Based on Real Life

J-j-jammin' on the Sun

2010-01-24T22:12:00.004-05:00

As in, wearing my pajamas all day today because I could not tear my eyes away from our current book club selection, The Help, by Kathryn Stockett.

And that was just today; yesterday we spent a few hours with some 3-week-old twins, and then caught The Wrestler 2, I mean Crazy Heart. And Friday night we rented Hurt Locker, which I will very much be rooting for to win Best Picture, because Wow. That's a movie that had me biting my nails and twisting my toes from the opening to closing credits, and, no, I'm not going to see Avatar. Also, I really really liked that the principal actors aren't household names and I hope that cuckoo IED diffuser guy gets a nod. Because I really didn't see anything extraordinarily outstanding with George's performance in Up In The Air. Never once did I forget I was watching George Clooney on the screen. Never once did I think they cast the only person capable of playing that character. Oscar buzz - I did not have it.

And this is where I throw my hands up and say I don't understand how Hollywood works anyway and wow I can't believe these Junior Mints were only $2.25 at the theater.

Next up: Inglorious Basterds.

Tick tock and ya don't stop

2010-01-18T20:54:00.007-05:00

Guess what I just finished doing?
A. Eating dinner (can I get a time stamp, pls)

Guess what I'll be doing when I finish blathering?
B. Writing more nouns and verbs, but in a very (lower your voice to a baritone) Professional Manner And A Fancy Different Grown-Person Voice.*

Guess what I wish I was doing? (answer must be in the realm of possibility.)
C. Playing Zelda. (I might be humming the song right now!)

Increasingly, the hubs and I have been challenged (all relative, yes) with tipping the scales ever so slightly in the favor of the Life portion. NB: losing scratch-offs aren't that heavy. For him, it's time spent on the road shuttling around to offices for his new job that take him away from .

Oh what? We must've had a bad connection and you missed reading my explanation of the very captivating nuances of my husband's engineering job. For everyone who hated chapter 2 of every Babysitters-club series, how about I just tell you he uses an IBM.

For me, there's always a project waiting in the wings that could be addressed now. There's always hunting for the next, or doing, a freelance job. And there's always It. That one-dimensional project that's begging for plot developed, characters revealed and more of my attention. Last week, it was all three of these things; me at the dining room table facing him at the sofa, schematics and highlighters spread across the coffee table like a game of Clue. Mr. Scientist in the lah-bore-a-toree with the beta test!

So finally, Friday came, and with it the promise of a few free hours. And thanks to my lovely friends at Nintendo, the timing couldn't have been better. We unboxed our new Wii, poured some cocktails and spent the next two hours tipping the scales in a heated He and She Wii-lympics.

Tennis: Jim
Bowling: Katie
Baseball: decision
Golf: Jim
Boxing: Katie (!)

Saturday, I couldn't lift my arms.
Sunday, Jim worked all day; and as you can read - here we are again on Monday. Speaking of, I have a goal of 2k words before bed.

I can't wait for Valentine's Day – I already have my eye on Karaoke Revolution, and my husband never met a microphone he didn't like. Let's hope that's not the next time we play. Classic Zelda: downloaded!

Parentheticals brought to you by Diet Dr Pepper(s), and my 2010 resolution to read Infinite Jest.
Special thanks to Brand About Town for sending me a Wii!
*Some restrictions may apply.

Mr. Safire, Mr. Safire

2010-01-10T19:23:00.004-05:00

The article is about how technology is changing so quickly that even siblings with only the years of college and high school to separate them are experiencing the divide. So if you (like me) feel like you're learning something new every day (Format + Font + Strikethrough!), fear not.

Naturally, the lede resonated; because as fascinated as I am with learning about this genre of, um, lifestyle technology (spaceships and robots: eh.) I'm truly awed by the developments in language prompted by technology. (Excluding text speak, omg.)

I threw out the observation to my Tweeps, and contributed the one that impacts my daily life: telling someone that I read an item ON instead of IN. I don't even think twice about saying it this way now.

@LenDamico presented a nice converse - when the technology works, but the accompanying word kind of blows. Hey, thanks for the playlist.

And speaking of music, when was the last time you "bought a single" as opposed to "downloading the mp3."

Remember when working together was called teamwork? Now it's called "crowdsourcing".

Of course, as with any developing language, there will always be factions. Is it text or texted? And who can forget the whole Twittering or Tweeting debate?

Isn't it exciting that in this realm of gadget geek and techno-speak there's a place for we word lovers? And if you counterpoint, I'll present the Zi8. Never heard of it? That's because Kodak wisely heeded a Boston journalist's early observation that this perfectly competent Flip competitor wouldn't stand a chance with such a clunky name. Coming soon to a big box store or URL near you, the Kodak Playsport.

