How Could I Forget?

Well, I've just invited another friend (scratch that, now it's 2!) to this blogsite, so I guess I'd better write something. (Hi, Amy and Laura!) What topic today?

There's always politics, but then I risk alienating the few readers I have. Then there's the whole Britney/K-Fed split and custody controversy, but since we all saw that one coming and can fairly well predict the outcome, that seems kinda pointless. I could bitch about my town's "leaf vacuuming" system for leaf removal, but that would appeal pretty much only to me and my husband - loyal reader though he is, he's only 30% of my readership. Since I don't want to circulate pictures of my kid all over the internet, can't post those. Hey, did I mention how much I like the show "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip?" Okay, covered that one. OH, I've got it. Kinda feel like a putz for not thinking of it sooner.

HELLO, it's VETERANS' DAY. How about taking a moment to thank and honor the millions of America's veteran servicemen and -women? I, for one, sleep better at night knowing that there are people willing to lay down their lives to make sure I can sleep better at night. I may not always agree with what our government chooses to do with our military resources, but I know that the individual human beings who sign up to serve do so with more courage and perseverance than I can muster on my best day. I know that many of them have seen things that most of us don't even know enough to be horrified by, much less can we appreciate how remarkable it is that they continue to serve, come home, and for the most part, manage to resume normal existences when their service is over. Whatever our individual politics here at home in our living rooms, the willingness of these men and women to don the uniform and be ready to keep the peace or take up the fight is worthy of respect and admiration, and a heck of a lot more care and attention than we generally give them once their service is complete and their status changes to "veteran". I've seen how poorly we treat our elderly and disabled veterans, as I've watched the ridiculous hoop-jumping my in-laws have had to do to try to get adequate - not exceptional, mind you, just adequate - care for my husband's grandfather, a veteran of three wars who was exposed to Agent Orange and is now wheelchair bound and suffering a wide variety of ailments and illnesses. I know firsthand how quickly we forget that our military is made up of human beings, that we ask and expect of them things most of the rest of us aren't willing to do ourselves, and as the wife of a veteran, I know how important it is that we remember.

So, folks, let's all take a moment today, whether or not at the officially sanctioned hour for moments of silence, and give thanks for our veterans and their service and the relative peace we currently enjoy in this country as a result of their sacrifice. God bless America - and its military veterans.

There's Just No Pleasing Some People

So, I had an interview with that company that called me that I wasn't very impressed with, initially. In spite of having a phone call at 9:00 am with a yelling 1-year old in the background, they actually wanted to meet with me in person - somewhat informally, over breakfast - for a "follow up conversation". It was basically an interview, albeit in a less intense atmosphere than an office. Two of them, one of me, coffee and conversation.

They're a consulting firm. They're a very small consulting firm (10 whole people). I don't want to do consulting anymore. And half of their clients are in an industry in which I have experience but really don't want to work for again, and yet that's obviously what I'd be most likely to do for them. And I was up front with them about both of those facts, as well as the fact that I'm VERY early in my job search - in fact, my husband and I aren't 100% sure that I'm going to go back to work full-time yet (I'd rather not, but money is really tight these days) - but I also very honestly said that it would all depend on the opportunity. Right job, right company, I'd do it, consulting or not, no matter the industry.

I just got the follow up note: "Unfortunately, we've decided not to move forward at this time..." Now, this is a company I'm only marginally okay with (they impressed me more with each subsequent conversation, but it's small, new, and again, consulting), a job I'm less than thrilled with getting back into, and an industry I don't want to work for again. I should be relieved. But of course, I'm disappointed and admittedly, a little insulted. I'm embarrassed, actually. I ALWAYS get jobs for which I interview. Resumes don't always get picked up, that's no big deal. But if I get through the front door, I'm in. Always. ALWAYS. And I wanted to be in this time. I didn't really want the job - or at least, I had not reached the point where I was sure I wanted the job - and yet, I wanted to get the job. I wanted to be in the position to decide, to reject them or accept them. I wanted to know that I could have the job. That I've "still got it," in a sense, and that I'm eminently employable if we decide I am going back to work. I just plain wanted them to like me. This is like reluctantly agreeing to go out on a date with a guy you're not remotely attracted to, just to be nice, and then having him tell you at the end of the night that he just doesn't feel any chemistry and doesn't think you should see each other again. I wanted to be the one to break up!

Of course I'm still employable. I can say with 99.9% certainty that my last employer would happily have me back, and probably even give me my pick of job roles. And I haven't even actually started looking for a job yet, so I'm sure that there are other opportunities out there. And I really DON'T want to do consulting, or in that industry. So, this really should be no big deal. And yet, it is. I hate that they're done with me. I wanted them to want me, and I hate that I failed to make them want me. There's just no pleasing some people - namely, me.

The Best TV Show That Apparently Doesn't Exist Yet

I read about this in TV Guide (hey, I had lots of unused airline miles, so I signed up for a free subscription, what can I say?). Anyway, the creator of Scrubs apparently had been shopping this idea for a TV show that networks either kept rejecting or, in the case of NBC, apparently say they're going to produce and then never seem to bother getting around to making. Anyway, they've sort of gone viral with it, and I watched a few of the clips for the first time last night.

For the life of me, I can't figure out why I think this stuff is so funny. I'm the kind of person that doesn't like Farrelly Brothers movies, but thought the joke on Frasier where Niles was all excited about some fan mail he'd received in which the author "called [me] a genius! Of course, he used the lesser-known 'j' spelling..." was absolutely hilarious. Yet, I find this stuff just great. It's just nutty enough to appeal to the masses, and just satirical enough to appeal to my, er, more refined sensibilities. Anyway, no matter your personal comedic preferences, I suggest giving it a look, and if you like it, pass it on: www.nobodyswatching.tv.

The Best TV Show You're Apparently Not Watching

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Positively BRILLIANT, folks, and yet, ratings have been kind of "eh" since it launched. Matthew Perry is great - a truly above-expectations post-Friends performance, and the whole show is wickedly funny, whip-smart, and heartbreakingly poignant all in each episode. If you're not already watching it, start.

You can watch the current week's episode (after it's aired, Monday nights at 10pm Eastern/9pm Central) on NBC's site: http://www.nbc.com/Studio_60_on_the_Sunset_Strip/ Unfortunately, they only make the current episode available, but it's better than nothing...

First Impressions

Recently, on a lark, based on general discussions about the possible necessity of my returning to the salaried working world, I updated my info on monster.com. Not 12 hours later, a consulting company sent me an e-mail expressing their interest in my resume and requesting a phone interview. Now, in spite of the fact that I really don't want to go back into consulting - which I expressly said, right there on my monster info under both "objective" and "ideal job," - I agreed to talk to them, because I don't really feel the need to burn any professional bridges when I don't know yet how desperately I may need the contact. So I e-mailed them a cheerful reply, saying that I'd be delighted to speak with them, but could we please coordinate a phone call ahead of time, as I have a 1-year old at home. I explained that nap times were the best time to talk as I could give my full attention to the phone call. The recruiter e-mailed back, asking for my preferred times; I responded with my preference, and waited for a reply with either a confirmation or a "that won't work for us; how about this time instead?". That was three business days ago.

No word for several days, and then they just call me out of the blue today at what was definitely not one of the times I preferred. Now, maybe this is a strategy to try to catch you offguard and see how you handle yourself, but I have to say, I was a little peeved. My sister was visiting, just back from her honeymoon, and although she was about to leave, I was also about to put my daughter down for a nap, for which she was way overdue, and as a result, I was expecting that the process might take awhile. So, I very politely explained to the woman that this wasn’t actually a good time for me, because I was about to put my daughter down for a nap. Would it be okay if I called her back, or she could call me back, in say, an hour? Pause. LONG pause.

