Miss Blogworthy

PATIENCE AND THE FREELANCER

2012-02-15T22:00:00.004-08:00

Like most careers, a freelance writing gig has its highs and lows. One of the biggest highs is working with many different clients. One of the biggest lows is chasing paychecks from all those different clients. Besides, putting a wrench in the budget, it just feels crappy to not get paid for work done well and on time.

Thankfully, chasing down clients doesn't happen often. Usually I see payment within 30 days. Sometimes up to 60. Only once before, did it seem to take more than 3 months, but that company was reorganizing and I did believe that no one was in charge. And now there's this...

Hey, look at me! I look like I am begging for... um...maybe a paycheck I invoiced 120+ days ago.

It was Day 107 when I started writing this post. And then I hesitated. Maybe it's not the right thing to do, plus I had that idealistic "oh, it'll probably come tomorrow" recording playing in my head.

On February 13th, approximately Day 120, I thought, "Hey it's been 4 months since I sent that invoice." I've been waiting an entire season for a paycheck. In other terms, I have been waiting the time it takes a baby to start solid foods. I got pissed, and resurrected the post.

I tapped on a few keys, then hesitated again. I wrote to the woman who hired me. Mortified that I was still waiting to be paid, she told me that some checks went out on Friday, and that maybe mine was with that bunch. Our fingers were crossed.

Then came Valentine's Day -- a day of love and perhaps...a paycheck! The only exciting thing in my mailbox, however, was a tiny lizard which scared the shit out of me. When I spotted it stationed on the last envelope, nearly white and trying so hard not to be seen, I screeched and threw all the mail in the air. As I collected the letters off the grass, a really cute Wheaton came over to sniff me and say "hello." That was nice, but the absence of a check was not.

{Confession: I did not sign a contract with this company.}

The freelance gods are frowning upon me; I performed emergency proofreading duties in good faith. I know. I know -- a stupid move which actually sometimes makes me think this massive delay is somehow my fault. I hate that that thought actually crosses my mind.

A good friend tells me his sister did a job for the same company, and that they took forever to pay. "But they paid!" he says, attempting to assuage me. I know this is supposed to make me feel better.... kind of like the forgotten 50 you find in a pair of jeans you haven't worn in a very long time.

I don't want to sound like an ungrateful, whiny freelance writer -- and if you know me personally you know that I am so NOT a WFW, but in the event that I am coming off like one, I shall turn this negative situation into something positive starting....now!

Let's play...

"GUESS THE NAME OF
THE VERY, VERY SLOW PAYER"

Just leave your answer in the comment section of this blog. If you are correct and the first one to be so (but you may not be a good friend to whom I may have already griped), you'll receive an autographed copy of a "The Colorful Counting Book," a short paperback kids book that I made ~~a little too hastily~~ on Lulu. But it's the thought that counts, right? And it is kind of cute. Oh, I am eager to see the names you come up with, and I do hope you'll play.

(o.k.- I'm really sorry that the prize is not a cool purse, or a spa service or anything of greater value, but remember, I haven't been paid -- and actually it is kind of cool especially if you have a kid or know a kid that is at the age of learning colors and numbers.)

It is February 15th, and still no check. Maybe tomorrow or the next day or the next or the next or maybe the next.............

10 Lingering Thoughts about The Atlanta Gift Show

2012-01-16T19:05:00.000-08:00

EYE-CONIC: "See it All" was the 2012's Winter Gift Show's theme.

Just back from the Atlanta Gift Show, here are 10 lingering thoughts...

1. THE SEMINARS ROCKED


I went to hear interior designers Nathan Turner and the delightfully sassy Mary McDonald talk about elements of style and I also attended a seminar led by a stylish panel of astute social media-ites including: (above, front to back) DwellStudio's Christiane Lemieux, Habitually Chic's Heather Clawson, and Apartment Therapy's Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan. Maxwell said that titles such as "Top 5" and "Best of" work great with blogs -- hence!!! That's my friend Nick Bewsey from Blue Raccoon on the right.

2. "NO SMOKING" SIGNS ARE PURELY DECORATIVE


From the smoky smell of the stairwells, I gather that smokers either do not read signs or that the frustrating elevator situation leaves them no choice.

3. MY VOTE FOR BEST-IN-SHOW FOOD


I was most impressed by Go Home's giant wheel of Parmesan rolled out at the lunch hour. I didn't think I could manage a glass of red at 1:30, but I could!