By the end of 2010, we can only guess how many new terms will have entered our lexicon. But we can guarantee that every proponent dreams of hitting upon the magic formula, where brand name becomes verb. Not sure what I mean? Google it.

Philes and Phobes

2010-01-04T18:26:00.004-05:00

Our cell phone contracts are up, and since we're already filing joint taxes we figure we might as well take the plunge and get a family plan. Under one circumstance: I will not give up my 917 area code. Because you know, that paid-for-by-Powerball Greenwich Village pied a terre still awaits.

I want the Droid.

My husband doesn't have a clue what this means, except that it will add $30 to our monthly bill. And then before I can lobby $30, it doubles to $60; happy family plans are all alike, because apparently each member must have the same smartphone.

I explain that the surcharge is for mobile internet and data.

"Mobile Internet?" he asks, his voice raising to a Mariah Carey soundsphere. "You're. Not. Mobile." And because this is a hilarious truth I laugh. And when I laugh we both know I've lost*.

I can't offer the Use It For Work pitch, and even the GPS feature is a feeble lobby. The app that lets you access all your store loyalty cards does intrigue him, but it's not strong enough. I break down and tell him that I'd probably mostly use it to update the umbrella blog in real time and so I can share in fewer than 140 characters what is flitting through my brain at any given second of the day to the 900+ people who have never met me in real life. (It makes me a better writer?)

My Facebookless husband laughs. I want. I don't need. I also don't like to be reasoned with. I do like getting my way.

An associate sees our consternation (or notes how long we've been in the store) and wanders over. My husband, asserting his technology knowledgry asks what makes the Droid superior to, say, that phone over there. The associate, starts strong with "The Droid is the most superior phone on the market. I can't imagine my life without it." I like where he's going with this. The associate observes the 30-something male prospect and dives into his finely tuned sales pitch.

"Let's say your phone gets stolen or you lost it; there's a chip inside..." If my husband loses this phone he'll never get another one. MOVE ON, I will the man.

"You're outside and you don't know where you are. Just take a picture of something nearby, and..." Ok, even I didn't understand that one, but wow, broken umbrellas.

"I like trivia, let's say you're out with your friends and you are arguing over something." He presses a few buttons and enunciates at the screen. "Who. Is. The. President. Of. France." I envision lots of great date nights, cheating at Quizzo.

"Let's say you want to watch TV. Let's see, what was someone watching earlier today." The Young And The Restless pops up on screen. Oh my god.

*

Does anyone know how to lower the ringtone on this here LG EnV Touch?

*This is why I went into marketing not lawyering.

Counting forward

2009-12-30T22:47:00.005-05:00

Ten years ago I greeted the new decade staring up into a mess of neon stars. As I lay in my childhood bed, suffocated by the quiet house, I wondered if this was how life was going to play out for me. A new millennium of solitude.

I was home over the holiday break, hundreds of miles from any of the college buddies who knew me best, and somehow even the high school friends I'd managed to stay connected with had all made separate plans with their, closer, college friends.

3, 2, 1, nothing. No lights went out, no nuclear power plants exploded, and after we all stopped counting down, we resumed counting forward. In five months I'd be thrust out into the world with a marketing degree and without a clue what do make of it.

The ten years since have been a truly wild and unpredictable experience. If it keeps getting better, than please sign me up for a couple more of these decade tickets. I've come to realize that while I'm a social person, it's my alone time that really recharges my batteries. Sitting, thinking, observing, reading, writing. Where else but in the middle of a city can you be completely surrounded by energy, fracas and frenzy, but be totally outside it at the same time?

This year, though, was one of my favorites. I made a list, in the beginning, and I'm pretty proud to have accomplished all that I did. (See? I can't even muster enough interest in kitchenish things to Hang.A.Shelf.) But I'm most proud of the two things that weren't on the list that probably best define this year for me. I'll remember 2009 as the year I ran a 1/2 marathon (What's 3 more?), and the year I became a mentor with Philadelphia Futures.

Tomorrow we'll reveal our 2010 lists with another couple as we've all done for three years now. (Wine helps the men talk about goal-y things.) Mine has but four items, but one that's not going to be on the list that I hope to accomplish: Less counting down, more making now count.

Getting back on the bike

2009-12-24T08:14:00.003-05:00

Should we try this again? See if we still know how? See if we still enjoy the rush of wind to the face, watching the stones disappear below us into a blur as we pick up speed?

Let's give it a try.

One block at dinner time

2009-08-06T22:28:00.003-04:00

Their television faces the window, teasing me with a Daily Double but never letting me know if I'm the only one paying attention.

Mothballs.

She's not our here to smoke or talk on the phone, but I've passed her so many times that she asked my name so we can say hello. Hers is Donna, and I think of that Car Talk episode and know that I'll never mistakenly call Donna Brenda or somesuch. I smile the rest of the way.

The car with the flat tire.