Finally: “Hm. I don’t think that will work for me, because I’ll be in a meeting in an hour.”

Pause.

Okay, apparently she’s waiting for me to say something.

Me: “Well, anytime this afternoon would probably be okay; if I’m lucky, she’ll sleep until 4:30 or 5:00. Would later this afternoon work?”

Pause.

So I keep going. “I mean, really any time will work, it’s just that if she isn’t sleeping, you won’t necessarily have my undivided attention, since I have to supervise my 1-year old while I talk.”

Pause.

Again, finally, she said: “I don’t think that will work. I’m going to be in meetings all afternoon.”

Pause.

When I don’t say anything, because I’m frankly at a loss, because I'm beginning to think she doesn't understand why her meeting schedule doesn't immediately make me cave in and say "well, then now is fine," she finally said, “How about tomorrow?” Trying to be helpful, I said, “Yes, that would be fine. With some advance notice, I can plan her naps and meals accordingly. What time is good for you?”

Another pause.

Now I'm really making a face, which fortunately, she can't see. Obviously put out that she's actually had to consult her personal calendar, she finally says, “how about between 9 and 10?” Okay, clearly she isn’t at all interested in my schedule or she would have guessed that wasn’t a good time, but nonetheless, I said, “Sure, I can do that. It may be a little noisy, but I’ll be here.” No response from her other than to confirm the phone number. No rapport established, no response to my gentle joking that she may have to compete with a chatty 1-year old, nothing.

Now, here’s what I’m thinking: these people found me, I didn’t go looking for them. I very cheerfully answered their e-mail, and respectfully requested that we coordinate ahead by e-mail to set up a time to talk on the phone, because of my current situation as a stay-at-home mom. This seems fine until suddenly, they disappear for 3 or 4 days, then call me out of the blue. Already, I’m thinking that they’re either not very conscientious (because they’ve forgotten all about my request) or they’re trying to be “tricky” by catching me off-guard. Either way, I’m already not impressed. Then here I am, talking with someone, trying again to cheerfully and politely say, “This isn’t really a good time (how would this conversation have gone if I’d been at another job, I wonder?) – when else would be good for you?” and the response I get is someone who sounds totally dumbfounded that I can’t work my child-care obligations around her meetings. ? Clearly doesn’t have kids of her own! But also, doesn't seem to me like she's terribly interested in convincing me to come work there, something that should be part of her job right up until the minute they actually decide not to hire me.

My feeling is that a) they sought me out, not the other way around; b) if I go back to work, I don’t even want to do consulting – a fact I clearly stated on my monster.com info; and c) all I was asking for was a little latitude coordinating a phone call, given that I have a child to take care of – kind of like a real job, you know? So, shouldn’t they maybe be a tad more…helpful? Maybe I’ve overthinking this, but I have to say I am not left with a great impression so far. Am I wrong?

It's All Good

How about just a few minutes to brag about my awesome kid?

I just cannot begin to tell you how incredibly wonderful I - we - find our daughter. She is the cutest, sweetest, most mischievously smart, blond-haired, blue-eyed, monster darling in the world. At this moment, she is trying to help me type - and at 11 1/2 months, you can imagine how much "help" she is. *LAUGH OUT LOUD!* She just peeked around my laptop screen with her eyebrows up and her lips pursed in a little look that said, "Helloooo?" Sometimes, she just cracks me up. Most of the time, my husband and I sit and marvel at how remarkably beautiful she is, and wonder how in the world we produced her. Talk about evidence of God on this planet! Oh, did you want to say something honey? Here's a message from my daughter: ,-l=lll I guess that's all she had to say. Isn't she brilliant?

Get Out Of My Poker Room, Uncle Sam!

I'd just like to take a moment to rant, campaign, soapbox, whatever you want to call it, about a cause near and dear to my heart: the sneak-attack, underhanded attempts by Congress to outlaw online poker (for money). No, they haven't come right out and prohibited it - probably because it would be ultimately proven unconstitutional to do so, and because it's virtually impossible to enforce those kind of internet regulations at this juncture anyway. Instead, they've opted to, quietly and circuitously, prohibit credit card companies from doing business with poker-for-money sites, or other financial institutions that do business with poker-for-money sites. In other words, to play poker online for money, I have to make a deposit to a sort of Paypal-ish kind of site, using my credit card; that site in turn deposits money to the poker site. Now my credit card company won't permit those kind of deposits, and technically the other financial institution isn't supposed to make deposits to the poker sites either.

Let me just take a moment to say: THIS IS COMPLETE HORSES**T. I am an adult. It is MY money. And we are not talking about online casinos here, where - just like the real-live casinos - the house has a distinct advantage and you are truly "gambling" with almost no chance of coming out ahead in the long run. We are talking about a game of cards against other, live, consenting adults, to see who's the better card player, with a few bucks at stake. I don't wager hundreds of dollars (although some do), but I enjoy playing a 2-cent or 25-cent game once in awhile, to winning a whopping buck and know that I ROCK at this game. Sure, I also lose money; how is that different from going to a bar or amusement park or golf course and paying to play for a few hours? That's money I'm never going to see again - at least this way, I might win something!

And hey, I'm all for regulating the sites to make sure that there's nothing fishy going on in the underlying code that prevents any one person or subsection of players from winning fairly. And I'm perfectly willing to pay taxes on any actual profit I make (so far, I'm down $30 for a few months' of playing, so I'm thinking that counts as a "capital loss", not to worry). I just think I ought to be able to spend my money any way I want, when I am CLEARLY not hurting anyone with this activity, including myself. What happened to good old-fashioned capitalism? Let fools be parted from their money any way they choose, for heaven's sake. Who, exactly, does Congress think it's helping with this ridiculous bill?

It's Nice To Be Wanted

Wow. I just wanted to share my little proud moment for the day. I have been a stay-at-home mom for about the last year. I love it. I don't want to go back to working in the salaried world, but unfortunately the family bank account and some future expenses are going to demand it, so I've started thinking - casually and reluctantly - about getting a job. Last night, really as an afterthought to a job I'd seen listed somewhere that sounded interesting, I decided to update my resume and info on Monster.com and publish it. I've had an account for years, but I'd made my stuff "private" an unviewable for at least the last year, because I didn't want someone actually approaching me about a job only to say "oh, sorry, not working right now". Why burn bridges unnecessarily? Anyway: I sat watching the "Project Runway" finale and updated my Monster info and lo-and-behold, in my hotmail inbox this morning is a letter from a company that's interested in my resume! It had to have been viewed less than 12 hours after I posted it. And yes, it's a legitimate company, although admittedly, it's not really the work I want to do - it's my field of expertise, but I'm trying to move out of consulting (my past) and into a more..."normal" job, and this is definitely consulting. But the point is, less than 12 hours after posting my resume, I got a "hit" - isn't that COOL? Well, it sure feels cool. Kinda made my day, even though I really don't want to go back to work, and specifically not in consulting. It's nice to feel wanted!

You Can't Pick Your Relatives

My sister got married this past Saturday. I couldn't be happier for her, and it was an absolutely flawless event - except for one tiny little thing, which is of course exactly the kind of fodder that weblogs are made of.

