I'm officially sick of Diet Coke. I expect this to last for at least a week or so. Actually, it's not so much DC's fault: I'm just head-over-heels for Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, and I don't know what I am going to do when it is no longer available at 7-Eleven fountains. That dark day must be coming. Let's hope it's far in the future.
Speaking of Coke products, I saw a completely unsurprising press release today:
New Coke BlaK Fizzles with Consumer Reports Taste-Testers
Consumers looking for more coffee with their cola may be disappointed with the new American version of Coke BlaK, according to Consumer Reports taste tests. Consumer Reports bought a bottle of the new American version of Coke BlaK and taste-tested it against both the French version and regular Coca-Cola Classic. Testers found the U.S. Coke BlaK sweeter, with a more caramel-like flavoring, similar to Coca-Cola Classic. The coffee flavor is a bare whiff. And Coke BlaK (about $2 a bottle) is a lot pricier than a regular can of Coke. Pricier still is a flight to France, where their version of Coke BlaK actually tastes more coffee-like -- and good.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
A roller coaster couple of weeks
Today I looked like a weirdo, walking around the newsroom and exulting. The good news was that my son Chas got some great news, allergy-wise (the soy allergy is all but gone, and his egg and peanut numbers are MUCH improved). This could dramatically improve his quality of life, and therefore, ours.
But this news came on the same day that we got the stomach-lurching call to gather for an impromptu staff meeting. Our publisher, who doesn't usually gather us together like that for good news, told us that the dispute our newspaper (the Seattle P-I) is having with the competition (the Seattle Times) is headed for arbitration, a secret and binding process that is supposed to end in May 2007. And after that, if we don't prevail, the P-I will have a 6- to 12-month lifespan. We've had the dispute between these two newspapers hanging over our heads since before I got to the paper, back in 2001. But now it's no longer an amorphous threat that we can tell ourselves may never materialize. It's taking shape. And that's scary. Though it's also kind of exciting to think of how bold we could be at a paper with gifted people and nothing to lose. Assuming the gifted people stick around for a while.
We kind of grumped at each other around the office, a place where sparks of creativity and personality often create little brush fires. Today was edgier than usual. Saturday we said goodbye to Phil Webber, a guy who was Mr. P-I for 50 years. Those are Phil's shoes in the picture. Well, some of them. They stood silent vigil at his memorial, pair after pair after pair after pair, colorful sentinels of creativity.
Can't help but think of the worst (having to say goodbye to the P-I itself) even as I hope for the best.
Oh, and overlaying all this is the massacre of 6 people in a Capitol Hill house, including a 14-year-old girl. A well-armed man went nuts for reasons we have yet to ascertain, much less understand. So the air is full of things we can do nothing about, things we can't fix, things we can't change yet still have to explain. But the good news about my boy's allergies is enough to have me skipping. Thank God for my family, and for the sense of perspective I doubt I'd have without them.
Ways My World Is Different, 2006: Song on the Radio Edition
Driving in to work today, I did something I don't do a whole lot anymore: Listened to music on the radio, just randomly switching through stations. I recently added 93.3 to my presets, you know, to hear what the hip-hop generation is listening to. On this day, they were listening to a song about how a guy is in love with a stripper. Sample lyric, courtesy of the magic that is Google:
She poppin she rollin,
she rollin' She climbin that pole
and Im N Luv with a stripper
She trippin she playin,
she playin Im not goin
nowhere' girl im stayin
Im N Luv with a stripper
Awesome. That's some good stuff there. Man, I felt old. So I turned from the cool station to one of the adult contemporary type stations, and felt much more at home. A woman sang of love and heartbreak. Then a guy who sounded like Sting chimed in. And hey, doesn't that woman sound like Sheryl Crow? Hey, it is them! How did I not know about this song? It's even apparently on her new album, which I thought I'd listened to. But I'll be honest, her new album had a certain sameness to it that caused me to zone out a bit (albeit pleasantly). Maybe Sting is best appreciated after a palate-cleansing ode to bump 'n' grind 'n' luvv. Sample Sheryl-Sting lyric:
They say that love is in the air
but never is it clear
how to pull it close and make it stay
Butterflies are free to fly
why do they fly away
leaving me to carry on and wonder why
This being the new world, I was able to get lyrics and artist info for both these songs in seconds, and even stream the Crow-Sting video, "Always on Your Side," at MSN (didn't feel the need to see the visuals accompanying stripper love). Sheryl looks gorgeous, post-breast-cancer surgery and all. Sting looks more appealing than a 50-something guy has a right to. See for yourself: http://music.msn.com/artist/?artist=16091968
I need to get this song on my Zen Micro. Before I can do that, though, Sheryl of 1993 -- shit, was it really THAT long ago? -- pops up in my MSN streaming window with "All I Wanna Do." Curlier hair. Convincing boho look from someone who seems genuinely in touch with not having as much money as style. Someone other than Sting playing standup bass. Use of a line from another song (butterflies are free vs. this ain't no disco). Weird people floating around. Lots of tight shots of her purty little mouth, which seems a little too intentionally pouty. I liked the '90s version a lot. But I like the 2006 version better.
She poppin she rollin,
she rollin' She climbin that pole
and Im N Luv with a stripper
She trippin she playin,
she playin Im not goin
nowhere' girl im stayin
Im N Luv with a stripper
Awesome. That's some good stuff there. Man, I felt old. So I turned from the cool station to one of the adult contemporary type stations, and felt much more at home. A woman sang of love and heartbreak. Then a guy who sounded like Sting chimed in. And hey, doesn't that woman sound like Sheryl Crow? Hey, it is them! How did I not know about this song? It's even apparently on her new album, which I thought I'd listened to. But I'll be honest, her new album had a certain sameness to it that caused me to zone out a bit (albeit pleasantly). Maybe Sting is best appreciated after a palate-cleansing ode to bump 'n' grind 'n' luvv. Sample Sheryl-Sting lyric:
They say that love is in the air
but never is it clear
how to pull it close and make it stay
Butterflies are free to fly
why do they fly away
leaving me to carry on and wonder why
This being the new world, I was able to get lyrics and artist info for both these songs in seconds, and even stream the Crow-Sting video, "Always on Your Side," at MSN (didn't feel the need to see the visuals accompanying stripper love). Sheryl looks gorgeous, post-breast-cancer surgery and all. Sting looks more appealing than a 50-something guy has a right to. See for yourself: http://music.msn.com/artist/?artist=16091968
I need to get this song on my Zen Micro. Before I can do that, though, Sheryl of 1993 -- shit, was it really THAT long ago? -- pops up in my MSN streaming window with "All I Wanna Do." Curlier hair. Convincing boho look from someone who seems genuinely in touch with not having as much money as style. Someone other than Sting playing standup bass. Use of a line from another song (butterflies are free vs. this ain't no disco). Weird people floating around. Lots of tight shots of her purty little mouth, which seems a little too intentionally pouty. I liked the '90s version a lot. But I like the 2006 version better.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The irresistible P. Hilton
And I don't mean Paris.
Have you been to www.perezhilton.com? If you haven't prepare to be amazed. If you have, then you know it's like Whitney Houston's bathroom: full of crack and damn near impossible to escape. It's just full of tasty celeb tidbits, from the Us magazine stuff that will hit my mailbox (yes, I'm not proud) to goodies from British tabs (hello, Whitney Crackhead) to miscellaneous celebrity dirt.
OK, it's half an hour after I started this post. I am now sick of perezhilton.com. It's like eating too much candy in one sitting.
Have you been to www.perezhilton.com? If you haven't prepare to be amazed. If you have, then you know it's like Whitney Houston's bathroom: full of crack and damn near impossible to escape. It's just full of tasty celeb tidbits, from the Us magazine stuff that will hit my mailbox (yes, I'm not proud) to goodies from British tabs (hello, Whitney Crackhead) to miscellaneous celebrity dirt.
OK, it's half an hour after I started this post. I am now sick of perezhilton.com. It's like eating too much candy in one sitting.
This is Happy?
Went to the Disney site for a few more details about the dwarf that I have apparently become associated with. And hello! Happy's kind of a badass.
Without Happy around, Grumpy might not be quite as grumpy. For Happy's just too infernally cheerful about everything. When the dwarfs think there's a monster hidden under the blankets, Happy cheerily asks, "Which end do we kill?" And when the "monster" turns out to be a slumbering Snow White, Happy's even happier.
Which end do we kill?Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Rave-ing mad
After a weekend of ... let's call it "healthy debate" about "raves" vs. electronic music events vs. other miscellaneous gatherings of youth and the relative dangers of each, Cheryl and I have reacher our common ground: We're going to be hard-ass parents.
This discussion stems from the horrible shooting rampage that claimed the lives of six young people in Seattle -- including a 14-year-old girl from our town, Milton. The shooter also died, taking his own life without shedding light on why he did what he did. And this lack of motive has led to an intensive and fast-moving river of blame that includes:
"raves"
house parties
guns
nutjobs
loners
parents
Cheryl and I began our debate with raves. As I pushed for what I considered clarity (the zombie-themed costume party thing wasn't really a "rave" and what did it have to do with the killings anyway, since they happened at an after-party?), Cheryl said it was a distinction without a difference. Raves mean electronic dance music oriented gatherings to her and many others (including some people in the community itself) but raves, to me, also mean illegal, fly-by-night, quasi-secret events in warehouses, with no attempt at regulation, rule-following or responsibility of any kind.
Now, I'm not going to be so naive as to claim there were no drugs at the "zombie rave" in question. But I just wanted to push the point that this kind of event -- a gathering of young people at an established, responsible venue (not even a bar, but an arts center) -- is no worse, and perhaps "better," than a rock show, or other such event designed for the purposes of the getting out of the ya-yas. Cheryl will probably weigh in with a comment on her point, and I understand where she's coming from. But this really is about common ground at this point, and that common ground is, as I said, hard-assed-ness.