The one with the gorgeous flowers. Not sure what they are. They're fuchsia. Sometimes I pluck one.

Cats. Lots of them.

Pasta sauce!

Yelling. Oh dear.

The yellow walls that look so good, but came out oh so terrible in my bedroom. Grr.

God Bless America, indeed.

Still for sale. What in the world are they asking?

Brass house numbers. Nickel mail slot. The horror.

Grilled something. Mmm. Music I don't recognize.

Stop sign. Wait for traffic. Turn left.

2.0

2009-08-05T21:17:00.005-04:00

The internet has changed by leaps and bounds since I first started typing here ...(checking)... OMG exactly five years ago! (Did OMG even exist in 200-dinoFOUR?) Back then blogs were more or less an outlet for feelings, a place where you were always only a few clicks away from discovering that the things bouncing around in your head were often shared by others.

I dove in, enthusiastically at first, seeing this format as an opportunity to test my chops stringing the nouns and verbs together. While other bloggers were getting book deals, I considered success not receiving hateful comments. Months, then years passed and I'd written about my transition to PA, missing NY, my love, my family, my friends, but what for? I was neither a 'bare it all' or 'woe is me' writer, but after all that time I didn't really know what kind of writer I was. Give me 3 pieces of copy written by my coworkers and chance are I'll correctly identify the authors, but me? Stories, words. Where was I?

And while I was blabbing my stories along came youtube, flickr, etsy, iphones, facebook, tumblr, twitter, and who knows what is being developed somewhere right now. Suddenly we were all just a few clicks away from discovering things we didn't even know were bouncing around in our head. Like how taking pictures of broken umbrellas could lead to seeing the world in a whole new way. And that a lot of people will never get it, but chances are, even just one absolutely will. And maybe one day you'll be that One Person who gets it for someone else.

I decided that I was finally in a place where I could help someone else, not through sharing my life stories on the internet, but through a real, personal, 1-on-1 relationship. The only thing I knew when signing up to be a mentor with Philadelphia Futures was that I was committing myself to a 4-year relationship with a city high school student who showed college potential but may not have the means or motivation to pursue education past high school. My career is tangible proof of a mentor's capability, and I filled out the profile thinking I'd be matched up with a budding writer. I got, a photographer. And she's amazing. She wants to move to Paris and loves fashion. She asks questions eagerly. And she teaches me something new every time we're together.

Of lazy mornings and perfect sunsets

2009-06-11T11:20:00.009-04:00

When I was but a wee lass fashioning trash cans from toothpaste caps for my dollhouses, I also made sure the doll family had a Root Beer fountain and an indoor pool. Where budget was no option and dreams only limited by imagination these were the height of interior design, and it bothered me tremendously that the house had no staircase. Because a root beer fountain was completely plausible, but how could anyone reach the second floor? Fly? And thank goodness my tastes have changed.

Right now, I can't imagine living anywhere that affords me ample space and nature's kisses. I like keeping things simple and don't mind growing vegetables on the roof. I'm a city girl these years, and a recession-conscious one at that, but... someday. And that someday I wouldn't mind having these five items to come home to, a much healthier outlet than filling my current 1,200 square foot home with any of them. I sure hope Stumphouse is listening/watching/reading.

Special thanks to Note to Self for starting the theme.

1. Built-in bookshelves.
Big ones, wall-to-wall since we're dreaming here, where my right-brain and Jim's left-brain tomes can mingle peaceably by color, naturally.

Image via Zokk Furniture Design & Craftsmanship.

2. A second staircase that leads into the kitchen
My grandmother's house had one, and it was at the same time scary and thrilling. Part Nancy Drew and part horror movie. And apparently she may've been the only house in the history of the world to have such a thing because it took me about three years to find another photo.

Image via Flickr user didurkes

3. An awesome impractical storage unit
Apothecary, printer's shelves, baker's rack, card catalog, I don't care which, and I have no idea what I'd put in one, I simply want. It will be my one nouveau riche tell-tale, but at least I will come into it under my own searching and not because I had it written into my game-show-host contract.

Image via decor8

4. A second-story porch, accessed through windows or French doors.
Perfect for sipping cocktails, gossip, board games and spying on neighbors.

Image via Apartment Therapy

5. A magical peony tree that blooms all year round. Since we're dreaming.

Image via Design*Sponge

That was fun! And while I spend the next few years figuring out the locale that can give me a Southern, Victorian, Arts & Crafts-style home in an urban setting, please do take 5 minutes to ignore your 401k and share your 5 dream items?

Believe

2009-06-01T21:54:00.003-04:00

Oh I know it wasn't really about the craftily painted sign intended to remind visitors that Christmas is a time to be a kid again. Because I know that he knows that's not my holiday style. And I know that he doesn't even know where we got the thing, or should I say: who gave it to us. And yet, it came out of the bag and is now laying on the table.