I have these relatives. We've all got one - the uncle who is still living with his parents, the aunt who's a not-so-closet drunk, the cousin serving a second or third sentence at the Federal pen (I actually have one of those). Sadly, I have more than one of these wish-they-were-related-to-someone-else relatives, although only one in particular really comes into play in this story. She is a second cousin (the daughter of a first cousin - I've never been clear on the distinction between the "second" and "once removed" categorizations) , and in her defense, she comes from a whole family line of questionable judgment. Somehow, my aunt took a left turn where my dad went right, and amid teenage pregnancies, divorces, an alcoholic husband - whom she married more than once - and other less-than-stellar choices, she ended up with kids who repeated many of her mistakes and even compounded a few of them. It was inevitable, I suppose, that one of them would bring this trend right to the otherwise beautiful wedding of my sister - it is one of the main reasons I didn't have a big wedding myself. So here's the scoop:

Children were not invited to this wedding. Let me clarify: specifically because of this cousin's monster 3-year-old son, children were not invited to this wedding. The whole point of excluding all the other children was to avoid inviting this one child, and to try to do so in a nice, non-confrontational way that would preserve the family peace - although why we feel the need to be diplomatic to these particular people, I fail to understand. I say, let this branch of the family tree fall, put it in the Whisper Chipper, and ship it off to mulch someone else's garden!

But I digress: children were not included, specifically to avoid having to deal with this one child. And let me emphasize that this is no ordinary 3-year old boy who is just poorly behaved; that we could've handled. No, no. This child is different. His foul mouth makes Ozzy Osbourne look like a fairy princess. I am not easily shocked or offended, and yet when I see this kid at family events I just want to cover my ears and hide under a rock. He is physically destructive - and I don't mean impish and mischievous the way little boys are, I mean dangerous. I am betting that he will be incarcerated before he turns 15. No, make that 12. And in fairness to the boy, it is not his fault. His father's version of discipline is to yell: "stop f***ing climbing that f***ing bathroom stall! Get the f*** down here!" (This was at the wedding reception, mind you.) His mother, who is actually a very smart girl who sadly followed in her mother and grandmother's footsteps and dropped out of high school to begin breeding before she reached legal adulthood, does nothing about it. Who wouldn't feel overwhelmed by that situation?

So, this boy came to the wedding. Once my mother had picked her jaw back up off the floor, she pointed the way to the nursery. (Of course, she failed to mention this to me, knowing that I would have left the altar, bridesmaid dress and bouquet and all, and taken my 11-month old baby girl out of that same nursery - she assures me the that the poor woman who got stuck supervising the kids insists that he was actually very well-behaved). Even his own grandmother, my aunt, was furious when she saw them walk in with the kid, but what can polite, respectable people do? (I say f*** respectability and physically remove them to the sidewalk, but hey, nobody asked me.)

And then he came to the reception. Where he proceeded to taunt us all by hovering around the cake table - oh yes, I have a picture - but miraculously was swept off by his mother just in the nick of time (my sister, in her wedding gown, was personally defending the cake up to that point). But the crowning moment was when a cousin from the other side of the family came back to the table after calling his wife on his cell phone outside, and reported that "some kid was out there blowing out and then breaking all the candles." "Would that kid happen to be a little blond with a mohawk?" I asked, knowing the answer. "Yep." Great. That kid broke 9 out of 12 glass luminaries that my mother had bought to light the steps up to the reception hall. BROKE them. Not because he just happened to bang into them - 9 of them? Come on. Because he was systematically going about breaking them, smashing them all over the sidewalk. And where were his parents at this juncture? Excellent question! Nobody seems to know. Knowing that I would be likely to inflict actual bodily harm on either the child or his mother, I sat quietly stewing in my chair, opting not to tell my mother (who didn't find out until the event was over, thank goodness) or deal with it myself (I was determined to continue enjoying myself, and what could be done about it at that point anyway?).

All that ultimately happened was that my usually even-keeled father delivered a stern reproach to another cousin (he couldn't bring himself to deliver it directly to his sister - which has often been part of the problem in her life, I suspect) in the hopes that word would pass. There's no hope of collecting any recompense for the candles, because this mother doesn't have a nickel to her name to begin with, and it's frankly not the point. My sister, who is generally the more forgiving and understanding sibling when it comes to family misbehavior, is steadfastly insisting we officially disown them. And no, she was not in any way a "bridezilla" - she is just that upset that my cousin could be so disrespectful, not only by bringing the little twit when she was explicitly instructed to leave him home, but by then letting him terrorize the event. I, of course, am all for disowning her! I've been suggesting we cut ties with that gang for years, but as usual, people are slow to get on my bandwagon.

No, disowning them won't undo what's been done or really make any other difference in their lives, but it would sure bring peace of mind to mine. I look forward to future family events where I don't have to worry about them because they won't have been included in the first place, and I won't have to feel the least bit guilty about it. Not that I really did before.

True Love

I have absolutely nothing to say, but I know my husband loyally checks in every day to see if there's anything new here, so: Hi, honey! :)

Speaking in the Tongue of Metaphor

I'm feeling metaphoric today...

I have never much been one for bandwagons. I don't like riding on them - they tend to be very crowded and noisy, usually occupied by an abundant supply of fools who haven't got the sense to be much more than lemmings following a trend right over the edge. Somtimes, the bandwagons are perfectly legitimate, but I am just so bandwagon-averse that I refuse to get on, simply on principle (examples: I have never seen Titanic, never watched Lost or Survivor, never finished reading 7 Habits of Highly Effective People). I don't mind driving bandwagons, however. I rather enjoy doing that from time to time, actually. I get to pick out the truck, decide the route, set the pace...and watch the lemmings pile on. That is much more my speed. I just thought I'd mention that. I don't know why.

Why I Love To Read - And Why I Hate It

I have (finally) just completed Heaven and Hell, the third and final book in the North and South series by John Jakes. (Yes, that North and South, the book on which the miniseries starring Patrick Swayze that we all watched in high school was based.) I loved these books (much better than the miniseries) and they were a perfect example of why I love to read.

The writing is, of course, excellent. If it hadn't been, the books wouldn't have been so popular, wouldn't have generated a miniseries, and wouldn't have interested me enough to finish each of their epic volumes of 700+ pages. Jakes manages to use language to the utmost effect: he writes in modern English peppered with 19th-century vocabulary to help you inhabit the time as you read (I had to look up "reticule" to confirm that it refers to those little drawstring pouch-style purses women used to carry). His imagery is vivid and florid without being flower and extraneous. He manages to supply considerable detail not only about the plot and characters but of the time itself, educating the reader about the era and American history, without being pedantic, tiresome, or in my case, condescending to the Civil War-ignorant. I love reading writing that is engaging, just by virtue of the way the words are assembled, regardless of the topic or character portrayals, and Jakes certainly provides that.

In doing this successfully, Jakes' novels represent one of my favorite things about reading: losing myself in another world where I find myself fascinated by the people and places I'm meeting as I go, wanting to know more, and developing an emotional connection to them that make them seem more a part of my actual life than a story I'm reading. But the beauty of North and South (and Love and War, and Heaven and Hell) doesn't stop there; they also managed to teach me something. All that 19th century American history that I could never quite get sunk into my thick skull in school came to life for me in an altogether new way. Granted, the miniseries helped me get a bit of perspective by feeding my 1980's, TV-raised adolescence with visual imagery to help the information stick. But it certainly didn't educate me the way the novels did. Setting aside for a minute the fact that the TV version had to do the typical degree of "revising" to make the stories, people, and settings more palatable and ratings-worthy - and the fact that some of the more salient points about the objectionableness of slavery were totally glossed over - the novels simply do it better. There is considerably more and substantially richer detail that one's brain can so much more effectively visualize without the aid of television, and an exploration of individual characters' thoughts that TV can't ever quite capture. And although I certainly used some of the actors I remembered from the miniseries as my mental pictures as I read (and completely fabricated others as I would with any novel not made into a TV show), the beauty of reading is in having the mental latitude to take those physical embodiments and do so much more with the character than even the best actor could pull off. Because of that, and directly because of the way Jakes weaves story and history together so seamlessly, I learned more about the Civil War then I could have dreamed possible. So all that said, reading these particular books was a complete joy, and wholly illustrative of the very best of what reading does for me.