The Milton parents now mourning their child have been through enough, but I think it's important for every parent to look at this situation and ask themselves what they would do -- not what they at 14 would want their parents to do, as I fear many well-intentioned adults do. Cheryl and I agree on this: If our kid went to one of these events, they would get their ride FROM US. We would not set a 3 a.m. curfew. And we would be checking in, and expect responses/updates/etc. Kids need boundaries. On that, Cheryl and I agree. Thank god.
Now hand me my glow stick, pacifier and ecstasy. I need to relax.
This discussion stems from the horrible shooting rampage that claimed the lives of six young people in Seattle -- including a 14-year-old girl from our town, Milton. The shooter also died, taking his own life without shedding light on why he did what he did. And this lack of motive has led to an intensive and fast-moving river of blame that includes:
"raves"
house parties
guns
nutjobs
loners
parents
Cheryl and I began our debate with raves. As I pushed for what I considered clarity (the zombie-themed costume party thing wasn't really a "rave" and what did it have to do with the killings anyway, since they happened at an after-party?), Cheryl said it was a distinction without a difference. Raves mean electronic dance music oriented gatherings to her and many others (including some people in the community itself) but raves, to me, also mean illegal, fly-by-night, quasi-secret events in warehouses, with no attempt at regulation, rule-following or responsibility of any kind.
Now, I'm not going to be so naive as to claim there were no drugs at the "zombie rave" in question. But I just wanted to push the point that this kind of event -- a gathering of young people at an established, responsible venue (not even a bar, but an arts center) -- is no worse, and perhaps "better," than a rock show, or other such event designed for the purposes of the getting out of the ya-yas. Cheryl will probably weigh in with a comment on her point, and I understand where she's coming from. But this really is about common ground at this point, and that common ground is, as I said, hard-assed-ness.
The Milton parents now mourning their child have been through enough, but I think it's important for every parent to look at this situation and ask themselves what they would do -- not what they at 14 would want their parents to do, as I fear many well-intentioned adults do. Cheryl and I agree on this: If our kid went to one of these events, they would get their ride FROM US. We would not set a 3 a.m. curfew. And we would be checking in, and expect responses/updates/etc. Kids need boundaries. On that, Cheryl and I agree. Thank god.
Now hand me my glow stick, pacifier and ecstasy. I need to relax.
Which dwarf am I?
I am part of a management group that has been christened the Seven Dwarves. And I'm told that I am "Happy," which means I either dodged a bullet or someone is blowing sunshine up my tunic.
After checking with the Disney Industrial Complex, I see that they are actually the Seven Dwarfs.
The others are: Dopey, Grumpy, Doc, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy.
And if you go here (http://disney.go.com/vault/archives/characters/sevendwarfs/sevendwarfs.html) you'll see some interesting tidbits, like the fact that Dopey didn't really have much of a personality, but a vaudevillian named Eddie Collins inspired the animators with the first use of a live actor to create reference footage for animation. (Andy "Gollum" Serkis owes him a debt.)
After checking with the Disney Industrial Complex, I see that they are actually the Seven Dwarfs.
The others are: Dopey, Grumpy, Doc, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy.
And if you go here (http://disney.go.com/vault/archives/characters/sevendwarfs/sevendwarfs.html) you'll see some interesting tidbits, like the fact that Dopey didn't really have much of a personality, but a vaudevillian named Eddie Collins inspired the animators with the first use of a live actor to create reference footage for animation. (Andy "Gollum" Serkis owes him a debt.)
Manic me = clean(er) house
There was a time, before antidepressants, when I would clean maniacally through the night on occasion. The reasons for this usually had little to do with the actual state of the house. I'd have something on my mind, or something bouncing around the depths of my subconscious, and that troublesome something would serve as rocket fuel, pushing me through the stratosphere of sleeplessness. The way I just wrote this might imply a certain degree of self-awareness, of learning, of using the time to sort my world in a way not unlike dreams allow. I was probably just nuttier than I am now.
Now, I go to bed more like a normal person (or what I imagine a normal person to be). So it was kind of a blast from the past tonight when I attacked the kitchen and started sweeping beans off the floor (don't ask). But it was a more pure experience, more healthy, I suppose. It's only 12:30 a.m., and a true manic episode would take me through until at least 2. I cleaned because if I didn't, we'd be unable to make chocolate milk. We might also be unable to cook, but let's be real here: We can get by without access to the stove (it's harder without access to the microwave), but we're not getting far without "chocka milk."
Speaking of the boys, they are asleep. We spent just a few minutes with them at getting-into-bed time (actually, I spent a few seconds ... Cheryl spent probably a half hour, but that's still a vast improvement in a process that has taken hours in the past). We have achieved this nirvana via the powers of the new Thomas the Tank Engine toddler bedrolls, which are on top of their actual beds. I am Thomas' bitch. He has powers beyond reason in our household.
Now, I go to bed more like a normal person (or what I imagine a normal person to be). So it was kind of a blast from the past tonight when I attacked the kitchen and started sweeping beans off the floor (don't ask). But it was a more pure experience, more healthy, I suppose. It's only 12:30 a.m., and a true manic episode would take me through until at least 2. I cleaned because if I didn't, we'd be unable to make chocolate milk. We might also be unable to cook, but let's be real here: We can get by without access to the stove (it's harder without access to the microwave), but we're not getting far without "chocka milk."
Speaking of the boys, they are asleep. We spent just a few minutes with them at getting-into-bed time (actually, I spent a few seconds ... Cheryl spent probably a half hour, but that's still a vast improvement in a process that has taken hours in the past). We have achieved this nirvana via the powers of the new Thomas the Tank Engine toddler bedrolls, which are on top of their actual beds. I am Thomas' bitch. He has powers beyond reason in our household.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Unlike the Matrix, at least this ends well.
I now have a visual representation on my blog. I am now my Trinity action figure, accompanied by my Double Gulp and my Zen Micro. But it was a long and frustrating road.
It used to be that I could wander my way through just about any sort of tech thing with an acceptable success to frustration level. Now, thought, it's getting harder. Like I said, it ends well. I got my picture on the blog. Here's how:
1. Start a blog. See that I should get my picture on there. Get distracted by other things.
2. Work it out so my cell phone feeds pictures directly to my blog. Feel powerful and mighty. Call myself Neo.
3. Neo can get pictures on to her blog, but getting a picture as my ID is different. Can't just phone it in, as it were. Must deal with "photo hosting." This is more complicated. My photo must have a URL. The host I am sent to is seemingly friendly, but ultimately unsuited to what I want to do. I put the problem aside. For two months. I am not Neo.
4. Trinity stands next to my computer at work, silently mocking me for my failure. Take the perfect picture of her for my blog ID. Curse my inability to actually get it on there.
5. Spend two hours wrestling with technology. Get it done without hosting. I use my own blog to get a URL for my photo, and while it's vaguely reminiscent of a snake eating its own tale, it works.
Call me Neo.
It used to be that I could wander my way through just about any sort of tech thing with an acceptable success to frustration level. Now, thought, it's getting harder. Like I said, it ends well. I got my picture on the blog. Here's how:
1. Start a blog. See that I should get my picture on there. Get distracted by other things.
2. Work it out so my cell phone feeds pictures directly to my blog. Feel powerful and mighty. Call myself Neo.
3. Neo can get pictures on to her blog, but getting a picture as my ID is different. Can't just phone it in, as it were. Must deal with "photo hosting." This is more complicated. My photo must have a URL. The host I am sent to is seemingly friendly, but ultimately unsuited to what I want to do. I put the problem aside. For two months. I am not Neo.
4. Trinity stands next to my computer at work, silently mocking me for my failure. Take the perfect picture of her for my blog ID. Curse my inability to actually get it on there.
5. Spend two hours wrestling with technology. Get it done without hosting. I use my own blog to get a URL for my photo, and while it's vaguely reminiscent of a snake eating its own tale, it works.
Call me Neo.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Me vs. Asthma: an audacious goal is set
Look here for an adorable picture of my son Chas ... an an opportunity to kick asthma to the curb:
http://www.mrsnv.com/evt/e01/part.jsp?id=960&acct=4903113881&rid=435349&part=fund
I hate spamming my friends with requests for money, even if it's going to a good cause that is not me. But it's funny how having a kid changes things. I've always been happy to contribute to other people's good causes but never quite as willing to get off my ass for them.
http://www.mrsnv.com/evt/e01/part.jsp?id=960&acct=4903113881&rid=435349&part=fund
I hate spamming my friends with requests for money, even if it's going to a good cause that is not me. But it's funny how having a kid changes things. I've always been happy to contribute to other people's good causes but never quite as willing to get off my ass for them.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Man Catches Train, Forgets Baby in Car
How's that for a headline? I've forgotten a lot of things. And I've been frantic when catching a train. But shee-it!
Here's the story, snarkified with my comments:
By MICHAEL W. KAHN Associated Press Writer
March 23,2006 WASHINGTON -- Commuters racing to catch the train typically forget things in the car -- keys, wallets, briefcases. But a baby daughter? Oh, ha ha ... that could never happen, could it?
That's what happened Thursday just north of Washington, police say. Holy shit! It happened! I'm stunned.
"Dad forgot baby was in the car, parked the car, got on the Metro," said Lucille Baur, a spokeswoman for the Montgomery County, Md., Police Department. And since the reporter went with a cutesy lead, we know the kid's not dead.
"I don't know exactly when he got the memory flash, but he was in D.C. when it was the horrible defining moment, 'Oh my goodness, I think I've left my child back in my car,'" Baur said.
Yes, I'm sure the exact thought was 'Oh my goodness.' But a police spokesperson can't acknowledge the moments in life when 'Holy screaming fuck' applies.
At that point, she said, Jonathan Sander got off the southbound train and onto a northbound one, returning to the Shady Grove Metrorail station about 12 miles north of Washington.
By that time, other commuters had noticed the 7 1/2-month-old girl in the back seat of the car, firefighters had opened the locked door and the child had been taken to a hospital as a precaution.
She was reunited there with her mother. Who promised not to leave the child in the car when she put a boot up Dad's ass.
"Child Protective Services was comfortable with releasing the child back to the mom," said Baur. "We all believe that the child was not intentionally left in the car."
