Category: Uncategorized (Page 9 of 114)

My phone chirped at me, and the message was a photo from James – showing a limit of crappie. For whatever reason, the photo is teeny tiny, but I still got the point:

Then, not much later? I get this picture.

OK, good lord. The fishing? It is good. Less than thirty minutes later, I get another jingle from my phone:

Now I’m just worried they’re gonna catch them all before I get there this weekend! Sheesh!

As we were discussing some costs and pricing ideas for a client, talk of how much a television spot would cost to produce came up. (Making television spots is really one of those huge gradations between “really awful Hi-8 filmstrip with badly dressed business owner starring in ad” to “CGI technicolor rainbows and extremely expensive actor as spokesperson”. Basically, you can range between $5,000 and half a million dollars, and in most situations, you get what you pay for. (Though, admittedly, there have been numerous, really-expensive ads that completely missed their mark.)

Anyway, someone said, well, start with $100,000? And we’re trying to determine how the costs relate to our media budgets, because it doesn’t do a lot of good to spend $100k on a tv spot you can’t afford to air, and so this conversation was sort of going around and around and at first, I thought the 100 grand was kind of high, until I was struck by a thought (and of course, I said it out loud), “I mean, $100 grand? That’s not that bad, when you consider you can spend $80 grand on HOOKERS.”

Not that we’ll use that logic if the client asks, but I’m still agog at spending the monetary equivalent of a nice SUV, a good boat, a nice chunk in savings and an all-inclusive vacation for two on hos. Or just one ho and a madam, who you KNOW is getting a really kick-ass cut of that money. You get my drift. Many a television spot has been made for less.

Still shaking my head….but I DID love the interview on NPR with an Albany madam, who was pissed he, the governor who advocated keeping dollars in-state, took his business to D.C….. (you have to click on “listen” to hear it, it’s not in the article – and it’s about 3 mins in.)

The light pools in wobbly squares in the back yard, as my eyes strain into the darkness, waiting for a shape to appear. The contrast between the streaming light from the breakfast nook and the darkness of the night play tricks on my eyes, as I peer for Suzy, our black lab, to mosey in from a corner of the yard. While I wait, I feel the cold night air on my skin and inside my lungs. I scan back and forth, but find myself mostly watching the patches of light, because that is where I will know I’ve seen her, not tricked by a branch dancing in the wind beyond my scope of vision.

I’m struck by how the darkness blurs the edges of what is illuminated. Even when we think we see something, we believe it to be so – it can be something else completely. It’s easier to decide – right or wrong – than to live in the blurry, undefined edges.

I had my one-year exam today for my Lasik-ed eyes; my vision is perfect, and it’s been 20 years since anyone’s said that. I have some challenges adjusting between close-up and distance, but that’s just part and parcel with being almost 40. Some things are clearer, others are not, and having excellent vision is only part of that equation.

I read an E Weekly review of a memoir over the weekend, and I have to say, I had the same reaction (I’ve since discovered) many other people did – “Huh? Really?” I think in the wake of so many frauds (or accusations of fraud)in the literary world combined with my fervent devotion to The Wire, I found myself a little bit skeptical, especially the part about her birthday party where she got a cake and 9mm. It just seemed too – Hollywood. Unauthentic. A little too perfect. I thought of James Frey, and wondered if someone would discover this author, as he had done, had embellished and overstated the facts. In fact, the author went to a private school in the Valley, and the publisher has withdrawn the book. Do people not realize the truth will out? You can’t pretend to be a foster child from the ghetto, no matter how much you may believe it in your mind, when you’re not.

The reason I’m pulling the comparison to the The Wire is because of the newspaper storyline and the reporter making up quotes, starting a snowball that only grew and grew under the weight of that original, small, golf-ball sized lie. The entire final season of The Wire ended last night, and I watched it, enthralled and hooked, just as I was every season. Only a little sadder, since this was the final episode, the end of it all. The complexity and layers of writing and character development made this one of the greatest shows on television, and while it took some time to get into – several episodes before things felt like they were cohesive – it was a gem in the rubble of our usual entertainment, where all storylines are neatly ordered, the music rises and falls as we expect it to, endings are tidy, and usually, the good guys win. Not so with this show. But oh so brilliant. I can’t wait to watch it all over again, from the very beginning, like a good book, where you catch more of the nuances and see more depth as you read it again. But,(spoiler alert!) there is something to be said for the deliciousness of a first moment that can’t be recreated ever again – when McNulty called bullshit on the reporter, even though it never came back around with consequences for the offender – the moment was there and the fraud was seen for what it was. Absolutely priceless. What was really head-shaking was in the last montage scene, where the guilty reporter helps catapult the paper to award-winning status, and the diligent, hard-working reporter (who didn’t make anything up) gets shunted to the suburban rag. Ain’t that the way it goes…..