That said, I HATE that books like these - and my passion for reading them - becomes so doggone consuming. Like any of my other generally harmless addictions (solitaire, Sudokus, etc.), reading a good book just seems to take over my every thought until the book is done. I read as much as I can, throughout the day, and then I spend my non-reading time thinking about the characters and feeling for them, and wondering what will happen next. But unlike those other harmless pasttimes, it saps all my energy to do this! I not only spend time reading that I could be spending doing something more productive, but I find myself completely paralyzed when I try to sit and write something myself. Somewhere between my obsession with the story I'm reading and my fear that I will inadvertently co-opt the author's style as my own because that's the track my brain is on at the moment, I sit like the deer in the headlights thinking, "Oh $#!%. Now what?" And so the reading task ramps up, because now there's a compulsion to finish the book as quickly as possible so that I can get my life back. As if there was more time I could spend reading. It's madness.

Call it this week's excuse for why I haven't blogged, but there it is, the good, the bad, and the truly evil side of reading a good book. I highly recommend it.

This Week's Excuse(s)

Well, I am happy to report that the Sudoku craze has passed (for me). Although I would still enjoy the occasional swag at those tempting little blocks, I no longer feel a daily compulsion to pass hours of my time solving those particular brainteasers. Of course, as any addict knows, most addictions are broken by replacing the original addiction with another, and so it goes with me. This week, it's online poker.

No, no, I am not a gambling addict. (Yes, hubby, I know that the first step to kicking your addiction is admitting you have a problem.) I have just always loved to play cards, and these rooms that allow you, for free, to play against other actual human beings fulfill a longing deep in my soul. It doesn't hurt that I occasionally win a lot of (play) money off some really foolish betters and my ego skyrockets and I get all woolly inside. Then, just when I start to think, "Gee, I should try playing for real money," I lose a whole bunch of play money, recapture my humility and a sense of reality, and eventually move on to the next big attention-sucker activity, whatever it may be.

So that's why I've been quiet this week (husband, stop laughing at the word "quiet"). I also feel kinda cruddy today, like I'm on the brink of a cold or something, so I don't feel much like doing anything, even playing poker, so you can add that to my list of excuses. And listening to my baby daughter on the monitor, practicing her vocal scales at top volume instead of napping, is a distraction that would prevent even the most brilliantly prolific writer from doing any real work, so there's that. And the fact that for some strange reason, I just don't feel like I have much to say right now. But I wish I did. There's so much going on in the world to comment on...just as soon as I run out of excuses not to...

Sudoku Fever

I caught it. I tried and I tried and I tried to avoid it, but alas, I have caught the fever. And MAN, am I hating it.

At first, I tried to do a puzzle in the paper, decided it was too much like those brainteaser assignments we used to get in grade school, quit, and figured I'd never have to deal with another one. Then all of a sudden, they were EVERYWHERE, those ubiquitous, insipid, obnoxious puzzles, staring me in the face at every turn, hooking people with some draw I just could not fathom. People kept asking me if I was addicted yet. "NO!" I insisted vehemently, and I won't be, 'cause I hate those dadgum things.

Then there they were, infesting my puzzle book of "regular" puzzles like a plague, and I kept passing over them, cursing their very existence. That is, passing over them until one fateful day when I decided to try one, just to make sure that I really didn't like them, and not that I was just afraid of them because they seemed like a math problem. I did one puzzle. And when that didn't take me all day, I did a second one, just to test the theory. And before I knew it, I'd done a whole page. And then another. And now I am HOOKED. Totally and completely, like a drug I can't get enough of, wanting more and more and thinking about them when I'm not doing them. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

How does that happen? I mean, I know how I got started, but I don't understand how things like video games and Sudoku puzzles can be so very literally addictive. I've had it happen with some of those silly little computer games that MSN puts out - you try one someone sends you a link to, you play it a second time because your ego won't let you stop with that bad a score, and then the next thing you know, you're having a conversation with your boss about how the computer at work is not to be used for personal interests. (No, I've never actually had that conversation with a boss, but I know people who have.) You find yourself making time in the evenings to play a few rounds...which suddenly take you to 3am before you realize what's happened. What is it about these things that draw a person in so completely and captivatingly?

My personal theory is that there's something about the "creating order from the chaos" aspect of these games that is SO satisfying it can overshadow all other facets of our lives which are often chaotic beyond our control. There was a Star Trek: Next Generation episode one time (yes, I went through a phase as a pseudo-Trekkie, and for the record, we prefer the term "Trekker") where this alien race tried to take over the Enterprise by addicting everyone to this game that was played on a futuristic visor using just your mental power and soon everyone was so preoccupied with the game they didn't care what was happening on board anymore, and it took Data the non-human and Wesley Crusher, the kid, to solve the mystery and save the day. Every time I find myself hooked on one of these things, I think about that show. The game as it was portrayed in Star Trek seemed to give a little dose of endorphins each time the player landed a little disc in the hole or whatever, somewhere between taking a hit of something and experiencing a mini-orgasm. I think the satisfaction that solving these puzzles (or mastering these games) brings is a similar effect. And I worry that if I don't quit, the ship will be lost...metaphorically speaking, of course.

So eventually, I know I'll have to just quit cold turkey, because that's the only way to get out of it. There's no winding down; I just have to not play for a few days until the excruciatingly powerful urge to do another one is completely gone. The day will come that I will just have to put down the book - no, burn it probably - and be done with Sudokus for good. But today is not that day. :)

Ah, Blogging.

What a strange new technology this is, blogging. It's like keeping a diary except that people can read it and comment on it. Not that people do, really, but still. It's a place to put my any and every thought, that I can then go back and read later and wonder, "what the heck was I thinking?"

That whole diary-likeness probably explains why I don't do a better job of keeping up with it. I sucked at keeping journals, whether it was for school or personal use. There's no good reason why, other than a simple lack of self-discipline. I love to write, I certainly have a lot to say, and it isn't difficult for me to write, quickly and at length. Yet, inexplicably, I just fall away from doing it once the novelty wears off or I have a day or two in which I don't feel I have anything particularly urgent to say.

I always regret that I don't do it, because I think: what a treasure I would have, especially for my daughter, if I had kept diaries all these years. Then she could read, especially after I'm gone (which I hope won't be for a very long time, but I guess we never know, right?) all about how I felt at her age and what kinds of things I experienced at various times in my life. Heck, it wouldn't hurt me to read once in awhile as a way of gaining perspective on how things that seem like a big deal one day turn out to be nothing at all in the long run, or to see a record of something that happened, written while it was still fresh, compared with my memory of it a year or ten later.

At least the blog sort of nags at me, hanging out there in the ether reminding me in a way a static book hiding in my nightstand does not. I find myself feeling guilty for not writing more, and then relieved when I actually give in to the pressure of the unseen force and just do it. So now even though it's been a few weeks, I can look at the four paragraphs I've just completed and sigh and know that I'm good for a few days again. :)

He Was Robbed!