Sander, described as "terrified, embarrassed," was charged with leaving a child under 8 unattended in a car or building. He could face a fine of up to $500 and 30 days in jail.
Here's the story, snarkified with my comments:
By MICHAEL W. KAHN Associated Press Writer
March 23,2006 WASHINGTON -- Commuters racing to catch the train typically forget things in the car -- keys, wallets, briefcases. But a baby daughter? Oh, ha ha ... that could never happen, could it?
That's what happened Thursday just north of Washington, police say. Holy shit! It happened! I'm stunned.
"Dad forgot baby was in the car, parked the car, got on the Metro," said Lucille Baur, a spokeswoman for the Montgomery County, Md., Police Department. And since the reporter went with a cutesy lead, we know the kid's not dead.
"I don't know exactly when he got the memory flash, but he was in D.C. when it was the horrible defining moment, 'Oh my goodness, I think I've left my child back in my car,'" Baur said.
Yes, I'm sure the exact thought was 'Oh my goodness.' But a police spokesperson can't acknowledge the moments in life when 'Holy screaming fuck' applies.
At that point, she said, Jonathan Sander got off the southbound train and onto a northbound one, returning to the Shady Grove Metrorail station about 12 miles north of Washington.
By that time, other commuters had noticed the 7 1/2-month-old girl in the back seat of the car, firefighters had opened the locked door and the child had been taken to a hospital as a precaution.
She was reunited there with her mother. Who promised not to leave the child in the car when she put a boot up Dad's ass.
"Child Protective Services was comfortable with releasing the child back to the mom," said Baur. "We all believe that the child was not intentionally left in the car."
Sander, described as "terrified, embarrassed," was charged with leaving a child under 8 unattended in a car or building. He could face a fine of up to $500 and 30 days in jail.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Paula Marshall gives good lesbian
I am so happy that "Out of Practice" is back on. And it's not just because of Paula Marshall, who plays a cute lesbian who is funny, smart and a doctor. And kind of horny, to the point of calling someone "a spankable sex kitten." Mmmmmm. Delicious.
And what's not to love about a show that stars Stockard Channing and Henry Winkler? And guest-stars Marion Ross, aka "Mrs. C" to Winkler's "Fonzie," back in the day? I am in sitcom heaven. We've got the rhythms, the jokes, the family dynamics that make for a great show. And a sexy younger generation and hilarious parents for cross-generational appeal.
Oh, and did I mention Jennifer Tilly (who starred with Gina Gershon in "Bound," a landmark in lesbian cinema by the directors of the greatest movie of all time -- "The Matrix" -- and two of the worst -- the sequels to "The Matrix").
But really, it's all about Paula Marshall. We need to get her character more action.
And what's not to love about a show that stars Stockard Channing and Henry Winkler? And guest-stars Marion Ross, aka "Mrs. C" to Winkler's "Fonzie," back in the day? I am in sitcom heaven. We've got the rhythms, the jokes, the family dynamics that make for a great show. And a sexy younger generation and hilarious parents for cross-generational appeal.
Oh, and did I mention Jennifer Tilly (who starred with Gina Gershon in "Bound," a landmark in lesbian cinema by the directors of the greatest movie of all time -- "The Matrix" -- and two of the worst -- the sequels to "The Matrix").
But really, it's all about Paula Marshall. We need to get her character more action.
Iranian passport, cont.: Homa, sweet Homa
Homa is the given name of my friend Dorothy, who is Iranian, Canadian and American. She showed me her new Iranian passport today, featuring a picture of her in a traditional Islamic headcovering called a hijaab (it is "the Islamic republic of Iran" after all). The look is carefully considered, and based on the country's requirements for this sort of documentation. She is not smiling in this picture, which is apparently a rule now for American passports as well as Iranian. And she is not wearing makeup, which is not a rule for American passports.
It's funny how the Dorothy of her current passport looks so little like the stylish Dorothy I sit next to every day and looks so much like the dour little hijaab-clad girl of the early '80s. Dorothy is a hilarious, brilliant and sweet individual, but damn can she carry off intensity in a way that completely overshadows her warm heart. You gotta earn the smiles and fear the wrath. I tell you, if we start something with a nation of Dorothys, we're in trouble.
Part of me is worried that she wants to go home to a place that isn't known for being welcoming to people who challenge the status quo. And I don't worry that they'd kick her out -- I worry that they'd make her stay. And then who would continue my lessons in Middle East history, Persian culture and international politics?
It's funny how the Dorothy of her current passport looks so little like the stylish Dorothy I sit next to every day and looks so much like the dour little hijaab-clad girl of the early '80s. Dorothy is a hilarious, brilliant and sweet individual, but damn can she carry off intensity in a way that completely overshadows her warm heart. You gotta earn the smiles and fear the wrath. I tell you, if we start something with a nation of Dorothys, we're in trouble.
Part of me is worried that she wants to go home to a place that isn't known for being welcoming to people who challenge the status quo. And I don't worry that they'd kick her out -- I worry that they'd make her stay. And then who would continue my lessons in Middle East history, Persian culture and international politics?
A legendary notebook
This is apparently a legendary notebook. A friend to journalists. A cool thing. I am a journalist in the sense of working at a newspaper. But when it come to "journaling," I am not what you'd call a natural. The problem is partially laziness, or, to be more generous, use of time. I have actually been about as devoted to this blog as to any journal ever. And yet there are plenty of things I don't say because, you know, this is kinda public. And some of what I think is entirely too wacky to share with the world.
Anyway, some day I may get one of these notebooks. Despite all the tools of the technical age, I still enjoy really writing on paper. But the legal pads have their own special allure. And they're free.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Pirates of Jolie!
This entry isn't as sexy as it sounds. But it's fun, and when you work in an office, fun is the coin of the realm, like cigarettes in prison. Stumbled on this site via ... can't remember now. ESPN? Something like that. Something time-waster-ish linking to something else time-waster-ish (but work-related, as my job relates to sports and entertainment -- who hoo!).
Anyway, this particular link has to do with Angelina Jolie, and the poor straight guy's complaint that (straight) girls are ruining his lust by being willing to sleep with her. Cry me a river, dude! I say, the more the merrier. I mean, I know Angie has a rep, but this is really the realm of fantasy, you know? And there's enough fantasy for everyone. My fantasies are actually enriched by the straight girls' interest. But that may be just me.
http://www.officepirates.com/officepirates/blog/0,25041,1173848,00.html
If you check out the site, be sure to investigate the "jackass" section, featuring photos taken on the sly and snarky commentary. It makes the jackasses you work with seem almost bearable. Or at least you'll know you're not the only one who works with someone whose most significant contribution to the office environment is flatulence. Or someone who's in by 10 and out by 3.
Anyway, this particular link has to do with Angelina Jolie, and the poor straight guy's complaint that (straight) girls are ruining his lust by being willing to sleep with her. Cry me a river, dude! I say, the more the merrier. I mean, I know Angie has a rep, but this is really the realm of fantasy, you know? And there's enough fantasy for everyone. My fantasies are actually enriched by the straight girls' interest. But that may be just me.
http://www.officepirates.com/officepirates/blog/0,25041,1173848,00.html
If you check out the site, be sure to investigate the "jackass" section, featuring photos taken on the sly and snarky commentary. It makes the jackasses you work with seem almost bearable. Or at least you'll know you're not the only one who works with someone whose most significant contribution to the office environment is flatulence. Or someone who's in by 10 and out by 3.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Phil Webber, RIP
Phil Webber was the most colorful newspaper guy I ever met ... literally. Tie-dye, stripes, elf shoes. The dude could wear the wackiest shit with grace. Maybe it was the way he always accessorized with a smile. So many journalists are only happy in a cynical or sarcastic way. Not this guy.
Phil died Saturday, after giving almost 50 years of his life to the career I consider something of an addiction. He worked Friday, and though he had been lugging around an oxygen tank for a while, he seemed too full of life to die anytime soon. Maybe that was wishful thinking.
I don't know what I'm going to do without my regular hit of Phil.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/263569_philobit20.html
Phil died Saturday, after giving almost 50 years of his life to the career I consider something of an addiction. He worked Friday, and though he had been lugging around an oxygen tank for a while, he seemed too full of life to die anytime soon. Maybe that was wishful thinking.
I don't know what I'm going to do without my regular hit of Phil.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/263569_philobit20.html
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The spam, it taunts me
I keep getting spam that promises me a Mustang (a convertible, actually, which is not my first choice, but I'll take it).
It's like they've been reading my blog. Which is a little scary. Maybe more than a little scary.
It's like they've been reading my blog. Which is a little scary. Maybe more than a little scary.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Two bottles of Bad Idea, cont.
You know my biases: I prefer my soda in the form of, you know, good ol' fizzy (diet) soda. Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper is as exotic as I get. And I don't much care for coffee. So I am clearly not the target audience for the new Coca-Cola Blak, which combines elements java and pop in a relatively low-cal (45 per bottle), energy-drinkish way.
So if it ain't me, who IS the audience for this "innovative carbonated fusion beverage"? Well, the French apparently love the way it combines coffee and Coke in more sophisticated fashion than Red Bull. The bottle's definitely sexier, with that familiar Coke contour in a little black dress.
But how will Coke fare in JavaWorld, where everyone must bow to King Starbucks? The pop star is ready to battle, says the Atlanta Business Chronicle (http://atlanta.bizjournals.com/atlanta/stories/2006/03/13/daily21.html):
Coca-Cola also may be looking to pick a fight with Starbucks Corp. (NASDAQ: SBUX). Coke has been investigating for two years ways to brew high-quality coffee, espresso and teas quickly in individual servings. The company filed five U.S. patent applications in 2005 for coffee and tea "pod" designs, single-serving brewing machines, and a system to steam milk to make hot espresso and cappuccino. Coca-Cola already has been awarded two patents.
So if it ain't me, who IS the audience for this "innovative carbonated fusion beverage"? Well, the French apparently love the way it combines coffee and Coke in more sophisticated fashion than Red Bull. The bottle's definitely sexier, with that familiar Coke contour in a little black dress.