4. PEOPLE-WATCHING/MEETING IS AS FUN AS PRODUCT SCOUTING

Spotting fashion, good and not so much has become my favorite Gift Show pasttime. I loved this scarf/sweater combo worn by Laura at Lacefield Designs.

5. LOVE THE FREE TOTE BAGS

These happy sacks, acquired at the gift show, will make me the Eco-Belle of Publix.

6. GRATEFUL FOR COMPLIMENTARY CAPPUCCINO IN HIGH DESIGN

(sketch provided)

7. TECHNICAL CHALLENGES PREVENT CONNECTING


I guess AmericasMart is just a super solid building cause it seemed that my efforts to tweet were thwarted often.

8. 1 IN 5 WOMEN CARRIES VERA BRADLEY


I made up that statistic because Vera Bradley bags seem to be everywhere. I almost said "1 in 4."

9. ORANGE!!!

It's nice to feel relevant. Orange, deep turquoise, and green pear were the prevalent pops. (BSC upholstery and Oomph tables featured from J Douglas)

10. I AM STILL CONTEMPLATING A TATTOO

Beautiful, perfectly placed, and quite inspiring: new tats on Deanne from Design Legacy.

Naming Names

2012-01-04T21:16:00.000-08:00

image from here

Choosing names can be a difficult task because a name is something that sticks for a very long time. From babies to businesses, from pets to domain names. Screen names, user names, blog names, book characters. Names lend distinction. People name boats and estates, even shacks. Women get married and add onto their original, then often wish they never had.

Names last but they are not static. They are susceptible to trends and social influence, falling in and out of favor with the times, celebrities, criminals, world events, even elections. At some point, everyone wants to be called something different. Just last night, my daughter said she wanted to be named Erica. This is not the first time she's offered an alternative. She's 10 and it won't be the last.

I put a lot of thought into naming my kids. Following in the Jewish tradition, we designated letters, chosen in memory of our grandmothers, to begin the search. I didn't go to the baby-naming books, but rather, as any magazine editor would do, browsedmastheads. I tested each possibility out loud. I whispered it like I might at bed time. Shouted it like I might at a playground. Spoke the names sternly and softly. I did not want to stick my kids with names that would be frequently misspelled or mispronounced. My husband gave his opinion too. In the end, our two girls were given gender neutral names. First came Dylan Rose, then Sammi (long for Sam) Bea. I can't really imagine our girls being called anything but what they are.

The son I never had would have been named Ziggy. When my kids hear this, they are grateful they are girls. I fell in major like with "Ziggy." It conjured up images of a happy-go-lucky bright boy with corkscrew curly hair and a wild side. I imagined he'd grow up to be a doctor, perhaps a pediatrician, and the kids would all clamor after him. "Dr. Ziggy, Dr. Ziggy," they would chant endearingly. The caring doctor with boyish good looks and an untamed head of hair would be well-loved. That is the name I chose for the boy I never had, and I may recycle it someday for the dog I hope to have. Please use it if you like!

Did you ever come up with a great name that you couldn't use? Share it.

Good Reads for a Healthy, Happy, and Prosperous New Year

2011-12-27T18:33:00.000-08:00

January is National Cervical Health Awareness Month and to celebrate the New Year, the health of my cervix and hopefully yours, I wanted to shine a light on three inspiring women authors -- Jennifer Grace Safina, Jacqueline Whitmore and Michelle Whitlock -- who I have met thanks to my cervix.

At one point in time, the four of us were all present at the National Cervical Cancer Coalition's annual conference.

This photo was from the National Cervical Cancer Coalition Conference 2009 in Los Angeles. I am in the back row, far right; Jennifer Grace is beside me. Jacqueline Whitmore is in the red dress, far right middle row. Michelle Whitlock is here too, but the photo is too small for me to point her out

* * *

Jennifer Grace Safina and I met five years ago in a classroom. We became fast friends and worked on a cervical cancer awareness campaign together. Jennifer Grace has since become an "executive dream producer." She leads motivational seminars and soulful retreats all over the world, for individuals and businesses, in person and on-line, and she was just chosen to be a Hay House author and radio personality. Her book "Directing Your Destiny" will be published in the near future. Here's Jennifer Grace as she appeared on "The Balancing Act" last month.