It was the principle, and I get it. But I'd spent all day cleaning the basement, flattening cardboard and itemizing, uh, items. Just like he asked. And I was now enjoying a lovely evening into my 13th episode of watching Lost online and I didn't feel like going downstairs for a confrontation, muchless hollering down my defense so the neighbors could enjoy a new episode of The Katie & Jim Show through our open windows.

Sure, I could have asked him before just deciding what belonged in a bag destined for donation. But if it sits on a shelf in the basement for a certain period of time, or is a bridesmaid dress, isn't it just fair game? Admittedly, I got carried away in putting in the foursome of framed stamps, fine. And I apologized. And, um, ok, maybe I don't actually get it, because I looked at those stamps and they don't look all that special. I suppose I'll just have to shrug my shoulders and believe. I'll deal with that other issue come December.

Once upon a photograph

2009-05-21T10:50:00.007-04:00

This is my paternal grandmother, Grace Sweeney. If I remember correctly, I think my dad told me she'd just graduated from high school in this photo. I cannot think of an overheated home, gin rummy, backscratches on the davenport, rainbow sorbet and gooey, sticky breakfast pastries without also thinking of her. Unfortunately those thoughts then also lead to the pain of losing someone to Alzheimer's before losing them forever.

This photograph sits on my parents bookshelf, at least it did until I asked to borrow it two years ago when I slipped it out of the frame to take back to Philadelphia and scan copies for myself and my siblings. Knowing me, I probably put it into the pages of the book I was reading to keep it safe and flat. Somewhere between then and today I misplaced the photo, and while I'm not an overall forgetful person, I am perhaps overly organized.

For the past two years I have wracked my brain, fanned pages and hunted through handbags. Finding lots of things I wasn't looking for, my guilt was only worsened by the fact that my mother never asked why it was taking me weeks, months, years to accomplish my task. And this wasn't the normal Irish Catholic silence, it was a silence of omission. She'd forgotten ever lending it to me.

The more time passed, the more I was sure that the photo had gone to the one place I would never get it back. That year I had received two copies of a book for Christmas and had brought the tome home so my mother could take a spin through the pages and see if the writing suited her style. Could I have returned the copy with the photo still in it? I must have. I wondered if there was a Border's customer out there who would have realized they received something they had not purchased and would be kind enough to return it to the store. And would a store even keep such a thing?

Fast forward.
2009.
Frustrated. Searching. Stifled.

For once, I locked my computer in the office before leaving for the evening; I wouldn't bring it home; I would add more life to the balance that HR bandies about. And of course, this is when the creative inspiration hits hardest. A tsunami of ideas for both portfolio and plot. Characters and campaigns!

But no computer.

Instead of harnessing the thoughts, phrases and personalities flitting forth, I tried to ignore them; tried to put a "closed" sign on my right brain by playing Sudoku. But they would not be abated. The Moleskine that I keep in my purse wouldn't do for these ideas, but there was a fresh writing book on the shelf in the guest room, the one that my designers gave me when I left my last agency two years ago now. I got it, opened to the first page and she fell out.

I have always believed in signs. Do you?

Crush hour

2009-04-30T21:41:00.004-04:00

Packed like sardine on Xtown 52. Woman screaming/repeating to phone "on bus, can't talk, on bus can't talk." Any1 else Tweeting here?
8 minutes ago from Tweetie

Riding window-seat on 52 thru park. Ppl waiting at stations not happy to see our full ride pass w/out stopping. Avoiding eye contact.
8 minute ago from TwitterBerry

@WideEyeGuy U still on bus? Where sitting? Can you hear phone screamer lady?
7 minutes ago from Tweetie

@PeppermintStuck Woah. Freaky. Replies are coming from inside the bus. R u a murderer?
4 minutes ago from TwitterBerry

@WideEyeGuy Nope. just board & cranky. Back, left of bus, wearing pink scarf.
3 minutes ago from Tweetie

@PeppermintStuck Front right. window seat. crossword puzzle. Can't see a thing back there.
2 minutes ago from TwitterBerry

@WideEyeGuy Here comes cell phone lady!
2 minutes ago from Tweetie

@PeppermintStuck Crazy phone screamer just exited. Lucky for friend on other end.
1 minute ago from TwitterBerry

@PeppermintStuck U still on? Wanna grab a drink? Get off @ next stop & we'll figure out where.
less than 10 seconds ago from TwitterBerry

Mornings are broken

2009-03-26T21:55:00.004-04:00

Before we dive in, it is absolutely relevant for me to tell you that a carpool driver once called my mother and told her that she'd no longer be "able" to drive Katie and Karen to our school (where she was an employee) because Katie was such an unpleasant passenger. To which my mother, a practical, rational woman who donated 1/2 my DNA, took a deep breath and got her car keys.