But how will Coke fare in JavaWorld, where everyone must bow to King Starbucks? The pop star is ready to battle, says the Atlanta Business Chronicle (http://atlanta.bizjournals.com/atlanta/stories/2006/03/13/daily21.html):
Coca-Cola also may be looking to pick a fight with Starbucks Corp. (NASDAQ: SBUX). Coke has been investigating for two years ways to brew high-quality coffee, espresso and teas quickly in individual servings. The company filed five U.S. patent applications in 2005 for coffee and tea "pod" designs, single-serving brewing machines, and a system to steam milk to make hot espresso and cappuccino. Coca-Cola already has been awarded two patents.
I've gone down this road before ....
Rear-wheel drive.
A near-useless back seat.
American-made.
Irresistible, right? I'll be honest: For me, it kind of is. I have a weakness for muscle cars. Cheesy muscle cars. It's not the roaring engines or the devil-may-care repair records. It's the indulgence factor.
I first indulged this weakness in 1996 when the woman who would become my wife helped me pick out a spankin' new Pontiac Firebird. (Thank you, Cheryl, for encouraging me to go with the black one instead of the purple one.) I recognize the not-so-subtle subtext of me choosing a "chick magnet" car for my turning-30/turning-gay crisis. I also liked it 'cause it was the closest thing I could find to a Batmobile, and that's when I was going through my "I wanna be a superhero" phase.
Now, I am feeling pangs about a new hot car: The Ford Mustang. Retro-ish. Ridiculously unnecessary. Comes in a two-inch version.
Car-dreaming has improved dramatically since 1996: I can go here http://www.fordvehicles.com/cars/mustang/index.asp?SECTION=MODELS
and see it in assorted colors at will.
And, what's this? It's one of Consumer Reports' recommended vehicles? (It gets a check mark, which is one step down from a check mark in a circle, but still ...)
REPORT CARD
Highs: Turning circle, solid structure, nostalgic look.
Lows: Rear seat, noise, interior materials, reliability.
The new Mustang's power comes from either a coarse 210-hp, 4.0-liter V6 or a muscular 300-hp, 4.6-liter V8. The latter is very quick and sounds inspiring. The manual shifter works well. The suspension still features a live rear axle rather than an independent rear setup. The ride is a bit stiff. Handling is fairly nimble, forgiving, and secure but lacks finesse at the limits with too much understeer. Fit and finish of the throwback interior is unimpressive. The convertible version features a well-insulated, power-operated top. Reliability of the V8 version is average, but the V6 model is well below average.
OK. I guess I want to get the V8. You know, in 20 years or whatever, when the boys are done with college.
A near-useless back seat.
American-made.
Irresistible, right? I'll be honest: For me, it kind of is. I have a weakness for muscle cars. Cheesy muscle cars. It's not the roaring engines or the devil-may-care repair records. It's the indulgence factor.
I first indulged this weakness in 1996 when the woman who would become my wife helped me pick out a spankin' new Pontiac Firebird. (Thank you, Cheryl, for encouraging me to go with the black one instead of the purple one.) I recognize the not-so-subtle subtext of me choosing a "chick magnet" car for my turning-30/turning-gay crisis. I also liked it 'cause it was the closest thing I could find to a Batmobile, and that's when I was going through my "I wanna be a superhero" phase.
Now, I am feeling pangs about a new hot car: The Ford Mustang. Retro-ish. Ridiculously unnecessary. Comes in a two-inch version.
Car-dreaming has improved dramatically since 1996: I can go here http://www.fordvehicles.com/cars/mustang/index.asp?SECTION=MODELS
and see it in assorted colors at will.
And, what's this? It's one of Consumer Reports' recommended vehicles? (It gets a check mark, which is one step down from a check mark in a circle, but still ...)
REPORT CARD
Highs: Turning circle, solid structure, nostalgic look.
Lows: Rear seat, noise, interior materials, reliability.
The new Mustang's power comes from either a coarse 210-hp, 4.0-liter V6 or a muscular 300-hp, 4.6-liter V8. The latter is very quick and sounds inspiring. The manual shifter works well. The suspension still features a live rear axle rather than an independent rear setup. The ride is a bit stiff. Handling is fairly nimble, forgiving, and secure but lacks finesse at the limits with too much understeer. Fit and finish of the throwback interior is unimpressive. The convertible version features a well-insulated, power-operated top. Reliability of the V8 version is average, but the V6 model is well below average.
OK. I guess I want to get the V8. You know, in 20 years or whatever, when the boys are done with college.
It feels good to feel better
My bout with hypochondria is over. In no small part because it was boring. And I feel better. And when I feel better, I don't want to look for reasons to feel worse.
Maybe part of the feeling better is spending a couple of hours in Whole Foods last night. Just the incidental exposure to all that healthiness gave me a boost. I was there to hear from an allergy doctor, who is so sharp, so engaged, so plugged in that she makes me want to kick my kid's old allergy doc in the nads. But instead we'll just fire him and find someone else ... someone who actually seems to recognize our guy after, you know, almost two years of appointments.
We sat near a woman who is allergic to eggs, dairy, nuts, and a bunch of other stuff I can't remember right now. And she has celiac disease, which means no wheat. I asked her what her comfort food was, what she enjoyed eating. And she took forever to come up with an answer. That's just damn sad.
Yeah, I'm still tired. Yeah, I need to recommit to the diet and exercise thing. But I can pretty much eat what I want. No more whining. Until next time. :)
Maybe part of the feeling better is spending a couple of hours in Whole Foods last night. Just the incidental exposure to all that healthiness gave me a boost. I was there to hear from an allergy doctor, who is so sharp, so engaged, so plugged in that she makes me want to kick my kid's old allergy doc in the nads. But instead we'll just fire him and find someone else ... someone who actually seems to recognize our guy after, you know, almost two years of appointments.
We sat near a woman who is allergic to eggs, dairy, nuts, and a bunch of other stuff I can't remember right now. And she has celiac disease, which means no wheat. I asked her what her comfort food was, what she enjoyed eating. And she took forever to come up with an answer. That's just damn sad.
Yeah, I'm still tired. Yeah, I need to recommit to the diet and exercise thing. But I can pretty much eat what I want. No more whining. Until next time. :)
In January, I thought this was the coolest thing ever ....
That was when my blog was new. When I thought I would never tire of writing about my Zen Micro. When I thought the fact that I was now blogging would forever change the landscape of Web publishing. OK, not really. But secretly kinda.
Now, I do my blog in semi-secret. It's not quite secret enough for me to dish about, say, coworkers, but it's enough secret that I can talk about sex, lies and flatulence. Good times.
But back to my momentary obsession: Do I still want a T-shirt like this? Only because it could be amusing and perhaps ironic. I mean, aren't blogs just so 2005? And didn't I think that "Sith Happens" shirt would be a great idea? How often do I wear that?
Monday, March 13, 2006
Tired or dying?
I've been tired and nap-craving all weekend. You could reasonably argue that I feel this way because I've been working hard, it's exhausting to clean house then put on a kids' birthday party, etc. Or you could think that it's early symptoms of some sort of disease.
One of these is reasonable. One of them is melodramatic, and, let's be real here, highly unlikely. I don't have any specific focus for my hypochondria. I just know people who have had diseases like MS or lymphoma come on in their 30s, and the symptoms have included, yes, unexplained tiredness. Or tiredness that they thought could be explained reasonably, but was really something else.
I'm going to apologize to these people for insulting their real life situations with my ridiculous fears. But I am a small person sometimes. And let's be real: The way I drive, it's much more likely to be a car wreck that takes me out.
One of these is reasonable. One of them is melodramatic, and, let's be real here, highly unlikely. I don't have any specific focus for my hypochondria. I just know people who have had diseases like MS or lymphoma come on in their 30s, and the symptoms have included, yes, unexplained tiredness. Or tiredness that they thought could be explained reasonably, but was really something else.
I'm going to apologize to these people for insulting their real life situations with my ridiculous fears. But I am a small person sometimes. And let's be real: The way I drive, it's much more likely to be a car wreck that takes me out.
When Monday feels like Sunday and a birthday lasts four days ....
My boys turned three this weekend, Saturday to be exact. The celebrating began on Friday, which is also when the housecleaning began in earnest. It was a day off work, but not a day off, believe me.
The good news is that the boys got their Bob the Builder Duplo, and other great gifts. And though they fear the car they can drive themselves (a very cool, two-seater "Jeep Wrangler" fire brigade thing), they will someday love it. And they currently do love the Radio Flyer wagon we got them.
Cheryl and I got the gift of a clean house. For even though we're still rather deep in party detritis, we're better off than we were when we started. And I gotta say: I really like it when the house is clean. Maybe because it is such a rare thing. Maybe if it were clean all the time, I'd just be complacent. We'll never know.
Tomorrow, I'm back to work. Actually, I'm back for a retreat, where we'll learn how to be ourselves but better. We'll see how that goes. And I'll spend the whole week not quite knowing what day it is.
It has been great to get away. Whether or not it has made my heart fonder for work, well, that remains to be seen.
The good news is that the boys got their Bob the Builder Duplo, and other great gifts. And though they fear the car they can drive themselves (a very cool, two-seater "Jeep Wrangler" fire brigade thing), they will someday love it. And they currently do love the Radio Flyer wagon we got them.
Cheryl and I got the gift of a clean house. For even though we're still rather deep in party detritis, we're better off than we were when we started. And I gotta say: I really like it when the house is clean. Maybe because it is such a rare thing. Maybe if it were clean all the time, I'd just be complacent. We'll never know.
Tomorrow, I'm back to work. Actually, I'm back for a retreat, where we'll learn how to be ourselves but better. We'll see how that goes. And I'll spend the whole week not quite knowing what day it is.
It has been great to get away. Whether or not it has made my heart fonder for work, well, that remains to be seen.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Friday, March 10, 2006
Ill-advised, at best
My excuse is that I'm tired. I want to get a load of little boy clothes going, and it's almost 1 a.m., and I'm not thinking as I should. That's my excuse.