There have been lots of changes in my world – nothing earth-shattering, but enough to make a noticeable difference, both personally & at work. Our company changed their name, we all got new business cards, and from what I understand, there’s going to be a lot of painting going on in the near future. Yay for fumes!

Outside of work, I’ve been bizzy bizzy bizzy. It looks to continue for the foreseeable future, too – I taught a sock class at The Studio (Hi Carrie!) and there are lots more classes this month, plus overseeing the sock club for March & April. I must say I had a hold-my-breath moment when I arrived for the first class & Carrie said, “I read your blog!” There’s always that fraction of a second when I mentally see my blog flash before my eyes and I wonder, OH god, have I offended anyone lately? Actually, I usually accomplish that in person quite well without a monitor or time to edit.

I also busted in on the UFO crew at MisKnits this week, and of course I can only remember about three people’s names. Notably, Carmen was NOT there, furthering my belief that we have a time-space continuum between us. I am still laughing at Laura’s comment on my watermelons…….she was referring to the colors in my socks, but of COURSE I took it in a completely adolescent direction.

Oh, and we had a rep lunch on Wednesday, and four girls put away a TON of sushi. Not a literal ton? But a whole damn lot. I took photos, just to torture James. I’m thoughtful that way. One of the platters didn’t turn out, apparently I can’t turn my camera off too quickly after taking a picture, or else the photo comes up as “damaged”.

We ate all but TWO pieces. I think our waiter was impressed.

Speaking of Wednesday, that was Tripper’s Snip Day. (Some Day of Beauty! It definitely was an extra-high Brazilian!) I got up early & shuttled him down to the vet – James went and got him, and we are happy to report that not only does he not even seem to notice his balls are gone? He was jumping and being his usual goofy-ass self within 24 hours of the surgery. (I do not understand how you’re supposed to keep a labrador from running, jumping or basically doing any of their normal activities for seven days post-surgery. We’d have to put him in a full-body cast.) Tripper appreciates your good thoughts & wishes for him!

In random, and not-particularly-interesting news, my lost earring was found & on my desk when I came into work this morning. It really is the small things that can make your day! We were driving out to a new business pitch yesterday & out of habit, I felt my earlobe – to discover one of my earrings was missing. Since I’d been out at a client meeting that morning, and all over the agency throughout the day, I wasn’t overly optimistic I’d find it. Seeing it on my desk made my morning! (Oh, and I did take out the other earring, just to prevent that “I’m A Pirate!” look for the pitch!)

If ever there was a Friday that warranted a “TGIF”, this is it. Enjoy your weekends, and I hope my new normal resumes soon!

That’s what it feels like, anyway. I’ve been staring at excel spreadsheets of email addresses and cross-referencing things so we can send out our new name announcement, and my eyes feel like they’ve been going through chef prep for some fabulous dish that eventually sees them bathed in butter and served with a side of baby asparagii. In other words, I got the tired eyes right now.

But despite that, I’m still getting things done. The day has zipped on by, and between lunch & cocktails after work, I feel like I’m reconnecting with the world again. I got together today with someone I hadn’t seen in years, things between us had been strained by a number of things, and we’d just let them drift. A chance encounter reconnected us, and after numerous voice mails to get together, we spent a lot of time catching up and remembering – some things we didn’t want to, other things that made us laugh. One of her friends that I’d known had drifted away from her, and we marveled at how that girl had planned out her life so much. I like to plan my days and my weeks? But I don’t plan my life. This girl was a gold-digger, and she married herself a doctor and had herself a baby, and it was all “according to plan”. A timetable. A checklist. I observed that living life that way felt to me like a recipe for disappointment and frustration. Maybe I just don’t have the drive to script it all. But I really think of all the things I’d miss. Because to be that driven and focused to machinate life events, force them to unfold, meet deadlines and acres of criteria and maybe that’s what you do, to acquire the things on that list, but what about all the things you miss? The opportunities that you turn away from, because they don’t fit The Plan?

My plan -which I reserve the right to adjust or change – includes something really attainable, like, oh, a margarita. And refreshed eyeballs. Which have been refreshed on so many levels, I wish I could articulate it all! (or would that be OCulate? Har har har.)

I judge where I am in Life by how behind on my Bloglines I am. Uh, 558 unread. I got some catchin’ up to do. However, the other gauge I use is Laundry, and I’m doing ok on that front!

My BFF, F-4-EVAH girl Lizzie Lou came into town on Thursday, which is why I pretty much dropped off the face of the Internet world, because there’s that whole “living” thing you do. Actually, lest you conjure up images of discotheques and club-hopping, we were slugs. Super lazy, we moved at our own pace, we did lots of knitting, we got her going on a new sock project, watched bad movies, ate pizza, laughed our heads off, and generally remembered why we’d get matching tattoos, if we were the sort of girls who got matching tattoos. We also spent good times with Shelley and baby Kara, who is so flippin’ cute, and enjoyed the whole true-friends thang.