And 10+ years later, I still just can't do mornings. For my nine working years now I've made it a habit to arrive at least 30 minutes before anyone who I need to walk past, so that I can enjoy my coffee and gossip blogs in peace. And in the rare event that I'm late I'm like a soldier, running through a barrage of hellos that might fast-track me to managerial status if I could respond like a normal human. If.

Given all this, you'd think I'm an egregious offender of the snooze button, but I'm not. That's not how I'm wired, in fact, for so long my eyes popped open one minute before the ring that I've stopped even setting the alarm. It's not the Up that's the problem, it's getting At'Em.

And if it was just me waking up alone, this post would have been two paragraphs. But your eyes can tell there are words to come, which makes this the perfect opportunity to reveal that my now-permanent passenger in the marriage carpool is my complete awakening opposite. He who must leave an alarm downstairs, because otherwise he'll turn it off and go right back to sleep. He who comes back into the bedroom apres shower and SINGS, that's right – verses, melody, and refrains – while dressing. Motown, '80s, '90s, he's a veritable JimPod. With no pause.

A kinder wife might smile beneath her eyemask and pull the covers tighter. An optimistic wife might greet the day 30 minutes earlier. But do those wives have blogs?

Another man's words

2009-02-03T20:54:00.005-05:00

He told me he loved me. Words I get to hear all the time and get to say all the time; but coming from another voice sound so jarring.

I'd just escorted him in one piece down a beginner's trail, his first time mostly on his feet rather than sliding down on his behind. He wasn't flushed with excitement or adrenaline as much as relief. I've always heard that people emerge from intense situations with a tight, unique bond. Hostages. Plane crash survivors. Being stuck in an elevator. Conquering your first beginner trail.

I wondered if I physically reacted, and whether he saw. It was such a nice, honest, pure and unexpected moment. How often do you get those; and of course I had to ruin it by overanalyzing. I want that. I want to tell people willy nilly that I love them, like this dude can.

Then we both laughed and wished the others were there to see his success. Yes, this is how we all were in the beginning. And yes it's supposed to be fun. I promised.

We waddled our way toward the lift, bumped our asses into the chair and began our ascent toward torture our bodies all over again. And it was nice.

While the rest are sleeping

2009-01-13T08:53:00.003-05:00

We are warriors to be up and at'em this early. At least that's what I tell myself as I lock the front door and start down the moonlit street at 6:30am. The socks I have chosen leave a gap to the hem of my workout pant and I know I will be using extra moisturizer later.

The only other people I pass have a leash in one hand and a poop bag in the other. I give the ones who make eye contact a nice look of sympathy; they see me empty-handed and hooded and I can tell they are deciding whether I am a threat. There is a cameraderie between the fellow dogpeople, but I am an outsider. Because I am up and moving when there's a warm bed waiting.

The only other cars I pass are trucks carrying their deliveries of bread, newspaper or roofing materials. I turn down 25th street and hear an alarm clock buzzing in a second-floor bedroom. An annoying sound even when it's not your own, and right then and there I invent an alarm clock with not only a bothersome buzz, but one that emits a subtle noxious smell as well. Like, gasoline or garlic. That'll get you up and into the shower.

And even though this makes me arrive at the gym laughing, does not mean I'm in a good mood and want to kibbitz with my fellow crazies. Because really, I'm just here to get it over with.

My Secret Service name would probably be Blogger

2009-01-07T05:45:00.004-05:00

Dear President Elect Obama,
You are about to embark on a most excellent adventure, one that certainly comes with some unfamiliar territory.

Like having your constituents dream about you.

It all started while I was at the gym (see: firing on all cylinders) and came up with what I thought had all the elements of being a perfect Facebook Status: Funny, Relevant, Short. I came home, wrote it, and forgot it. Until.

President Obama, you and Michelle took me out to dinner to thank me for a task that I had not yet completed for you. While I was beyond excited to be in your company, I was surprised by the casual locale you chose, and annoyed that you were sitting kind of relaxed on your side of the booth and kept spreading your legs all the way to my side. No matter if I crossed or uncrossed, I kept kicking your shoes.

I could tell that you and Michelle were very tired, because you seemed to want to eat in silence, but not me, oh no! This was my moment, and I sure maximized by peppering you with plenty of questions and humorous anecdotes. All the A Material was coming out. In fact, I was just proud of myself for remembering and about to bring up that my high school played Sidwell Friends in sports when a lookalike You came over to the table distributing tchotchkes from a cardboard box. Michelle and I got ours first and when he got to you I sat up straighter to see what might happen and if Fake Obama would look to see what kind of famous person I was to be in your company. You two looked at each other and he only said "Nice suit," because they were the same, even down to the flag lapel pin! You laughed and said that you were excited about the new array of suits you would get as President and you leaned in as if telling Michelle and me a secret. "They're going to be Brooks Brothers!" We both leaned back and I said "Gorgeous, so much better than the current guy's suits." And we all three laughed.