I have to fall back on SOMETHING to explain why I thought it was a good idea to put a plastic tablecover in the dryer. The washer is one thing: It made it through there fine. But the dryer? I let it roll for a while, then asked Cheryl, "Is it OK to have the plastic tablecloth thing in the dryer?" Even as I said the words, I knew the answer. I'd say it was a choir of angels that clued me in, but angels probably don't say "FUCK NO!"
I got the tablecover out just in time. It was soft, and preparing to melt into a nasty, dryer-ruining, potentially toxic, fire-starting mess.
On the scale of the ill-advised, however, this still rates below my great moment in desk electronics. By that I mean, I was replacing our old, dead printer, and because it was a pain to unwind the plug through all the crap of the giant, wardrobe-like desk thing, I thought, "I'll just cut the cord." I didn't even for a second that this might be anything less than super-efficient. Then the lightning bolt shot through the still plugged-in cord -- yes, still plugged in -- and through the scissors (which it burnt a hole in). Perhaps it was the plastic handles of the scissors that saved me the loss of my arm hairs (which aren't a big deal) or my heartbeat (which I'm quite attached to).
Cheryl was a little upset with me. I was, of course, flattered at her lack of interest in widowhood. But mostly, I was chastened -- a new feeling for me.
I think what threw her the most was my absolute lack of awareness of my own stupidity, pre-electric shock. Usually when I push my luck or do something outright risky, stupid or ridiculous, I know exactly what I'm doing. Hell, I embrace it! Now, however, I have sons prone to doing things like jumping off their changing table. I don't have the luxury to be stupid anymore. It's not just my arm hair on the line.
I have to fall back on SOMETHING to explain why I thought it was a good idea to put a plastic tablecover in the dryer. The washer is one thing: It made it through there fine. But the dryer? I let it roll for a while, then asked Cheryl, "Is it OK to have the plastic tablecloth thing in the dryer?" Even as I said the words, I knew the answer. I'd say it was a choir of angels that clued me in, but angels probably don't say "FUCK NO!"
I got the tablecover out just in time. It was soft, and preparing to melt into a nasty, dryer-ruining, potentially toxic, fire-starting mess.
On the scale of the ill-advised, however, this still rates below my great moment in desk electronics. By that I mean, I was replacing our old, dead printer, and because it was a pain to unwind the plug through all the crap of the giant, wardrobe-like desk thing, I thought, "I'll just cut the cord." I didn't even for a second that this might be anything less than super-efficient. Then the lightning bolt shot through the still plugged-in cord -- yes, still plugged in -- and through the scissors (which it burnt a hole in). Perhaps it was the plastic handles of the scissors that saved me the loss of my arm hairs (which aren't a big deal) or my heartbeat (which I'm quite attached to).
Cheryl was a little upset with me. I was, of course, flattered at her lack of interest in widowhood. But mostly, I was chastened -- a new feeling for me.
I think what threw her the most was my absolute lack of awareness of my own stupidity, pre-electric shock. Usually when I push my luck or do something outright risky, stupid or ridiculous, I know exactly what I'm doing. Hell, I embrace it! Now, however, I have sons prone to doing things like jumping off their changing table. I don't have the luxury to be stupid anymore. It's not just my arm hair on the line.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Four days ....
That's four days away from work. Four days with my family. Four days that include the boys' third birthday party and the anniversary of the now unrecognized wedding that Cheryl and I had in Portland. (Well, WE recognize it. But the state of Oregon and the United States of America do not.) Still have that civil union, though! That's kinda almost legal!
And I'll just tell ya. I'm sick of work right now. I love my job. I love what I'm doing. Sometimes I actually feel as though I'm making a difference. But it's been a long six months since I got promoted. I wish I was taking more than four days. But four days will have to do.
And I'll just tell ya. I'm sick of work right now. I love my job. I love what I'm doing. Sometimes I actually feel as though I'm making a difference. But it's been a long six months since I got promoted. I wish I was taking more than four days. But four days will have to do.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Steve Carell is too busy being a movie and TV star ....
but he shows promise as a management consultant:
"He does his job just well enough to keep it," Steve Carell said (of his dim-bulb yet spolight-hungry boss character on "The Office") at an NBC party in January. "The ridiculous exploits and faux pas are just this side of lawsuit territory, so he continues to ride the wave of inefficiency and lack of expertise. I don't think that's necessarily unusual that one might be very good at one job and then is promoted, and you have no proficiency whatsoever."
"He does his job just well enough to keep it," Steve Carell said (of his dim-bulb yet spolight-hungry boss character on "The Office") at an NBC party in January. "The ridiculous exploits and faux pas are just this side of lawsuit territory, so he continues to ride the wave of inefficiency and lack of expertise. I don't think that's necessarily unusual that one might be very good at one job and then is promoted, and you have no proficiency whatsoever."
It's been a while, dear Zen
Being the not-so-early adopter that I am, I'm only just now starting to really test what my Zen Micro can be, beyond a book-on-audio replay device. And I came across this interesting bit. Well, interesting once you get past the blah blah about Hzzzzzzzzs.
http://www.pcmag.com/article2/0,1895,1860119,00.asp
(From PC magazine's rave review, circa last summer)
Frequency response is flat across a broad range, down only 3 dB at 40 Hz and 6 to 7 dB at 20 Hz. Harmonic distortion at the standard 1 kHz measurement point is less than 0.1 percent.
When we turned on the EQ, however, we found the same flaw that bedevils many other players: large amounts of harmonic distortion, clearly audible and clearly visible on our spectrum analyzer. But the Zen Micro has another audio trick up its sleeve: Smart Volume. The manual describes Smart Volume as an automatic volume manager that keeps the volume uniform from song to song, so you don't have to adjust it. In practice, it does much more than that. It removed virtually all of the harmonic distortion from the EQ settings. It also reduces the maximum loudness of the player, but that's no sacrifice—we went from a measured, ear-damaging 115 dB with the provided earbuds down to 101 to 103 dB, which is plenty for the loud passages, bass, and percussion. This gives the Zen Micro a slight edge over its competitors. As long as you keep Smart Volume on, distortion is not a problem, but it may reduce battery life.
http://www.pcmag.com/article2/0,1895,1860119,00.asp
(From PC magazine's rave review, circa last summer)
Frequency response is flat across a broad range, down only 3 dB at 40 Hz and 6 to 7 dB at 20 Hz. Harmonic distortion at the standard 1 kHz measurement point is less than 0.1 percent.
When we turned on the EQ, however, we found the same flaw that bedevils many other players: large amounts of harmonic distortion, clearly audible and clearly visible on our spectrum analyzer. But the Zen Micro has another audio trick up its sleeve: Smart Volume. The manual describes Smart Volume as an automatic volume manager that keeps the volume uniform from song to song, so you don't have to adjust it. In practice, it does much more than that. It removed virtually all of the harmonic distortion from the EQ settings. It also reduces the maximum loudness of the player, but that's no sacrifice—we went from a measured, ear-damaging 115 dB with the provided earbuds down to 101 to 103 dB, which is plenty for the loud passages, bass, and percussion. This gives the Zen Micro a slight edge over its competitors. As long as you keep Smart Volume on, distortion is not a problem, but it may reduce battery life.
What kind of late am I?
The Denver Post broke down the seven types of tardy people. Much more interesting than highly effective habits or something like that, because "tardy" is me. But which tardy is most me?
I asked a colleague and my dear Cheryl, and their answers surprised me. But first, the seven:
Rationalizers: They deny their problem and maintain they’re late only occasionally.
Indulgers: Run late because they give in to procrastination. They lack self-discipline and moral fiber. Should join the military.
Deadliners: Get their thrills from crisis-induced adrenaline, so they almost enjoy missing planes, trains, weddings, birthdays.
Perfectionists: Tend to be female, hence the Washington Post-style neologism “inerstrogen” to describe the state of trying on five outfits, four hairstyles and three types of lipstick while in a tearing hurry.
Rebels: Time is so bourgeois. And what better way to show your contempt for society than by freeing yourself from the shackles of the schedule. Should the revolution come, they would miss it.
Absent-minded professors: They get easily distracted en route. They’re the ones who actually stop and smell the flowers.
Producers: Feel unimportant and self-medicate by overscheduling.
I was not immediately sure what I was, but I pretty quickly got at what I wasn't: I wasn't cool enough to be a time rebel. Or a deadliner (I don't thrive on stress, but I can metabolize it). I don't deny my problem, so I'm not a rationalizer. Perfectionist? Don't I have to know what the fuck a neologism is to be one of those?. And I think I'm too important to fall into the producer category.
That left absent-minded prof and indulger. Figured that was me to a T and all would agree.
But my colleague pegged me as a rebel, in about 3 seconds. I was actually honored, but I'm not sure I buy it.
Dear Cheryl said she saw me as a ... cross between a perfectionist and a producer? Hmmm. She's usually dead-on about me, so I had to consider that seriously. I sold her on adding absent-minded prof to the mix. She thinks she is a classic indulger. I think she may also be a little bit of a deadliner as well.
Either way, we're both freakin' late!
I asked a colleague and my dear Cheryl, and their answers surprised me. But first, the seven:
Rationalizers: They deny their problem and maintain they’re late only occasionally.
Indulgers: Run late because they give in to procrastination. They lack self-discipline and moral fiber. Should join the military.
Deadliners: Get their thrills from crisis-induced adrenaline, so they almost enjoy missing planes, trains, weddings, birthdays.
Perfectionists: Tend to be female, hence the Washington Post-style neologism “inerstrogen” to describe the state of trying on five outfits, four hairstyles and three types of lipstick while in a tearing hurry.
Rebels: Time is so bourgeois. And what better way to show your contempt for society than by freeing yourself from the shackles of the schedule. Should the revolution come, they would miss it.
Absent-minded professors: They get easily distracted en route. They’re the ones who actually stop and smell the flowers.
Producers: Feel unimportant and self-medicate by overscheduling.
I was not immediately sure what I was, but I pretty quickly got at what I wasn't: I wasn't cool enough to be a time rebel. Or a deadliner (I don't thrive on stress, but I can metabolize it). I don't deny my problem, so I'm not a rationalizer. Perfectionist? Don't I have to know what the fuck a neologism is to be one of those?. And I think I'm too important to fall into the producer category.