I think I might have set a record for myself, though, with Fastest Socks Knit:

Gotta love sport-weight yarn! These flew right off the needles, and onto James’ feet:

They’d have been done even sooner, but I didn’t like the heel flap (it felt too big), so I ripped it all out and did a short-row heel instead. He loves ’em!

And I love him. And my girlfriends, and life in general. Spring is coming, I don’t care if it’s going to be a meat locker tomorrow!

I know, I’m IN advertising, and I love marketing that’s done right, but sometimes the whole commercialization of events and days that are supposed to be meaningful makes me j-j-j-jaded….

I don’t like the whole “Your husband/boyfriend loves you THIS much as quantified by the size of a bouquet and choice of flowers”. I really hated it when I was single, but being married doesn’t really change it. And yes, I do fall into the trap of “If you love me, you’ll buy me that” – mainly because it’s the entire fabric of my life, and how we did things at my house. Rewards were plentiful if you did what you needed, and to quote my dear father, “It’s better to have than to want.” I married someone who counterbalances my desire to own everything at Crate & Barrel. The Wo, he is a practical dude. Someday, though, I know he’ll buy me that french fry cutter. Maybe?

In any event, I can’t get behind the consumerism of Valentine’s Day, because flowers are overpriced, and even though I love to shop, I also love me a deal. I might buy myself some flowers at CostCo next time I’m there, because I’m starting to feel the weight of winter, and a bright cheery spot of something resembling Spring would be nice to see.

BUT! In the SPIRIT of Valentine’s Day, I’m going to tell you two little stories. The first one made me cry at my desk – a co-worker who sits by me came in my office and told me how much she enjoys hearing me answer my phone in the afternoon (James calls every day when he gets out of school.) She said, “You can hear it in your voice, how much you love him, your voice totally changes, and it’s what I want to have, four years, ten years from now.” (She just got married this past year.) Despite the feeling (a little bit) of being an old lady, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears brimmed in my eyes, not because I was embarrassed, but because she was right. I love James to the moon and back and around it a few times as bonus. He’s my rock, my soul mate, my ballast in the horrible storms I’ve weathered, the one who laughs when I parody Madonna and sing “Wrap you up in MYLAR”. Sometimes it just takes the simple act of a different person’s perspective for you to see what has become familiar (it often reveals something about them, too.)

So the other little story? I make James a lunch every day. (Lunches made with love!) I started going a little crazy with the sammich-making, all kinds of meats, fancy lettuce, pickles, mustards – I didn’t want it to be boring, day after day. He then told me he loves PB&J, and we had an interesting learning moment – for him, they’re a treat. For me, PB&J was always the last choice, what you had if you’d run out of everything else, and it symbolized bare bones and boring. Good to know! If the people want PB&J, by golly, give ’em PB&J! Just so I wouldn’t forget, I discovered this on the inside lid of his lunch box:

As my dear Auntie Karen once said: Behavior that isn’t reinforced is rarely repeated. It’s probably why we thank each other constantly for all the standard things we each do around the house. And I know a certain fifth-grade teacher who will be getting a regular rotation of PB&J in his lunches from now on, too. :) As for everyone else – hey, I hear tomorrow’s a GREAT day to buy chocolates. Sales and all. Who loves a deal?!

OK! It’s like I posted this super sad, melancholy post & then fell off the face of the earth. My brain’s preoccupied with a few things – work, higgledy-piggledy things in my life, crazy people on the internets (do you KNOW how many crazy people are out there? A LOT.) So I’m distracted, and several of the wheels that spin on blog posts and topics have been diverted elsewhere.

I did think I should note that for all the railing and screaming and bitching about bad drivers that I do, I also try to be kind to deserving drivers. You know, like letting some poor sap in who’s gotten stuck behind a broke-ass volvo in morning rush hour. (I do NOT, however, let in the asswipes who race all the way up to the “Lane Closed” sign and then try to cut in.) And two days ago, some more schmo almost had me in his back seat because none of his brake lights worked. Well, scratch the “none” – the tiny sliver of red on his trunk worked, but nothing else. So I managed to pull up alongside him, and waved at him to roll his window down. Poor dude. He had to lean over to make the passenger window descend. I told him about his brake lights (after all, we’re all just avoiding the po-po, right? No need to get pulled over and have a coronary) and then about two miles later, I was stopped & waiting to turn & I happened to look over and there he still was, alongside and waving a thank you. Made me a little happy. Just to make a small bit o’ difference. And to maybe counterbalance all the righteous indignation I have against those who pull halfway into the intersection, as though it’s perfectly acceptable, natural even, to align their FACE with the curb, not the front end of their car. WTF? Dude, that’s an awesome way to lose the front half of your car. I have plenty of insurance, and I can draw an accident report on graph paper like nobody’s business. Oh, a quick search of my archives shows I’ve never told that story. Whups. Well, ok, here goes, really quickly (the reason this is called White Rabbit is because I’m already late for a party. Whatev! I live to be late.)