And then I was ready to do my chore for you, which was take your daughters to school. It didn't seem to be very difficult, given that I was using a hand truck, the type that the UPS men use to deliver packages. Kind of awkward, especially when You, President Elect Obama decided to come along with us. Hello, pain in the ass! Little uniform-clad prepsters reaching, grabbing; I'm not the Secret Service you know!

So I dropped off Radiance and Rosebud and the headmaster gave me a tour, asking if I'd be there in the afternoon to pick them up. Hello, people, I have a job! But I said yes because I am a yes-woman and how often do you get one of these opportunities to be best friends with a fun First Family?

Leaving, I was now on foot, without a destination and kind of lost. It was noon. I called my boss in New York to tell her that I wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be coming in, but it was my boss at my last advertising agency in Philadelphia who called me back. And I answered on my 2G iPod that broke before Christmas. I saw his name come up on the screen and was surprised that the iPod now worked, not that it took phone calls.

I ran into some high school friends who were having a brunch of cold veggie plates and accused me of stealing someone's watch. I finally made it back to my parents house, where, guess what President Elect Obama? Your son was hanging out with my parents! And he was white! I found him watching television while my dad asked if he wanted to go in the basement and see his Lionel Train Setup and my mom was screaming in from the other room that he definitely didn't want to do that, but maybe turn on the Shiba Inus. I knew I had to rescue your son first, and then blog about my entire crazy day.

I woke up. It was 1:58am. I think I need a new hobby.

Good luck out there President Elect Obama, it's a crazy world.

Mustachiosos

2009-01-06T07:17:00.003-05:00

My partner at work joined a fantasy football league where all participants agreed that the loser would grow a Mustache for a week. Because you know, Mustaches are a little bit creepy, and a lot funny(1).

Well luck be a lady, the only lady of the group, my partner, came in dead last much to the joy of all her male coworker counterparts. Good sport that she is, she ordered and is sporting a different fake Mustache each day.

Which led to an in-depth IM conversation (and custom avatar) of the few besides herself who can pull off a Mustache and still look hot. A working list below:

1) Tom Selleck
2) Frida Kahlo

Short and sweet, until I got home and turned on Inside the Actor's Studio, wherein I'd like to add

3) Josh Brolin

Have we missed anyone?

(1) Except when your dad who quit razors the day after he entered retirement, shows up at your bridal shower wearing only a Mustache and you almost have a heart attack because a beard was weird enough to get used to, and you get the maybe combover that's going on, but you have to draw the line at the mustache. And then he tells you that he's shaving the beard off in stages for his big Bride Escort debut, and the Mustache is next to go.

Home alone

2009-01-05T05:58:00.005-05:00

I laid in the bed, in my same spot on the left side if you're laying, right side if you're looking, in my same cupcake pajamas, on my same flat flat pillow. I looked around our bedroom at everything in the same spots: the pictures on the walls, shelf hung above Jim's dresser, the too-small rug barely peeking out from under the edges of the bed.

I wondered what he would say about the new paint color when he returned in the morning from his trip West. "It looks like the color in the living room (Brandied Pears)" I predicted, which it's not (Drifting Dune).

I pulled the covers up to just under my chin, inhaling deeply. The air swirled into my nostrils, sounding something but nothing like the wind gusting outdoors, which prevented me from aerating appropriately. My legs already ached and my shoulders were sore, but I was sleeping in my own bed, finally without being confined by walls the color of a school bus.

The not-nice list

2008-12-26T20:03:00.005-05:00

Our stoop neighbor was robbed on the eve of Christmas Eve. 4pm, in the middle of the day someone stood on my front stoop using a credit card or somesuch to jiggle a nondeadbolt. Our front doors are close enough so that he might have even tried ours, looking for an unlocked entry.

The burglar didn't target the fanciest house on the block, or even the one with the most visible holiday decorations, sure to lead to a regiftable bounty. Once inside our retired neighbor's home, the burglar bypassed the flatscreen. Quick cash, I imagine the person was after; the same thing that was taken when our neighbor was robbed over a year ago.

I read an article recently about a sonic weapon that blasts earsplitting noise into the air to dissuade pirates from boarding and taking over oil tankers off the Somali Coast. The representative admitted that this really only sends the pirates down the line, looking for the next vulnerable tanker. Same with the tiny Shield stickers we have on our front windows, I guess.

We're sitting at our kitchen table a few days later when we hear a buzz coming from next door. "Three speed variable drill" my father says, correctly impressing me, my mom and maybe even Jim. I ask what the project is, and without pausing he guesses that someone is getting a new door. A new lock, probably a deadbolt, I don't tell him, letting him think he knows everything.