That left absent-minded prof and indulger. Figured that was me to a T and all would agree.
But my colleague pegged me as a rebel, in about 3 seconds. I was actually honored, but I'm not sure I buy it.
Dear Cheryl said she saw me as a ... cross between a perfectionist and a producer? Hmmm. She's usually dead-on about me, so I had to consider that seriously. I sold her on adding absent-minded prof to the mix. She thinks she is a classic indulger. I think she may also be a little bit of a deadliner as well.
Either way, we're both freakin' late!
Good thing I wasn't looking for Real Sports on a newsstand ....
I was going to pull the trigger on a subscription when I got to this page:
http://www.realsportsmag.com/mag/index.html
REAL SPORTS magazine began publishing in 1998 with the mission to change mainstream media coverage of women's sports, with a particular focus on team sports at the professional, collegiate and national team levels. The magazine quickly grew from a quarterly publication with 50,000 copies circulated to bi-monthly publication printing more than 150,000 copies per issue. REAL SPORTS magazine was soon referred to as The Authority in Women's Sports.
However, since the magazine's launch, seven women's professional leagues have gone out of business (along with four competing women's sports magazines). The lack of advertiser and reader interest in building a market for women's sports created an environment whereby REAL SPORTS had to change in order to stay viable.
Today, the company offers memberships into TEAM REAL SPORTS, providing a platform for growing a base of fans interested in women's sports. REAL SPORTS looks forward to the day when re-launching the print version of the magazine makes economic sense. If you like to purchase a previous issue, please select from the items below.
Man, there's some brutal truth in there.
I am going to get a membership, however. Which comes with "e-zines" and a T-shirt!
http://www.realsportsmag.com/mag/index.html
REAL SPORTS magazine began publishing in 1998 with the mission to change mainstream media coverage of women's sports, with a particular focus on team sports at the professional, collegiate and national team levels. The magazine quickly grew from a quarterly publication with 50,000 copies circulated to bi-monthly publication printing more than 150,000 copies per issue. REAL SPORTS magazine was soon referred to as The Authority in Women's Sports.
However, since the magazine's launch, seven women's professional leagues have gone out of business (along with four competing women's sports magazines). The lack of advertiser and reader interest in building a market for women's sports created an environment whereby REAL SPORTS had to change in order to stay viable.
Today, the company offers memberships into TEAM REAL SPORTS, providing a platform for growing a base of fans interested in women's sports. REAL SPORTS looks forward to the day when re-launching the print version of the magazine makes economic sense. If you like to purchase a previous issue, please select from the items below.
Man, there's some brutal truth in there.
I am going to get a membership, however. Which comes with "e-zines" and a T-shirt!
Good news on the women's sports magazine front (I think)
I am optimistic about Real Sports. It doesn't ignore the biggest sports out there (male dominated though they are), and that's where I'm at. I just want a woman's spin on things, ya know?
This is from their "About Us" page:
REAL SPORTS magazine will be the magazine of choice for fans and athletes involved in girl's and women's sports. Its purpose is to entertain and inform so our readers can become involved with the drama of competition involving female sports.
REAL SPORTS will deliver the finest editorial and action-based photojournalism possible, with a staff-team focused on serving the needs of our readers while also achieving personal and professional growth.
REAL SPORTS will remain cutting edge with a bit of an attitude, designed to challenge conventional thinking in order to bring media coverage of girls' and women's sports to a new, unprecedented level.
REAL SPORTS will far exceed the expectations of an untapped market segment eager for the positive, active portrayal of outstanding female athletes.
Maybe they need to work that sense of fun a little, but like I said: I'm optimistic.
I also found something called Her Sports (http://www.hersports.com/). The name is a bit precious, and as I feared, it's more targeted to the marathoners, triathletes and others than the likes of me. God bless 'em, but I want to read a magazine that doesn't make me feel guilty for only getting on the elliptical once or twice a week at best.
Imagine my surprise at seeing that Her Sports is actually run by the woman who won Martha Stewart's "Apprentice." So publisher Dawna will be stepping away from the mag to embrace peri-celebrity, but Her Sports will live on! They promise! It'll be as big as Martha Stewart's "Apprentice" ... oh, wait.
This is from their "About Us" page:
REAL SPORTS magazine will be the magazine of choice for fans and athletes involved in girl's and women's sports. Its purpose is to entertain and inform so our readers can become involved with the drama of competition involving female sports.
REAL SPORTS will deliver the finest editorial and action-based photojournalism possible, with a staff-team focused on serving the needs of our readers while also achieving personal and professional growth.
REAL SPORTS will remain cutting edge with a bit of an attitude, designed to challenge conventional thinking in order to bring media coverage of girls' and women's sports to a new, unprecedented level.
REAL SPORTS will far exceed the expectations of an untapped market segment eager for the positive, active portrayal of outstanding female athletes.
Maybe they need to work that sense of fun a little, but like I said: I'm optimistic.
I also found something called Her Sports (http://www.hersports.com/). The name is a bit precious, and as I feared, it's more targeted to the marathoners, triathletes and others than the likes of me. God bless 'em, but I want to read a magazine that doesn't make me feel guilty for only getting on the elliptical once or twice a week at best.
Imagine my surprise at seeing that Her Sports is actually run by the woman who won Martha Stewart's "Apprentice." So publisher Dawna will be stepping away from the mag to embrace peri-celebrity, but Her Sports will live on! They promise! It'll be as big as Martha Stewart's "Apprentice" ... oh, wait.
More reasons why I love Angelina Jolie (get your mind out of the gutter)
These quotes come from ABC newsy Cynthia McFadden (on the Tony Danza show). So, an odd pedigree at best, but some interesting words:
On George Clooney and Angelina Jolie's approach to their celebrity:
He and Angelina have something in common. It's sort of the Jiu Jitsu approach to celebrity. You know how in Jiu Jitsu you absorb the punch of the other guy and then you turn it back? They absorb this incredible attention they get and they try and use this attention to focus on something they care about. In Angelina's case it's on these kids and in George's case it's on issues he cares about, political issues.
On what Angelina Jolie is really like:
Let me say this, any woman who gives 1/3 of her income to the poorest kids in the world has something going for her.
The Angelina I met was sort of shy. She talked about going to Washington and being shy when she got there. And I said, "Come on, Angelina Jolie, shy?" And she said, "Ya know, Cynthia, inside I am still the kind of freaky kid who didn't do very well in school, who never went to college, who isn't always sure of what to say or how to say it, but ya know something I've been around the world now and have seen 20 of these orphanages, I know right from wrong."
On George Clooney and Angelina Jolie's approach to their celebrity:
He and Angelina have something in common. It's sort of the Jiu Jitsu approach to celebrity. You know how in Jiu Jitsu you absorb the punch of the other guy and then you turn it back? They absorb this incredible attention they get and they try and use this attention to focus on something they care about. In Angelina's case it's on these kids and in George's case it's on issues he cares about, political issues.
On what Angelina Jolie is really like:
Let me say this, any woman who gives 1/3 of her income to the poorest kids in the world has something going for her.
The Angelina I met was sort of shy. She talked about going to Washington and being shy when she got there. And I said, "Come on, Angelina Jolie, shy?" And she said, "Ya know, Cynthia, inside I am still the kind of freaky kid who didn't do very well in school, who never went to college, who isn't always sure of what to say or how to say it, but ya know something I've been around the world now and have seen 20 of these orphanages, I know right from wrong."
Is there a decent sports magazine for women?
Is there ANY sports magazine for women? So far, I'm striking out. Back in the day, I subscribed to Women's Sports and Fitness. Now it's just a foundation, not a magazine. Though I did subscribe to their e-newsletters.
I found SI for Women, then found that the Web site was a ghost from 2002. It's dead.
I saw on WNBA.com that Diana Taurasi reads Slam magazine, but it has only ever put a woman on its cover once in 10 years, and it's more of a straight-up NBA/men's hoops pub. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
There was once something called On Point. Dead, though they're selling back issues for only the price of postage.
Damn, this is depressing!
Coming soon: My thoughts on why women's sporting magazines die, but women's fitness magazines survive, even thrive. Men, on the other hand, get both.
I found SI for Women, then found that the Web site was a ghost from 2002. It's dead.
I saw on WNBA.com that Diana Taurasi reads Slam magazine, but it has only ever put a woman on its cover once in 10 years, and it's more of a straight-up NBA/men's hoops pub. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
There was once something called On Point. Dead, though they're selling back issues for only the price of postage.
Damn, this is depressing!
Coming soon: My thoughts on why women's sporting magazines die, but women's fitness magazines survive, even thrive. Men, on the other hand, get both.
"She's really a psycho!!!"
Salon.com reports that A Palm Beach, Fla., woman is suing Walgreens over remarks printed on her sleeping pill prescription under "patient information": "CrAzY!!" In another field on the form, it read: "She's really a psycho!!! Do not say her name too loud, never mention her meds by names & try to talk to her when ..." She's outraged, embarrassed, etc. And I understand that, but my main thought was: Mom, when did you move to Palm Beach? I'm kidding. Mom is either in heaven or the hot place. Dad's not sure, as he made clear during a gravesite visit once. I'm not sure I believe in the hot place, and it's not like she killed someone (I think), so I'm banking on heaven. Anyway, Mom's rap tended to be a little more cloaked: "noncompliant patient." Which is, in part, while she's not around anymore.
But back to my real main thought, which was: How do I get my mitts on the patient info written about me? I get annoyed that my doc doesn't leave me with my chart when I have an appt. I love to snoop at that stuff. And I know I could request it, but I'd rather just read it upside down. Feels more like I'm getting the truth.
But back to my real main thought, which was: How do I get my mitts on the patient info written about me? I get annoyed that my doc doesn't leave me with my chart when I have an appt. I love to snoop at that stuff. And I know I could request it, but I'd rather just read it upside down. Feels more like I'm getting the truth.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
An imaginary leap
The boys' play, always entertaining to them, has become much more entertaining to me. It's like all of a sudden their props have these interesting inner lives that get laid bare. Toy fish, trains, cups, balls ... all interact with each other in loud conversational style.