I know I have said I don't watch reality TV - and I don't, really - but once again, amid the late summer dearth of quality programming, I tuned in to a reality show. This time, it was "Celebrity Duets," a show I was actually hoping might hold some promise since a) I liked some of the celebrities, and b) I know some of them actually can sing.

Let's set aside for the moment that the format was terrible - unlike other shows, this was all about the love the celebrity judges have for their fellow celebrities. Boy, did I miss Simon Cowell for the first time in my life. But moving on, even Wayne Brady, whom I generally LOVE, sucked. He was stuck with unnatural, lovefest-style material that just showed absolutely none of what makes Wayne Brady great. But that wasn't the real disappointment.

Having tuned out for most of the show because, frankly, even the good singers were underwhelming (and I'm sorry David Foster, "Time, Love, and Tenderness" was a terrible duet for Lucy Lawless and Michael Bolton, even though I think the woman can sing), I showed up at the end to see how it all came out. Now, if you caught even just the highlights, you could see one thing, very clearly: Carly Patterson is not a very good singer. Sweet girl, Olympic gold medalist, cute as a button, but cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Okay, that's not entirely true. She can carry a tune, she just has a serious pitch problem, no doubt exacerbated by nerves and by two choices of songs that were beyond her capability. Granted, we knew it would be difficult for the judges to tell her so, because after all, who (besides Simon Cowell) wants to burst the bubble of America's sweetheart? But I was absolutely gobsmacked (and I am not even British!) that Chris Jericho, who actually ROCKED, lost to this poor, misguided girl.

The irony of all this is that I am the first one to say that these shows are generally unnecessarily cruel, and that I hate watching bad performers get told that they're bad. But this is one time where I honestly thought they were doing no favors to Carly Patterson by giving her hope, and worse, they let go someone who actually was better than some of the OTHER celebrity singers who stayed. Chris Jericho, you were robbed.

I Called It

I would just like to make a point of saying: I was a Kiefer Sutherland fan long before it was cool to be hot on Kiefer. Before "24," before the Emmy, before he made a beautiful acceptance speech which closed with a thought to his daughter. I liked him when he played unlikable characters, when he was a punky kid and still a little odd-looking. I knew he was a great actor then, and I'm glad the rest of the world finally got on the bandwagon. Congratulations, Mr. Sutherland. To the rest of you, here's the next big tip: Andrew Thacher. Watch for him.

Wasteful Wandering

Wasteful wandering
When I should be
Doing something better
With my time

But how can I concentrate
When all these ideas are simmering
Like so many bubbles
In froth

Like broth
For my tired soul
Do I find the words pouring out
As if all this time
They waited
And I looked the other way

What is this beast
I carry
As my burden
And my curse
That yet is such a blessing
That I can’t even realize its worth?

What The...?

In case this blog ever gets any kind of following, and you've been happily reading from the beginning and then suddenly *WHAM!* you find yourself running headlong into these completely out of character poems and wonder "What the...?", let me 'splain:

I have this friend. She got me into this whole blogging thing. She encouraged me to write more. And more and more. And she made me think about approaching writing differently, so that I really just get off my butt and do it, even if the "it" ends up being something awful or just not me or whatever. So, now that the words are aflowin', they kinda come out in all forms. I don't claim to be a poet, much less a good one, but hopefully that explains why every once in awhile a few lines of the stuff show up on this page.

Something New

She sees
the strange surface and
knows that it’s something
wonderful
but terrifying

SCREAM! But wait:
No, it isn’t so bad.
Or is it?
CRASH!
There it is again! Oh no!
Why can’t I tear myself away?

Woosh…fizzle…
*Sigh*
What to do?
She watches with fascination
and fear.
She yells
but she isn’t sure why.

Can I be
excited
and upset
all at the same time?
She wonders.
Will it matter?
Make it stop! No -
make it come back!
Wait! I think
I like it.
Or maybe
I don’t.
I’ll decide…
tomorrow.

Say What?

Did I say time slowed down when we came here? I was SO wrong! Time is flying! Our trip is more than half over! I don't want it to be over yet! Help me, my vacation is slip-sliding away!

At least it's been a truly enjoyable vacation. The baby who first screamed at the sand and surf has now decided it's more interesting than upsetting. The fisherman has caught several fish, and I even caught one myself. The trip to Atlantic City was lucrative - can't complain when you come home with $525 more than you left with. The food's good, the family's fun, and the weather has been picture perfect. If only it didn't have to end in just three short days...

Here I Sit

Here I sit, on vacation at last, on the upper deck of a beachhouse in Stone Harbor, New Jersey. A quiet little family town, Stone Harbor has been a summer sanctuary for me since my very first summer, and now that I have a daughter of my own to share it with, my affection for the place only grows.

The smell of the ocean a mere two blocks away drifts casually but confidently on the strong evening breeze. My favorite sounds in my ears – “Faithfully” by Journey, “Southern Cross” by CSN&Y, “Cool Change” by Little River Band (God bless the mp3 player) – sweeten the sensation of calm overcoming my nerve-wracked existence. As unstressful as my current life is by comparison to the days when I worked outside the home, the uptightness that remains becomes painfully evident when, finally in my refuge, I actually feel relaxation occurring. Hallelujah, vacation!

What makes a setting ideal and idyllic? I suppose it differs for everyone. For me, the requirements are open air (no skyscrapers), water, warm temperatures, safety, and a certain aesthetic native to the small towns that retain the wholesome values of cleanliness and quiet. That my family is here with me just further serves the scenery – no six people I’d rather be with than my daughter, husband, parents, sister, and future brother-in-law. It doesn’t hurt any that we got a KILLER beachhouse, quite by accident and entirely thanks to my parents, so that every comfort is provided and every needed accommodated many times over. The only thing missing is my dogs, but we were assured that any house that permitted pets would be one we wouldn’t want to stay in, so alas, the mutts are also getting a vacation at their favorite local vet where they will be daily fussed over and treated.

I think half the fun is in wondering what this year’s adventure will hold – will it be warm? Will it be sunny? Will it rain at least once so I have a solid excuse to go play in Atlantic City? Will there be jellyfish? (This year’s answer, sadly, is yes – warm seawater means, as my sister so eloquently put it, a shoreline littered with “a million little breast implants”. And now with the baby along, there are new questions: will she like the water? How much sand will she eat? Will we be able to keep her happy on a blanket under an umbrella or will she immediately get tired of being confined? Will we thus be able to stay on the beach more than 15 minutes? In any case, I really don’t care – I am happy just to be here, away from the routine, the daily duress of worries about money, time management, and the speed with which my precious little one is going through her young life right before our eyes. For one week, everything just slows down a little, and all there is to worry about is how long to stay out in the sun.

The day before departure every year is like Christmas Eve – full of anticipation that makes it hard to sleep and that much more exciting to finally arrive. Last night, between my own anxiety and the alternate snoring of my husband and fidgeting of my baby daughter, heard on the baby monitor from which I can’t bring myself to part, I didn’t get much sleep. I don’t think I’ll have that problem tonight.

Guilty Pleasures

So let's do some 'fessin' up, folks. These are some of my guilty pleasures - the things that very few people know about me, and for good reason:

1. Hanson (as in "Mmmmbop"). I think the Hanson kids are actually quite talented. Seriously. You may not like their music, but they wrote all the stuff themselves (at least on that first CD, Middle of Nowhere which, yes, I own), arranged it, and actually played instruments. And although I wouldn't want it piped into my earphones 24/7, I actually found "Mmmmbop" a catchy tune.