Why I vote

2008-11-04T11:17:00.003-05:00

I am a 30-year-old white woman, raised in a middle class suburb. 9 years of Catholic education, 4 years of public university. My great-great grandparents came to America. Being American meant being on the right side of World Wars, shopping malls and the Star Spangled Banner before sporting events. I was told I could do anything, be anything, and had no evidence to believe otherwise.

And then I unknowingly made one of the best decisions of my life. I went away, far away, 9 hours away where I could meet people with a whole different kind of normal than the one I knew. New religions. New political views. New sexual orientations. New countries they called home. And this last part changed everything.

The American dream was no longer a vague reference to white picket fences and 2-car garage. Or seeing a picture in a textbook of Ellis Island. It was right in front of me, in my friend who left his family far behind at age 16 to come to America for a better life. To get an American education. And the other friend, and then a few more friends. And then in the friend who up and moved here after falling in love with an American in a European country.

They chose America. I was blessed to start here. And fortunate to leave here and visit other countries to learn that 200 years doesn't even begin to make a "history". It's my right to vote, but it's my privilege to do my part to America stays a place that people turn to for a better life.

Out, out, brief candle

2008-08-15T22:04:00.004-04:00

Lately I find myself strutting and fretting the balance of me me me, versus the craftsmanship of the word here on this stage. It's been a wonderful experience and outlet sharing my a piece of my walking shadow with friend and stranger, but it's time to take a break and focus on other things.

Thanks for stopping in, whether by accident or on purpose. Health and happiness to everyone.

When amateurs compete

2008-08-12T20:27:00.003-04:00

Degree of difficulty: Most definitely, 10
Presentation: ahem.
Yet somehow I managed to stick the landing.

What a beautiful noise

2008-08-10T23:46:00.003-04:00

After an exhilarating weekend of red, white and blue, capped off with a glitterfest as only Neil Diamond could provide live in concert, I have several thoughts:

1) Having a dream about giving Michael Phelps a ride to his event in your '96 Toyota Corolla so he can avoid the paparazzi will put you in a terrific mood for an entire day of couchletics.
2) McDonald's missed a golden opportunity not scheduling a commercial right after the Chinese team entered the Opening Ceremonies.
3) Water polo -- so much thrashing!
4) Could we get an interview with the chefs in the Olympic Village?
5) 100,000 condoms have been distributed in the O.V. Discuss.
6) Helge Meeuw -- why, why wouldn't you just shave that beard?
7) Watching the Parade of Nations makes me wonder, did I paid any attention at all in social studies classes. Benin? Gabon?
8) What percentage of NBA players are not inked? Yao Ming?
9) Netherlands and the ties to orange: interesting and I like it.
10) How are the rowing skulls transported to the Olympics?
11) Who is the female voiceover in the AT&T "We are all team USA" ads.
12) What, exactly, is a crunchy granola suite?

Taking the class out of classifieds

2008-08-04T00:00:00.004-04:00

A few years ago I conducted a secret experiment that led to completely unexpected results; It was so enlightening and entertaining that I honestly can't remember how I forgot about it for so long without telling anyone. (Bigger and better things maybe?)

Some Gentle Readers may remember an essay I wrote exaggerating some of those general "responsibilities" a bridesmaid might be faced with as if they were listed as expectations of a particular bride. And although I haven't actually been asked to be a bridesmaid again since the piece debuted, it was a satirical essay, written for a satirical website, and has enjoyed a nice shelf life.

It got me thinking.

What if Help Wanted: Be My Maid of Honor was presented somewhere completely unrelated to the wedding industry: nothing on theknot.com, etc. Would the audience assume satire? Or have we become so accustomed to overwhelming, overbearing Bridezillas that the audience would take it completely seriously? Would they be horrified? Or nonplussed?

I decided that the audience would be the readers of Labor Wanted pages in Chicago, New York and LA's craigslist pages. So, without further "I do", here are responses to the "other Me" that people took the time to either post on the Craigslist Labor page, or in a private response to the email address listed. I'd say that some of these people have too much time on their hands, but you know: pot, kettle and all.

***

Sounds great. Can a 37-year-old man apply? :-D

Yes. Until that emoticon

*

Are you kidding us? This has got to be the lamest ad I have ever seen!

*

If you are the M of H in this scenario, I pity you.

My suggestion: Drop out fast, now, don't wait until it gets worse.

If you are NOT the M of H, but the bride..... you are an idiot.

Have a good life !

*

WTF???

*

I can ask my wife. Also, if you need for me to officiate the marriage I can do that. I am ordained. The price for this would be $150.00

Thanks,

Chaplain Ed

(XXX)-[REDACTED]

Chaplain Ed, it takes a great man to spare judgment. And a smart one for seizing the opportunity to make a little cash.

*

Are you serious? This is suppose to be one of your most special days ever. I guess i'll take this posting as you have no friends!!!!!!!! Man it sucks to be you.