I was living in Minneapolis, and there was one street near the Art Museum that cut through a big main street at a jog. As in, you pulled up to the light, and when it turned green, you veered over to the right (or left) to maneuver through the intersection. It was a full street’s width “off” from going straight through. SO one day, I’m driving home from work (on the big main street), in the right-hand lane. (Four lanes wide, mind you.) This car pulls up to the intersection, I see the driver looking towards me, and what does she do? Pulls right out in front of me. Well, ok, holy crap, but I immediately changed lanes. As did she. Only SHE came to a complete stop & put her turn signal on to “turn left”. My front driver’s side hit her back passenger’s side, as I did everything in my power to once more careen out the lane she’d chosen, but this time, unsuccessfully.

I was pissed. And shaking. I hadn’t been going that fast – 30-35? and I got my insurance information out & right there, a little card, told me what to do. And what not to do. So these two girls get out of their car (I am so late for this party now, but I’m caught UP! In the storytelling!) and I say, “Are you ok?” And they’re grabbing their necks and whining and all up in my grill for hitting them. I remain silent. The police come. They’re unenthusiastic, it’s a fender-bender, and I’m really steamed because I’d always heard that when you rear-end someone, it’s always your fault. The police ask the girls if they’re hurt. (and me, too, but I’m filled with fear, indignation & shock and decline help.) The driver says, “Well, our necks hurt REAL BAD.” The cop asks her if she wants an ambulance. She says?
“Well, we’re on our way to look at an apartment? And we’re late already. So, can we have the ambulance :after: we look at the apartment?”

I think pieces of my body fell off as reality closed in around me and my astonishment broke off parts of my hull. I looked, with utter tongue-tied amazement at the police officer. Who at this point was out of patience. “Miss! Ambulance means EMERGENCY. I’m asking you if you Want An Ambulance NOW.” And he looked at me and we exchanged a look that said we both knew who the idiot was.

“Well, we’re late, and we need to see this apartment, so…… no.”

I was furious. And the next day, after talking to my agent, I got out blue graph paper, a ruler, several markers, and I diagrammed the scene. And sent it in with the accident report. When I got the follow-up call from the adjuster, it was the greatest conversation ever. First of all, they wished all their clients were like me, and could submit such thorough reporting. Second, it was quite clear due to the intersection, the stop light, and the damage to the cars that the other driver had actually proceeded through an intersection ILLEGALLY (my heart sang an aria when I heard that word) and that, in fact, I had done everything in my power to avoid the accident. Her insurance was liable and my beast of a Ford Escort got it’s alignment redone and some big piece of metal got straightened out, and I drove that car until it burned itself up in a fire.

I think I’d like “Don’t Fuck With Me” on my tombstone. Problem being with cremation, I won’t have a tombstone, but hell. It’s fun to think about. The other option? “She was even late for dying” – speaking of that, I have gotta go, my peeps. Tomorrow’s Friday, and a big hootenanny for that fact.

So, a certain someone suggested if I ever got around to sending out holiday cards by Martin Luther King Day, they could be from our dogs. I thought it was hilarious. Sadly, I haven’t gotten to the card part. Sigh. But our dogs are definitely celebrating the holiday (they get to hang out inside because JWo also doesn’t have to work). Good luck to them on the equality bit, though. The Magic Door to the Great and Tasty Food doesn’t open unless ya got opposable thumbs.

The other conversation I had today was with a co-worker. Her father-in-law works at a very large government facility here in town that may or may not make high-tech weaponry, may or may not employ cell phone jamming systems in its vicinity and its old name may or may not rhyme with “Windex”. There, apparently, all black employees can take today off (unpaid). But white employees can’t. Which I thought was weird. I asked her, “But what if you embraced the ideas and beliefs of MLK?” and got your basic “Tough shit.” I mean, hell. A day off -unpaid- I’d think you couldn’t restrict who can or can’t celebrate a holiday based on skin color. Maybe it’s one of those unwritten rule things. All I know is that because there were no traffic po-lice out today, my commute was squished because people left their cars in areas that are normally tow zones, and I was most definitely NOT feeling the love for my fellow humans.

So, if you got the day off today, I hope it was enjoyable & filled with relaxation and hobbies!