2. Music with lyrics I wouldn't let my kids listen to and of which I generally disapprove. I would be no less enriched for this stuff not being out there, so don't get me wrong - I'm all for artists cleaning up their acts and parental advisories on music and what not. Nonetheless, I absolutely loved "Tipsy" by J-Kwon, and my newest favorite song is "Love Me Or Hate Me" by Lady Sovereign, featuring the lyric, "If you love me, then thank you! If you hate me, then $%#^ you!" Truly tasteless and yet absolutely addictive.

3. Disney television shows. Again, happy to live in a world where Howard Stern is a janitor somewhere instead of an entirely-too-wealthy DJ/TV personality, I love the crystal clean, bubblegum wholesomeness of Lizzie Maguire and Even Stevens. Well, I did when they first came out. Since neither are still in production, I'm pretty much over them (they don't do much for me as syndicated reruns), but the point is, I like the essence of the shows. Cute, harmless, nonviolent, nongraphic, and totally aimed at the "tween" living inside me.

4. Circus peanuts (the candy). I have never been able to explain their appeal, but I would happily chow down on a whole bag.

5. So You Think You Can Dance. I hate reality TV. REALLY. I never watch these shows, although I admit I got caught up in the tail end of a Top Chef re-run marathon that hooked me for three whole hours and launched a new fascination with cooking. Still, I not only hate reality TV, I loathe these competitions where they let perfectly unsuspecting dufuses who do not actually know they're not at all talented go on the air and make asses of themselves, and then proceed to let the judges tell them so. I see no reason for this inhumanity - it's like sanctioned high school bullying, like letting the preppy kids publicly berate the band geeks and book nerds. Nonetheless, my husband roped me into watching a mid-season episode of Dance, and because I love dancing (and by now all the sucky people were long gone), I was easily drawn in and found myself actually intentionally tuning in every week. Worse: I voted. I did! I voted for Travis. TWICE. While I'm not exactly unhappy that Benji won, I admit to being a little disappointed that Travis didn't win the whole enchilada, although I find myself believing that it may work out to his advantage because he won't be limited to the Celine Dion contract once the tour is over. The ridiculous part is that I ACTUALLY KNOW ALL THESE DETAILS AND FIND MYSELF CARING. And I can't wait until next summer's season! Sheesh.

That's about all I can stand for one day. But I just had to share.

$#@%$^&!

WHY CAN'T THEY MAKE THE FRIGGIN' STICKY LABELS ON NEW CDS A LITTLE EASIER TO GET OFF???!!! I get no sympathy from my husband, who never seems to have any trouble, but surely I'm not the only who finds these things ridiculously difficult. "Pull" says the little tab - but if I pull there, I get 1/8 of an inch of the label broken off and a CD that still isn't opened! ARGH! I HAVE A MASTER'S DEGREE FOR PETE'S SAKE! THIS SHOULDN'T BE SO HARD!!!

Some People

What the hell is the matter with some people? Why do adults act like children? A friend creates a blog, a personal vehicle of expression, a window into her mind, somewhere to unload the daily accumulation of thoughts good, bad, and ugly. She takes every opportunity when inspiration strikes to capture those thoughts and put them out into the ether, including the occasional break at work. Sadly, a coworker feels it's his job to not only notice what's on her screen (I'm sorry, is this 1984?) but to make a point of researching the blog to read it and then proliferating his newfound knowledge all around the office, in spite of my friend's repeated request to keep his mouth shut about it. He finds the whole thing funny. She finds it devastating. The blog wasn't exactly private, but it wasn't intended for everyone she knew to share in it. Now her outlet is stifled. Now she has to censor and edit. Sure, she could just start another blog. But the first one had a really cool name! And the first one was the first one, the one she wanted, designed, cared about, created. And now she has to either abandon it, or abandon its purpose. All because some moron thought it would be cute to act like a 12-year old: "Hey, everybody, look at Ann's blog!" (not her real name, of course) It's akin to finding her diary and showing it to everyone. Maybe she shouldn't have had it open at work, but that's not the point. Why do some people have to BE that way? Seriously: why?

I mean, I don't want to steal my friend's thunder. It's not my crusade. But it reminds me of all the times when I have looked chronologically mature adults and thought, "what the hell is the matter with you?" for exactly the same reason. To quote a friend, "that really chaps my ass." (He's Texan.) I will never understand why some people feel the need to continue to persecute others like a schoolyard bully who never grew up.

You know who you are.

Baba-Boom

Okay: I love "Baba O'Reilly" by The Who as much as the next person. It's a great song, and we all think so, even if more than half the population mistakenly believes the song is actually called "Teenage Wasteland" (hey, it's popular lyric on the musical hook of the song, so why the heck would you guess it's called "Baba O'Reilly"?). BUT, has Hollywood run out of other music to use as theme songs? I count two TV shows ("CSI: New York" and "Saved," on TNT) and now the movie "Invincible" with Mark Wahlberg, all actively using "Baba" as the audial draw. Come on, Hollywood - unoriginal as you can be, surely you can do better than this childish game of "Cool Song Copycat."

So Very Glad I'm Not Still Single

My best friend (we’ll call her “Jane”) was recently visiting, and she relayed a story that is just too good to keep to myself. Divorced and raising two children largely by herself, Jane not surprisingly finds it challenging to find the time and places to meet new men, and so has turned to internet dating as a method of simultaneously screening and meeting new prospects. Although a few have turned out to be perfectly fine candidates, there are always, of course, the genuine weirdos.

“Joe” was someone my friend had been talking to for a few weeks, first by e-mail and then by phone. My friend is quick to admit that she could tell this guy was a little odd, but friendly and funny enough that she continued to chat with him anyway. Then one night, as she lay in bed talking to him on the phone as he was driving somewhere, he said something that made her sit straight up. The conversation transpired something like this:

Joe: “WHOA!”
Jane: “What?”
Joe: “Uh…I don’t know if I should tell you.”
Jane: “Oh, come on. What?”
Joe: “Well, you know how sometimes you have, like, daydreams, except you feel like you’re really kind of seeing something but you know it’s not really there?”
Jane, a little confused: “Um....”
Joe: “You know, you just see something, and you know it’s not real, but it just seems so real.”
Jane: [Brief silence] “You mean like…hallunications?”
Joe: “No, no, not like that. It’s just…well, I just saw this monkey in a sweater behind me. I knew it wasn’t really there, but I just had to turn around and look. And of course, it wasn’t there, but it was just so real.”
Jane:
Joe: “Hello?”
Jane: “Are you kidding?”
Joe: “See! I knew I couldn’t be honest with you about this!”

I swear, folks, I spent 20 minutes alternately marveling at this guy and laughing my head off. I mean, I’ve certainly had the experience where, when you move your head quickly and something passes rapidly through your field of vision, you might think that the object was something completely different than what it was - leaves that look like animals, posts that look like people, etc. But this guy didn’t just see a shadow or something that resembled a monkey. In his rearview mirror, inside his car, he saw a monkey – and more specifically, a monkey in a sweater. That’s what Jane tried to tell him when Joe insisted that it was really no big deal. “You didn’t just think you saw something, you specifically saw a monkey in a sweater. That can’t possibly be good!” All I can say is, that one ranks at the very top of my ‘strangest people encountered in the dating pool’ list, and I am so very grateful to be married and out of that crazy market.

Just Say "No"

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend about life with my baby. This friend is someone who’s fairly opinionated and forthright, traits I attribute to a combination of her upbringing and her profession, which, suffice it to say, is a non-traditional one for a woman and significantly male-dominated. Nonetheless, I enjoy those things about her, because I tend to be that way myself, and it’s refreshing not to have to deal with the often delicate emotional sensitivities of another woman. As a result, we’ve had more than one conversation where I’ve found myself somewhat inadvertently on the defensive because this friend doesn’t hesitate to challenge the things I say or to put forth her perspective on the subject.