*

what?? are u kidding?

*

You must be out of your fucking mind! Apparently, you have no friends. I can understand why. Get the fuck out of here!

Apparently you don't have a thesaurus.

*

Hi there,

I saw your post, and I just wanted to let you know that you would probably get more responses if you posted in the "Domestic Section" I'm not sure if your target group would really be browsing the Labor Section. I hope you have a wonderful time planning your wedding :)

Kitty

So helpful! I feel bad for not responding; she's probably always wondered what happened to that poor girl who posted on Craigslist. Kitty, are you here?

*

Funny but sick!

Is this you, Jim?

*

GET HELP U FUCKING IDIOT

Capslock -- he must really mean it.

*

Has anyone mistaking you for being out of your bird, madd, or just
bored.....goto city hall....it doesn't sound permanent

Yes, yes, and hardly ever.

*

This is the weirdest post I have ever seen during the entire time I've been
logging onto Craigslist. Could I ask why you are hiring for a "maid of
honor"???????

*

You must be hella bored to take the time to scribble that dribble, hoping that someone might find it amusing...try again. Not even good enough for Best Of...

Steven from Boston, if you're reading -- please do tell what "WOT" stands for. I just can't figure out why it was so important that you'd change the subject line from the auto-reply message created by Craigslist. Thx, the subpar jokester

*

I saw your post on craigslist and wanted to tell you that I found it pretty creative and funny. I think you should write a book (or at least a story) about a situation that you have proposed. It would make for an interesting read.

You remind me of jennsylvania.com.

Good luck!

N

Thanks N! (I believe at the end of this Help Wanted ad I revealed that I was actually and out-of-work-ad-writer.) Turns out this Jennsylvania person has written three bestsellers, so thanks, thanks, thanks! Now speaking of writing a book or story...

*

Who would ever marry a stupid, profane c[****] like you?

I won't tell your mother you said that if you won't tell my husband.

*

I have been reading craig's list jobs for several months and i have to say that your has by far been the most entertaining. thank you for making me smile today.

*

God I hope you are joking.....I couldn't imagine the poor guy you are marrying..... He'll be an alcoholic in 1 year....

*

this is a joke right?

You betcha. Thanks to all for helping with the punchline.

# # #

And there you you have it. Clearly I've been playing it way too safe the first four years.

Choose Your Own Blogventure

2008-08-01T08:00:00.002-04:00

Welcome to the Choose Your Own Blogventure! You got here because you chose: The worm put down the hose and let the Steward do his thing at The Daily Tannenbaum. If you'd like to start at the beginning of the story, go here!

Dirt opened his mouth, letting the hose drop to the ground with a thud. He watched the hose retract into the wall, as if it didn’t want to be in the room when the Steward’s magical powers took over either.

Dirt looked on anxiously as the Steward prepped the orb for reincarnation. Here he had almost eliminated two of those infernal Sapieods when along came a Steward to wipe out his progress. Dirt and his fellow worm-ates collected Sapeoid stardust to power their homes and businesses. It wasn’t their fault that Sapeoids one weakness was affection. In fact, worm-ates primary economy was manufacturing the alcoholic beverage Power Past to Sapeoids. The rest, as worms were wont to say, was magic.

Dirt knew that every minute counted if the Steward was to bring the Sapeoid’s life force back to full power. Already the orb had lost some of its radiance, and if the orb died Dirt knew he’d be next.

The Steward placed both his hands on the sides of the orb, palms secure, and wiggled his fingers back and forth, slowly, methodically. The orb changed color to his touch, alternating from blue to green, to fuchsia to red. His fingers spend up as the colors changed and slowly his arms began to shake, the shaking moving up his body toward his shoulders. All around dirt the stardust began hopping up and down, causing electric sparks each time they hit the floor.

Dirt drew in his breath at the beauty and blinked his eyes as the orb intensified and the stardust leaped higher and higher. The Steward’s entire body was now shaking and the room seemed filled with hopping, bouncing electric bursts of stardust.

Suddenly was blinded by a burst of sparks. A violent scream ripped through Dirt’s closed eyes followed by a deep thud. Dirt had witnessed reincarnations before but nothing quite like this. Something had gone very wrong. He opened his eyes to see the body slumped against the wall across the room in complete exhaustion.

Dirt looked back to the middle of the room where where Xinni and Boone were rousing themselves. Dirt watched, unmoving. They looked around the room unaware of each other still; it was Xinni who noticed first. She tried to prop herself up from the lying down position, only to fall right back over. Looking down, she took in her new, bright blue body. She gasped when she saw Boone’s new form, capped off by the same tuft of shocking teal hair.

Dirt cleared his throat, and Xinni and Boone saw him in the room for the first time. He nodded and inched over. No sense in mourning the past; best to get these two into the Power Paste factory as soon as possible.