All of this may have been going on in their minds the whole time, but I love being able to enjoy the story.
All of this may have been going on in their minds the whole time, but I love being able to enjoy the story.
Nicknames
I have never had one. At least not one that stuck, or that people used to my face. I have given a few -- most recently "PBS," which is a tag I've stuck to a colleague in sports who has an impressive gentility streak.
I was "Yankee" in camp, a name I borrowed from a sailboat, of all things. I really loved sailing camp.
Wait -- I kinda do have a nickname .... "Mama"! And I think it will stick.
I was "Yankee" in camp, a name I borrowed from a sailboat, of all things. I really loved sailing camp.
Wait -- I kinda do have a nickname .... "Mama"! And I think it will stick.
Hat's on to the Seahawks
One advantage to being late is bargains. I picked up a Seahawks NFC Champions beanie today for only $10 (they were going for $15-plus before the Super Bowl). Actually, they were still going for $15-plus at Seattle Team Shops, but I looked at the hole-in-the-wall memorabilia store a few doors down, and yahtzee!!!
The bargain store did not have a functioning front door, but it did have several beanies for me to choose from. A couple just had a Seahawks logo. A couple had the NFC Champions logo, with different details. All were cuffless except for one. Being old school, which is really just a euphemism for "old," I was going to go with the cuff kind. But then I rethought it. The cuffless did seem cool .... and the dude working in the store said the cuff didn't seem to have a reason for being (not like I thought it was for carrying a pack of smokes or something, but OK). I listened to the dude. And I remembered how much I enjoyed wearing a cuffless Seahawks beanie on Super Bowl day, when I was at the office attempting to be useful.
That beanie was never really mine. It belonged to our classical music critic, who won it in a raffle. Since he wasn't there, I claimed it on his behalf. I knew he wouldn't want it, but I hadn't gotten around to asking him if I could have it. Or to asking him if he minded if I wore it. Details. Formalities. Plus, I was trying to figure out how to ask and not seem ridiculously gauche. Silly me.
When I finally saw our classical music critic/hat winner, days later, he amazed me by acting like he wanted the damn thing. Fortunately, I had only worn it once, for a few hours, and not sweated or anything. It still had the crease of newness about it. I handed it over, then found out that classical music guy only wanted it because our books writer had asked him for it. Curses!
I thought little about the hat I never knew I wanted until a few days ago, when in my usual obsessive way, my mind returned to the topic and I considered my options. Ebay had surprisingly few Hawks beanies available, for not anything resembling a good deal. Except for on the ugly one.
Then came my brainstorm: The Super Bowl is history! Winter is almost history! The souvenir types will be selling these beanie hats for a song! It wasn't quite the case, but I can live with $10. On to the next obsession. It won't be jerseys for the boys -- at least not for a while. Those things are still going for something like $50 each. But I'll keep my eyes open. There may never come as happy a day as when I found Seattle Storm merch for 70 percent off (a sad commentary on the lack of widespread public support for my gals). But the thrill is in the chase, after all.
The bargain store did not have a functioning front door, but it did have several beanies for me to choose from. A couple just had a Seahawks logo. A couple had the NFC Champions logo, with different details. All were cuffless except for one. Being old school, which is really just a euphemism for "old," I was going to go with the cuff kind. But then I rethought it. The cuffless did seem cool .... and the dude working in the store said the cuff didn't seem to have a reason for being (not like I thought it was for carrying a pack of smokes or something, but OK). I listened to the dude. And I remembered how much I enjoyed wearing a cuffless Seahawks beanie on Super Bowl day, when I was at the office attempting to be useful.
That beanie was never really mine. It belonged to our classical music critic, who won it in a raffle. Since he wasn't there, I claimed it on his behalf. I knew he wouldn't want it, but I hadn't gotten around to asking him if I could have it. Or to asking him if he minded if I wore it. Details. Formalities. Plus, I was trying to figure out how to ask and not seem ridiculously gauche. Silly me.
When I finally saw our classical music critic/hat winner, days later, he amazed me by acting like he wanted the damn thing. Fortunately, I had only worn it once, for a few hours, and not sweated or anything. It still had the crease of newness about it. I handed it over, then found out that classical music guy only wanted it because our books writer had asked him for it. Curses!
I thought little about the hat I never knew I wanted until a few days ago, when in my usual obsessive way, my mind returned to the topic and I considered my options. Ebay had surprisingly few Hawks beanies available, for not anything resembling a good deal. Except for on the ugly one.
Then came my brainstorm: The Super Bowl is history! Winter is almost history! The souvenir types will be selling these beanie hats for a song! It wasn't quite the case, but I can live with $10. On to the next obsession. It won't be jerseys for the boys -- at least not for a while. Those things are still going for something like $50 each. But I'll keep my eyes open. There may never come as happy a day as when I found Seattle Storm merch for 70 percent off (a sad commentary on the lack of widespread public support for my gals). But the thrill is in the chase, after all.
So how does Madonna explain her "Erotica" book to little Lourdes?
From Salon.com, quoting the AP, quoting Out magazine, here's Madonna on her daughter's questions about mummy's sexuality:
"She is really obsessed with who is gay, and she even asked, 'Mom, you know they say that you are gay?' And I'm, 'Oh, do they? Why?' And she says, 'Because you kissed Britney Spears.' And I said, 'No, it just means I kissed Britney Spears. I am the mommy pop star and she is the baby pop star.'"
"She is really obsessed with who is gay, and she even asked, 'Mom, you know they say that you are gay?' And I'm, 'Oh, do they? Why?' And she says, 'Because you kissed Britney Spears.' And I said, 'No, it just means I kissed Britney Spears. I am the mommy pop star and she is the baby pop star.'"
A boy and his allergies, cont.
Well, we met Pink Grandma's dog. I call him Tiger. That was also the name of my mother's beloved orange tabby, but it still feels right for the little guy. For a dog, he's pretty cool. Very soft. Very sweet. Likes to let his tongue hang out, yet there's a minimal disgust factor, but I missed the part where Cathy had to clean shit off him after Pinky let him "hang out" in the car all day.
The sad thing is that the boys love him. But Chas is allergic, and therefore I don't see how we can do anything but visit a dog. At least for now. Apparently Tiger licked Chas' forehead today, and Chas popped a hive. Dammit.
That's what's frustrating about allergies. If all he was ever going to get was the occasional hive, well, that's not that big a deal. But we never know what's around the bend. I hope we go through life without ever using an Epi-Pen, but I need to make sure I never get too complacent about it.
The sad thing is that the boys love him. But Chas is allergic, and therefore I don't see how we can do anything but visit a dog. At least for now. Apparently Tiger licked Chas' forehead today, and Chas popped a hive. Dammit.
That's what's frustrating about allergies. If all he was ever going to get was the occasional hive, well, that's not that big a deal. But we never know what's around the bend. I hope we go through life without ever using an Epi-Pen, but I need to make sure I never get too complacent about it.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Sunday, March 05, 2006
I Can't Believe I'm ...
the correct answer is "Beading." Cheryl and I ran across a book with this very title today and laughed our asses off. Largely because if I were beading, that would be exactly my sentiment. This is not to take anything away from beading. Many cool people I like alot make very cool things out of string and and little bits of glass and stone and what-have-you. The fact that I am not a beading person is more an indictment of me and my lazyness than a shot at them.
But that's not the only reason we laughed. We imagined "I Can't Believe I'm" becoming a new franchise, a la "For Dummies."
I Can't Believe I'm ...
Ironing.
Cooking.
Cleaning.
Working Out.
Gay.
Straight.
Recycling.
Unicycling.
Drinking My Third Double Gulp Today.
Watching "Deal or No Deal."
But that's not the only reason we laughed. We imagined "I Can't Believe I'm" becoming a new franchise, a la "For Dummies."
I Can't Believe I'm ...
Ironing.
Cooking.
Cleaning.
Working Out.
Gay.
Straight.
Recycling.
Unicycling.
Drinking My Third Double Gulp Today.
Watching "Deal or No Deal."
"I want to see this again when you say it"
Eddie just said this to Mommy Cheryl, who is possibly the greatest reader of books ever. And I've heard lots of them, as that's how I engage in most of my book consumption (see Micro, Zen and downloads, Netlibrary).
She's in there reading them a Kipper story. Or, I should say, a "Kippah" story. Imagine that name (of a little British dog) and all of his dialogue said in luvly UK-speak. And that's not all. Cheryl manages an engaging combination of voices and emotions and all that stuff that makes a reading good. Really, she compares favorably with Campbell Scott, who just did "Cell" for me. Well, not just for me. Another advantage to Cheryl: I don't have to share her with anyone but a couple of adorable boys.
She's in there reading them a Kipper story. Or, I should say, a "Kippah" story. Imagine that name (of a little British dog) and all of his dialogue said in luvly UK-speak. And that's not all. Cheryl manages an engaging combination of voices and emotions and all that stuff that makes a reading good. Really, she compares favorably with Campbell Scott, who just did "Cell" for me. Well, not just for me. Another advantage to Cheryl: I don't have to share her with anyone but a couple of adorable boys.
And just who is this Cheeto?
I first met Paige at her 4th birthday party, which was almost 10 years ago. Holy crap! She's almost grown up now! I wish I knew her better, actually. Everytime I talk with her, I learn something new. Today I learned she has a boyfriend. Previously, I learned that she's got her own space at MySpace.com (and it made me want my own, though I only got as far as this blog). I learned that she plays rugby. Actually, she's too busy to play rugby because she's on two basketball teams, doing gymnastics and God knows what all else. It would probably embarrass her to know that I'm writing this, but she's a stud. She reminds me of Sue Bird, kinda all-American kickass jock and supercute to boot. She also reminds me of friends I had in school -- not that I was a kickass jock or supercute but because I hung out with those people when I played sports. I only ever made JV, yet excelled at bench-sitting and bus-riding. And cheering on teammates/taunting the opposition.
