

April 16, 1972
Jesus! What a concert! Berrie Oakley is absolutely fantastic! They’re so good!

November 12, 1972
Berry Oakley is dead. And thus endeth the Allman Brothers. That’s awful.

(I’m going to skip a few particularly self absorbed years here)

April 20, 1976
Tonight was Max’s (Kansas City). It was OK. (One of many, many references to Max’s—although I rarely bothered mentioning the bands I saw. Mostly I wrote about boys I had crushes on.)

April 30, 1976
I went to see Monte Python tonight. The show was great.

May 1, 1976
We went back to the City Center. Got all the rest of the (Monte Python) autographs. Terry Jones picked me out of the crowd and spoke to me. He was really nice.

July 4, 1976
I had a shitty bicentennial July 4th.

July 21, 1976
A pleasing evening. I came home & watched Nadia Comaneci win the gold medal. I idolize that girl.

August 25, 1976
We went to see the Laughing Dogs at CBGB tonight. (Again, one of many references to what I usually called “GBs”)

Sept. 20, 1976
The most amazing thing happened today! Robbie Gordon came to my counter. (I was selling designer handbags at a long-gone departments store called Franklin Simon.) He was looking for a friend of his, but when I recognized him he stayed and talked to me for a couple of minutes. He’s leaving, left, actually, the Tuff Darts. I can’t believe it. No more Darts. They were just on the verge of being incredibly famous, too.

Sept. 22, 1976
It is actually Thursday morning. We stated at C.B.G.B. all night. The Eels didn’t record until 5:00 a.m. (The Eels was my brother’s band.)

Nov. 26, 1976
I saw Ella Fitzgerald tonight. She was great. I am really glad I stuck around. In the beginning, when Oscar Peterson and Joe Pass were playing, I was so depressed I felt like just walking out. But Ella was worth it.

Dec. 23, 1976
Nick’s at a hot shit party tonight running the sound. Barbra Streisand’s new movie’s opening night party. I’m so jealous.

Jan. 7, 1977
I saw “A Chorus Line” tonight.

Feb. 3, 1977
I saw the Ramones tonight. They totally knocked me out. I may go see them tomorrow night, too. They were just great.

March 11, 1977
I saw the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” with Monte tonight. It was the best fucking movie. I have to take Sue to see it. I loved it.

March 18, 1977
I saw “Rocky Horror” again. I love that movie. I lust after Tim Curry. I want to see it again tomorrow night.

March 25, 1977
I had a shitty day at work but saw “Rocky Horror” tonight.

April 1, 1977
Saw “Rocky Horror” at the Waverly.

April 2, 1977
Sue and I took Oliver to see “Rocky Horror” at the New Yorker.

April 7, 1977
Tomorrow night should be great. First Laughing Dogs, then “Rocky Horror.”

April 22, 1977
Sue & Lynn & I made a really good dinner at Lynn’s house & then walked over to the Waverly and saw “Rocky Horror.”

April 27, 1977
I saw “Annie Hall” tonight.

July 13, 1977
I am in Denver, midway through my first cross-country trip—three girls in a baby blue Plymouth Duster.
There’s a blackout in New York tonight. I feel so far away. A NY disaster & I’m not there. An American chopper was shot down over North Korea. War peeks up. Scary.

July 25, 1977
Tonight we went to the Whiskey a Go Go to see the Dictators. I really like that club. The people are completely trendy, but entertaining. The Dictators were great.

July 28, 1977
We hung around the Tropicana today and watched the punks. The Dictators, the Nuns and the Ramones were all staying there.

Aug. 26, 1977
I saw an absolutely spectacular Talking Heads/Laughing Dogs gig tonight. Amazomatic.

Oct. 17, 1977
I saw the Talking Heads tonight with Dave & Chris. C.

Dec. 27, 1977
Nada much to say. I bought “Young Americans” and a John Lennon album.

Feb. 11, 1978
I went to the Ice Palace with Monte & Bert tonight.

Feb. 19, 1978
Annie Golden is on the cover of the “News” magazine. It’s so strange to start seeing my contemporaries make it.

Feb. 25, 1978
It’s 5 a.m. and I feel exhilarated. I had a wonderful night. First I went to Jerry’s party, which was dull, & I left before his band played. Then I went to CBGB where I just watched everybody go by & cruised and got cruised & fended off pick-ups and listened to “The Shirts.”

April 11, 1978
I saw Crystal Gayle tonight with Alice & Bruce.

April 20, 1978
I went to CBGB to see Jerry’s first gig as a Void Oild

May 20, 1978
I went to The Bottom Line tonight to see Lou Reed. It was a less than satisfying experience. I waited in line to pay seven dollars to be mashed in with the rest of standing room to see a mediocre show that started 3 hours late.

Well, that’s enough for now. I sure had fun.

please protect me from motormouths

Originally posted September 29, 2006
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“It’s like you have a sign on you that says, ‘Tell me about it,’” Tom marveled.

Something about me attracts people with way too much to say.

I went to a new hairdresser yesterday. He was a lovely young man who did a great job on my hair. However, his monologue started the minute I sat in his chair and didn’t stop until I fled the salon two and a half hours later. Not only that, but he talked fast and he mumbled, forcing me to strain to hear him.

He talked about his techniques, his talents, his artistic aspirations, his job. He left me alone for a while to let my color set up, but soon returned and started poking at my head and talking again. While cutting my hair, he frequently paused to gesticulate with scissors and comb. By the time I got out of there, my head hurt and I was so stressed as to be a danger to myself and others in rush hour traffic.

This was first thing on my mind when I woke this morning and I may choose not to return to the salon because of it. I have ill will towards the guy—perhaps he was nervous about a new customer or felt obligated to entertain me—but I can’t endure that again.

For some reason, I find it impossible to extricate myself from one-sided conversations. I’m a sitting duck for chatterboxes. And chatterboxes seem to know that. I’m a magnet for them.

In similar situations, Tom has a way of staring into the distance and becoming nonresponsive until the chatterbox falls silent. But I do all the wrong things—I make eye contact, encouraging noises and murmur appropriate responses—even as I become increasingly desperate for the words to stop. For the love of god. Please.

Being a good listener and having an ability to draw people out are skills necessary for a reporter. I just don’t know how to put people back again when I’m done.

It’s difficult for me to imagine producing that many words in a stream. I can hold up my end of a conversation and love lively discourse. But I am bumfuzzled by people who can stretch an anecdote to 20 minutes, with digressions to god knows where, around the block a few times, downtown and uptown and crosstown before bringing it home--and then take a deep breath and start again. When a chatterbox starts in on me like that, I’ve lost the battle before it even starts. I go conversationally limp.

My policy is: Say what you have to say and then stop talking. Sometimes I even have to force myself to finish sentences, if I feel the gist has already been aired.

I like the short form, in conversation and writing. That’s one reason I enjoy blogging. (Maybe this is my way of getting my monologue in—but I’d prefer a conversation. Yes, that’s a hint.)

A standard-length newspaper column is 700 words. Love it. David Remnick has a 20,000-word profile of Bill Clinton in the current New Yorker. I couldn’t write that. I’m not even sure I can read it. I’d rather read a book (average 60,000 to 80,000 words). I’d rather write one, too. At least the reader knows what he or she is getting into. Getting ambushed by a 20,000-word magazine piece is like a surprise phone call from a long-winded friend.

And now, I think this blog has gone on too long. So I’ll let you go.