So I’m telling her about how much my little girl has grown, and how she’s now completely mobile (crawling), and how we’re beginning to try to teach her the word “no,” because she tries to get into everything. My friend offered up, as I’ve heard her say before, the fact that her mother, “…who was the primary caregiver, didn’t believe in saying ‘no.’ She believed that it was your responsibility as a parent to secure the room so that there wouldn’t be any reason to say no. She thought that children should only get positive reinforcement.” Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking, “well no big deal, she’s just throwing out an observation about what one woman did.” Uh, no. That is not how my friend works – she was, in her own lefthanded way, making a suggestion about what I should do with my daughter. And I, generally preferring to avoid conflict and particularly to avoid arguments that inevitably derive from two people talking about something deeply personal – politics, religion, how to raise your child, etc. – tried to deflect the comment by offhandedly joking that with the layout of our house and two dogs, I don’t have enough money to buy all the gates I would need to protect every last little thing. The next thing I know, I’m defending this statement that I can’t practically safeguard an entire room, as my friend ticks off all the reasons it’s not that expensive, isn’t that hard, etc.

What I should’ve said was, “I’m not sure I agree with your mother.” (Actually, what I should’ve said was “Horse$#!%!” but I do like this woman and didn’t want to completely offend her.) The reality is that I don’t agree, and although my heart was in the right place to not want to devolve this casual conversation into a debate about childrearing, this is one time I keep looking back on and thinking, “you know, I really should’ve just stood up for myself on this one.” While I agree that children should get as much positive reinforcement in their lives as possible, I also believe there are perfectly good reasons for saying “no” to a child, and for a child learning what that means and why it’s important to listen when Mommy says that word. What happens when you leave the house? You can’t possibly expect every other room (or backyard, or department store) in every other house, building, or neighborhood to be completely “secured” from all possible dangers. So what do you do when a child who doesn’t know the word “no” grabs something off the shelf of the store? Or starts to run toward the street? “No” isn’t always about negative reinforcement; sometimes it’s about safety and wellbeing.

I agree that children need to hear “yes” and “good job” as much as possible. I don’t see any reason why, after saying “no” and the child actually does what s/he’s supposed to, that you can’t then celebrate with a hearty “good girl!” or “thank you, Jimmy!”. I believe positive reinforcement is appropriate when your child is very proud of herself for coloring a picture, and that after telling her “it’s beautiful!” you need to curtail your compulsion to add that next time, it will look even better if she colors inside the lines. But refusing to tell your kid no? Without digressing into a rant about what’s wrong with America these days, let me just say that you’re asking for trouble – for you, for your kids, and for everyone those kids are ultimately going to come in contact with throughout their lives. So, on behalf of their teachers, their friends, their friends’ parents, the local police, and the community at large: please parents, just say “no.”

The Deterioration of the Second Space

I've just noticed that the nifty little software that enables and publishes these posts automatically removes the second space after the period at the end of the sentence and before the capital letter of the next. How rude.

Amendment

My husband would like it noted that rather than a classic Corvette and H3, he would prefer I use my fictional wealth to buy him a souped up F350 and a fishing boat. Ladies and gentleman, the Y chromosome at its finest. :)

This Old Guitar

"This old guitar taught me to sing a love song
It showed me how to laugh and how to cry
It introduced me to some friends of mine
And brightened up some days
It helped me make it through some lonely nights
Oh, what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night."

- John Denver, "This Old Guitar"

So I was listening to this song today - yes, I listen to John Denver, willingly - and it got me thinking. First I thought, "man, that is a really great lyric..." but then my mind started to wander and I started waxing philosophic on the subject of things, their sentimental value, and why I can't seem to part with my dad's old guitar.

My dad's guitar is an Old Kraftsman, circa...oh, 1950-something. It's probably worth some money - not a fortune, but more than a yard sale price. It needs some wood work, because a degree of warping has made it essentially untuneable, and someday I'll probably invest the money to have it fixed up. Even though I don't play the guitar.

My father is still living, so this particular memento is nothing more than a semi-historic article I find cool and comforting. I have often wanted to play the guitar, and have taken a crack, more than once, at learning to play. I still have a copy of "Guitars for Dummies," and can hack out a few of the basic chords. But I don't really play. I don't guess I'm ever likely to get around to learning how to really play. But I feel like that guitar is an essential belonging that I would only part with if selling just about everything else I own wasn't bringing in enough to live on.

I am a songwriter. Well, I was a songwriter; I wrote a bunch of songs in college, a compilation I titled "Songs from the Laundry" (hence the title of this blog). And I've written a couple since then, but only a couple. I don't know if the juice just kinda dried up once I'd cleared the teenage angst from my belfry or if I let pragmatism discourage my creativity or what, but I just haven't been very prolific on that front since I was about 19. Still, I have written some songs, I love to sing, and I love other people's music. Somehow, simply possessing that guitar makes me feel like a songwriter, even though I have never used it in the writing of a song or played one of my songs on it. Even though it's been at least 6 or 7 years since I last wrote a song. I feel like a songwriter. I get the John Denver lyric, because even though I can't actually attribute any of those experiences in my life to my dad's guitar, I have had those experiences, and somehow, having that guitar makes a neat, romantic connection in my head to that nostalgia.

Now, I'm a fan of the show "Clean Sweep," that airs on TLC (bear with me, I swear this is germane to the subject at hand). For the uninitiated, this reality-type show takes a couple with serious packrat and/or cleanliness issues and re-does two rooms of their house by removing every single article to the backyard, going through it piece by piece, getting rid of at least 2/3 of it via yard sale or trash can, and redecorating the rooms before returning all the remaining possessions. I love the show because it takes people otherwise incapable of doing so and restores order to the chaos. It gives me the same nice sense of tidying up that assembling a jigsaw puzzle does, only vicariously.

But I take issue with one particular philosophy of Peter, one of the organizational experts, which is that essentially, stuff you keep for sentimental reasons should be tossed - it's the memory, not the stuff, that matters. NUH-UH! Sometimes, it's the stuff. Not so much so that you should keep every single material object you were ever given by someone else or that belonged to someone else or that has some particular memory attached to it, of course. But every once in awhile, along comes an artifact that simply holds power for you, because of what it symbolizes, or reminds you of, or enables you to feel about yourself, your past, your future.

That guitar, however dusty and unplayed, means something to me. It symbolizes the role music has played in my life. It also symbolizes all the things I've never gotten around to doing or committed to long enough to learn to do well. Hey, I didn't say the memories or symbolism were always good - but sometimes there's value in periodically being nudged out of your complacency by the twinge of things you wished you'd done a little differently. The guitar holds together some nice moments of my past, and it also holds the promise that maybe, as it sits there in the corner next to my Steinway baby grand, my daughter will decide that she will be committed enough to learn to play the guitar, and she'll write her own songs with it, and my father will have passed on one of the most important tools in her life. So I'm not gettin' rid of the guitar.