She's smart and has a good heart. And a cell phone. Unfortunately, many more people seem to have the latter than the former. I love that it doesn't matter to her that I'm "married" to her aunt. I love that it's a given that I'm family. She may never have any idea how much it means to me, and I hope she gets to spend her adult years in a world where gay people don't have worry about whether or not the people who love them will turn away from them once they know.
Paige, along with my GD gray hairs, is more evidence that I'm getting old. But it's a fun old. It's the kind of old that's not too far gone to recognize that Paige's Nikes are Carmelo Anthony shoes, with their No. 15 and their light blue and their jumpman (Jordan) logo. I think it amuses her that I have even the slightest connection to what is cool in her world.
I don't ever want to lose that. I don't ever want to not be able to talk to a teenager about what matters in their world. Or to an 8-year-old. Or a 3-year-old (I can tell you that based on my personal focus group of Eddie and Chas, important things include Bob the Builder Duplo).
She's smart and has a good heart. And a cell phone. Unfortunately, many more people seem to have the latter than the former. I love that it doesn't matter to her that I'm "married" to her aunt. I love that it's a given that I'm family. She may never have any idea how much it means to me, and I hope she gets to spend her adult years in a world where gay people don't have worry about whether or not the people who love them will turn away from them once they know.
Paige, along with my GD gray hairs, is more evidence that I'm getting old. But it's a fun old. It's the kind of old that's not too far gone to recognize that Paige's Nikes are Carmelo Anthony shoes, with their No. 15 and their light blue and their jumpman (Jordan) logo. I think it amuses her that I have even the slightest connection to what is cool in her world.
I don't ever want to lose that. I don't ever want to not be able to talk to a teenager about what matters in their world. Or to an 8-year-old. Or a 3-year-old (I can tell you that based on my personal focus group of Eddie and Chas, important things include Bob the Builder Duplo).
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Now this is my kind of museum ....
Took the boys to the Tacoma Children's Museum today. We're members. I gotta say, it's a heck of a place. It's called a museum, but it's really the city's coolest under-10 hangout. You can paint, make masks, pull veggies from a "garden" with surprisingly realistic yet not dirty dirt and, the newest addition, you can drop golf balls from a height in the name of understanding gravity and science and all that crap.
Did I say under 10? I really meant under 100. Anyway, we had a blast.
Did I say under 10? I really meant under 100. Anyway, we had a blast.
Zen, reloaded
I wish my Zen Micro played games of some sort. Cards. Space Invaders. Something. But all relationships require compromise.
Just spent the past hour or so downloading stuff onto my Zen ... Lost podcasts, Battlestar Galactica podcasts, a couple of audiobooks. Funny how I prefer to use my Zen as a listening-to-talk device more than a listening-to-music device. Yet more evidence that I am old.
Just spent the past hour or so downloading stuff onto my Zen ... Lost podcasts, Battlestar Galactica podcasts, a couple of audiobooks. Funny how I prefer to use my Zen as a listening-to-talk device more than a listening-to-music device. Yet more evidence that I am old.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
That Stephen King guy might have a future in writing ...
I just finished "Cell" by Stephen King. It's the first book of his I've read. And in this case, I use the term "read" loosely -- I got the audiobook version. Which I downloaded and listened to on my Zen Micro.
Does King hate MP3 players the way he hates cell phones? I don' t know. But the guy certainly hates cell phones. Maybe he's less inclined to hate something that causes people to go quiet and sprout white wires from their ears, as opposed to something that makes them chatter loudly in a crowd. Both things are annoying and perhaps herald something less than a high point for civilization. But do both offend in the same way?
"Pod people" are virtually a cliche, but perhaps King could find a way to create a new threat. In the current book, it's "phone crazies," or "phoners." These are people driven mad (to put it somewhat generously) by something called "the pulse," which courses through cell phones and fucks with the personal hard drive we call the brain. King writes brilliantly about the end of civilization (if not the world), with a sense of detail that is at times almost too graphic for me. Which is why I never connected with his early work: "The Shining," "Cujo," "Carrie" ... I know them all as
Does King hate MP3 players the way he hates cell phones? I don' t know. But the guy certainly hates cell phones. Maybe he's less inclined to hate something that causes people to go quiet and sprout white wires from their ears, as opposed to something that makes them chatter loudly in a crowd. Both things are annoying and perhaps herald something less than a high point for civilization. But do both offend in the same way?
"Pod people" are virtually a cliche, but perhaps King could find a way to create a new threat. In the current book, it's "phone crazies," or "phoners." These are people driven mad (to put it somewhat generously) by something called "the pulse," which courses through cell phones and fucks with the personal hard drive we call the brain. King writes brilliantly about the end of civilization (if not the world), with a sense of detail that is at times almost too graphic for me. Which is why I never connected with his early work: "The Shining," "Cujo," "Carrie" ... I know them all as
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Screamin' Life, or Why Angelina Jolie is having kid after kid after kid ...
I saw that Angelina Jolie once said:
"I wish I could find people who just would fight me and break through to me and hold me down and scream their life into my face."
And now that I'm a mother of toddlers, I say "Be careful what you wish for." ('Cause you'll want more and more of it.)
Cheryl and I have had occasion to hold a couple of adorable babies of late. And babies are awesome. I can't believe how fun it is just to watch them take in the world. Or sleep, for that matter. But toddlers ... toddlers are kickass, maddening, fabulous creatures. The things they say, the things they do. I worry that the world will push my boys to moderate their id beyond what's reasonable. I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen.
"I wish I could find people who just would fight me and break through to me and hold me down and scream their life into my face."
And now that I'm a mother of toddlers, I say "Be careful what you wish for." ('Cause you'll want more and more of it.)
Cheryl and I have had occasion to hold a couple of adorable babies of late. And babies are awesome. I can't believe how fun it is just to watch them take in the world. Or sleep, for that matter. But toddlers ... toddlers are kickass, maddening, fabulous creatures. The things they say, the things they do. I worry that the world will push my boys to moderate their id beyond what's reasonable. I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen.
How can someone who doesn't even comb her hair be vain?
As I ripped the 172nd gray hair from my head, I asked myself: "Am I vain?"
And I've come around, once again, to Cheryl's way of thinking. I'm not vain in the most obvious and traditional senses of vanity. I'm not thin, not pretty, not all that stuff that people usually get obsessed with. But I am vain about my age. Ever since I skipped first grade, I've been "the young one."
But now I've reached the point at which I'm no longer sure how to make this "youngest" thing work anymore. At least not until I become "the kid" of the rest home. I recently got promoted to a job that I am fairly young for. Not a ton of people at my level are under 40, and I still have a couple of years to go before I hit that milestone. The irony is that I am an assistant managing editor with an emphasis on youth, more specifically attracting younger readers to the newspaper. Talk about a Quixiotic task. Good thing we also have a Web site. I don't think the newspaper is a lost cause for younger people, but really, the victory will come as much in stopping the slide as turning things around in some dramatic fashion.
Anyway, the "youth" aspect of my job makes me even more sensitive to the grays than I otherwise would be. And that's saying something, 'cause I'd be pretty damn bugged even if it was my job to attract bluehairs (and not of the punk rock variety). I'm due for a haircut this weekend, and I will once again face the question of whether or not I want to start coloring my hair. I'm not sure I'm there quite yet. I'm in that awkward phase, like when you grow out your bangs. It would be cool if I could do temp colors, like washing out red and then purple and blue and then others. You know, a relatively dark and subtle red and purple and blue. I am a quasi-executive. A quasi-executive prone to using phrases like "fuckin' a!"
And I've come around, once again, to Cheryl's way of thinking. I'm not vain in the most obvious and traditional senses of vanity. I'm not thin, not pretty, not all that stuff that people usually get obsessed with. But I am vain about my age. Ever since I skipped first grade, I've been "the young one."
But now I've reached the point at which I'm no longer sure how to make this "youngest" thing work anymore. At least not until I become "the kid" of the rest home. I recently got promoted to a job that I am fairly young for. Not a ton of people at my level are under 40, and I still have a couple of years to go before I hit that milestone. The irony is that I am an assistant managing editor with an emphasis on youth, more specifically attracting younger readers to the newspaper. Talk about a Quixiotic task. Good thing we also have a Web site. I don't think the newspaper is a lost cause for younger people, but really, the victory will come as much in stopping the slide as turning things around in some dramatic fashion.
Anyway, the "youth" aspect of my job makes me even more sensitive to the grays than I otherwise would be. And that's saying something, 'cause I'd be pretty damn bugged even if it was my job to attract bluehairs (and not of the punk rock variety). I'm due for a haircut this weekend, and I will once again face the question of whether or not I want to start coloring my hair. I'm not sure I'm there quite yet. I'm in that awkward phase, like when you grow out your bangs. It would be cool if I could do temp colors, like washing out red and then purple and blue and then others. You know, a relatively dark and subtle red and purple and blue. I am a quasi-executive. A quasi-executive prone to using phrases like "fuckin' a!"
The seductively simple-minded pleasure of "Deal or No Deal"
I'm relieved to see that I'm not the only one who found myself sucked in by "Deal or No Deal," or as I like to think of it, "Who Wants To Be An Idiot Who Can Guess Some Shit?"
A charmingly named Web site called TVgasm has more info.
http://www.tvgasm.com/archives/game_shows/001725.php
Cheryl and I tuned in to see what the "Deal" was on Monday night, and couldn't turn the damn show off. Whether this is a long-term relationship or just a hookup, I don't know. I was going to say that I don't like 'em stupid, but I LOVE "The Real World/Road Rules Challenge," or as I like to call it "Who Wants To Be a Drunken Drama Addict Who Has to Climb, Jump or Otherwise Flex Muscles for Money?"
A charmingly named Web site called TVgasm has more info.
http://www.tvgasm.com/archives/game_shows/001725.php
Cheryl and I tuned in to see what the "Deal" was on Monday night, and couldn't turn the damn show off. Whether this is a long-term relationship or just a hookup, I don't know. I was going to say that I don't like 'em stupid, but I LOVE "The Real World/Road Rules Challenge," or as I like to call it "Who Wants To Be a Drunken Drama Addict Who Has to Climb, Jump or Otherwise Flex Muscles for Money?"
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