Things I'd Do If I Had The Money

I often happen across ideas for what I'd do if I had a huge amount of money. No, I'm not talking about the obvious "if I won the lottery, I'd buy..." kind of things. Of course, I'd do those things too, but after I'd paid off the mortgage, set up my daughter's college fund and my retirement account, bought my husband his classic Corvette and an H3, and bought my parents...well they have a good house and the only cars I'm guessing they'd actually drive, but I'd think of something good to buy them...THEN I'd do some other things with my money. I am constantly running across people I'd help and good ideas I'd sponsor. Oprah may have made it popular, but she didn't completely pioneer the idea of angel giving and random acts of extreme generosity. Here are a few of things, off the top of my head, that I'd like to do:

1. I'd buy the 12-year old girl across the street a new basketball hoop. Her mother, a divorcee raising three daughters on her own because her jackass of an ex- (who lives less than a mile away with his new wife) doesn't do much to help, put up the current hoop a few years ago. Now, my neighbor is a good woman who made a valiant effort with the hoop, but she'd be the first person to admit she was in over her head with the project. The frame is sturdy enough, but isn't in the best shape and is kinda anchored with a bag of dry cement, and the net disintegrated into a tattered collection of strings a long time ago. And yet this girl is out there every day, by herself, for anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour, practicing her basketball skills on that sad little hoop. No kid was ever more deserving of an upgrade. I wouldn't want to embarass my neighbor, but if I had the money, I would totally sneak a new hoop and net in there in the middle of the night.

2. Rather than spread the wealth around to a bunch of worthy causes that, in my personal opinion, spend more money on marketing and solicitation than they do on helping actual people, I'd fully fund a charitable venture (hence no solicitation expenses). I'm not entirely decided yet on exactly who it would serve, but the point is that it would be focused, directly help actual individuals or families (or fund research), and if other people found out about it and wanted to throw in some of their own dough, hallelujah.

3. I would pay to completely makeover my sister's kitchen, since she came through with a loan for our kitchen renovation when we needed it and couldn't afford it.

4. I would buy a radar gun and big neon sign for my yard - and I assure you, my neighbors would support me on this - and would sit in a lawn chair zapping all the careless yahoos who go flying down my little 200-yard long street because they think it's a handy cut through between two main roads. They think nothing of doing 50 in a 25-mile-an-hour zone, in spite of the 9 children under the age of 18 and one elderly gentleman who live on this block. What chafes me the most is that the worst offenders are the Town trash trucks. So I would sit with my gun and a little remote board for the sign with a few pre-programmed messages like "SLOW DOWN, MORON! CHILDREN LIVE HERE!" that I could flash at the speeders. Alternatively, I could use the money to buy some spike strips like my husband's suggested, and just pay to have people's tires repaired afterwards. It would give me the satisfaction, and I am certain that after awhile, people would start avoiding our street.

5. I would have a big party - a backyard picnic kind of thing - for everybody I know. And I mean everybody (that I'm still in touch with). I'd fly in all the out-of-towners and put 'em up in the local Four Seasons. I'd hire caterers from three of my favorite local restaurants (for variety), and my sister's friend's band (they're really good). We'd just hang around all day, maybe all weekend, and enjoy each other's company and meet each other's kids and catch up on all the stuff we never have time to sit around and catch up on. Wouldn't that just be the best way to spend a weekend?

I think that'll do it for now. At least until I actually have some money.

What do I know?

So here I am, of all the people I know, unquestionably the person with the most to say - or at least, the most talking to do - and yet when I sit down with this blog, finally an outlet for the multitude of words that pour out of my 120-wpm-typin'-fool fingers, I can't think of a thing to write about. It's like those awful creative writing exercises: "Write 500 words on any topic you want..." Sounds great until you actually have to do it. Apparently, I need boundaries.

They (The Writing Authorities) say you should write about what you know. Oooookay... it's not that I know that much, it's that it still doesn't narrow the field quite enough for me to get started. I know a little about a lot of things, and a lot about a very few things...that doesn't leave me with much guidance for blogging. I suppose once I get accustomed to this, there'll be more of a daily stream-of-experiences that will trigger the muse, but today I feel chatty and actually have a few extra minutes while my baby girl naps, so I hate to waste the opportunity. But, what to write? Well, what do I know?

I know that it's a BEAUTIFUL day outside, finally a reprieve from the 100-degree weather we've been having. I know that I loved the heat and humidity when I lived in Houston, but for some reason, 100+ temps in Washington, DC have considerably less appeal. I know that I miss Houston from time to time, and I know that that is one sentiment I never thought I'd utter. When I moved to Houston, I thought it was the most awful city I'd ever lived in...well, it was, actually, if you strictly go by the "I'd ever lived in" criterion. It was dirty, hot, concrete, seemingly vegetation-free, crowded in spite of its ridiculous vastness (who defines a city with a 90-mile radius?), and chaotically random as a result of its infamous lack-of-zoning-laws approach to urban development. Yet, after four years and a lot of time spent locating little patches of exceptions to the rules, I came to love it so much I hated to leave. But leave I did, to marry the most wonderful guy in the world, and now I'm back in the political hotbed of America, living a stone's throw outside the Beltway, hating it only when the temperatures drop below 50.

But I digress. Or is that the point, really, of a blog? Does this newfound bulletin board for thought give stream-of-consciousness writing some kind of grassroots legitimacy? Aw geez, now I've waxed philosophic. Not my intent! Let's resume the accounting of what I know. The list is longer than I'll manage to address today, of course, but let's tick off a few others that are at the tip of my brain this idyllic afternoon:

I know that green is a great color, on me, on the trees, on the walls of my office, and on the bridesmaid dress I'll wear this Fall when my little sister gets married.
I know that my daughter has a smile that can absolutely undo everything wrong in the world in less than 2 seconds.
I know that I don't have nearly enough time to devote to something as relatively silly as blogging, and yet it holds a strange, magnetic attraction that I sense will end up consuming much of time, even if I have to borrow it from my sleeping hours.
I know that my husband is way cooler than I generally admit to him.
I know that the quality of television programming has sunk to levels that constantly have me itching to sell all my TVs, and yet, I spend at least 10 hours a week watching anyway.
I know that actor Andy Thacher is destined for greatness. Mark my words and this date on the calendar, folks, 'cause when he breaks and you all suddenly know who he is and worship the boards he treads, remember where you heard it first.
I know that my dogs are two of the cutest and coolest animals on the planet. They're not too small, they're not too big, they're not yappy, they're not gonna win any contests, and they are totally content to just lie on the cool tile and nap.
I know that my parents love me.
I know that the Degree Ultra clear deodorant really doesn't leave marks on my clothes. Huh.
I know that I'm beginning to bore even myself with this list, and that must signal that it's time to wrap it up.

Well, I feel better for having written something. I like that I can give myself a little mental and digital exercise (that's "digital" in the finger-joint sense), and not have spent any money doing it. Heck, I love that. What's better than free entertainment that simultaneously whiles away the day and keeps your cognitive faculties sharpened? Hot dog, I've found a new hobby.

And with that, my little darling awakens from her nap, and I must return to real life. Good day!

So here it is, I'm finally doing it - blogging. Lots of folks have suggested I write for a living or otherwise get my word out on the street, so I'm finally giving in to the peer pressure and the technological age and making the leap into the abyss. Blogland, here I am.

What will appear here, ultimately, is anyone's guess. I'm sure only that it'll be a random agglomeration of my thoughts, fears, rants, raves, praise, wonder, and God willing, witticisms. You might read about my politics; raising my daughter; my wonderful husband - and the flaws generally attributed to his Y chromosome; my personal pet peeves; the people I love; my daily experiences...or nothing in particular at all. Isn't that the joy of the blog?

Maybe this will be read by millions. Maybe it'll never be seen by anyone but me. Maybe it'll inspire someone, anger masses, unwittingly support a cause, or just sit here and be thoughts lost in the ether. At least it's being done. Finally. Happy reading, any and all...