Jacqueline Whitmore and I met at the National Cervical Cancer Coalition conference in 2008. Jacqueline, a renowned expert on business protocol, was a guest speaker at the conference, and she shared her own story about surviving cervical cancer. I was moved by her candor and presentation, and we continued a friendship beyond the conference. Recently I was invited to her beautiful home to celebrate the publication of her second book, "Poised for Success: Mastering the Four Qualities that Distinguish Outstanding Professionals."

Michelle Whitlock was at that conference too, and she shared her dramatic story about survival. Michelle's passion for life is contagious, and I was happy to learn, after reading a sample chapter a few years back, that her book "How I Lost My Uterus and Found My Voice: A Memoir of Love, Hope & Empowerment" is now published.

Jennifer Grace, Jacqueline and Michelle are each interested in sharing wisdom, techniques, and information that can lead to a life of physical health and spiritual well-being. Something to think about as the new year quietly rolls in.

This blog is dedicated to the memory of a friend, Jeanne Bice, an incredible business woman and funny writer, who beyond building a QVC fashion empire, used words to motivate others and to "Pull Yourself Up by Your Bra Straps."

For more information about Cervical Health Awareness month, click here.

ELVES: Take the "S" Out of Selves

2011-11-19T19:35:00.001-08:00

Francesca (left) and Sammi were on stocking duty.

Last weekend my children totally got the meaning of the classic adage: "It's better to give then to receive." While I have learned that there's also great merit to receiving, as a mother who tries to teach compassion to her kids, it is a really good thing when a child can experience the spirit of giving firsthand rather than just be told about its benefits.

Renee gathered all the fixins...

and hung the stockings with care.

We brought some holiday cheer into the home of a family-in-need. Guided by our friends who did all the planning and purchasing, we entered the family's home like a band of elves. This act of kindness actually began some time ago when the family, whose oldest daughter Deana was diagnosed with leukemia, applied for aid from the Arielle Anacker Cancer Foundation. The Foundation, created by my friend Diane Trivelli in memory of her daughter Arielle who, at the age of 11, lost a 3-year battle with Ewing's Sarcoma, has been helping in many ways to ease the financial strain put upon the family.

Renee, friend to me and Diane, was touched by the family's plight, and wanted to also help. She raised money to buy a kitchen table, new Christmas decorations, and individual presents for the family members. Her daughter Francesca used her own savings to buy a welcome mat for the front door.

We worked like elves for 2 hours. We put a crisp red cloth on top of the table, put up the tree, flung some tinsel around, and hung a wreath on the front door. The girls personalized felt stockings with glitter glue. We all signed a holiday card to the family and Diane made out a special one to Deana in celebration of her last chemo treatment. And then we waited to surprise them.

A new place to gather 'round.

Well, not all of us waited. Dylan and I unfortunately couldn't stay, but Sammi stayed as the Dagmi rep. She reported that the homecoming was "sad and beautiful" and that everyone hugged, and that the mom and oldest daughter were crying happy tears. They loved the kitchen table and kept touching it. "You should have been there," she said. "It was awesome!"

CURATOR (otherwise called: WHEN YOUR STORY DOESN'T GET PUBLISHED, BLOG IT)

2011-11-12T15:09:00.001-08:00

~~CURATOR~~

This story on CURATOR was originally slated for EAST magazine. After I submitted the story, however, the publishers decided not to run it. On a scale of 1-10, my disappointment was a 10.

I interviewed Dave Hall from Moto Art for a Bob Vila story and when he saw that I lived in Ft. Lauderdale, invited me to CURATOR as his guest. I hadn't heard of the event and thought it sounded like a fun one to cover. I pitched the idea to EAST and they said "Go."

Had I not been "working" the event, I may have gone as the guest I had been invited to be, and I could have experienced the evening without the baggage of cameras, notebook and pen and without the pressure of getting the shot. And, I actually may have eaten some food and had a drink.

But c'est la publishing vie, and I did leave with some nice swag compliments of New Beauty.

Thank you Matthew. Along with a delicious scent, you made my night!

New Beauty Swag

Souvenirs included my very own fragrance from Memoire Liquide, personally blended right before my very eyes by scent genius Matthew Aguilar from New Beauty at Fred Segal, as well as a bunch of random beauty products.

Here is a revised photo essay:

CURATOR

Curator: an evening of flight, fantasy, fast cars, and fun.

Fiction created a swanky setting that included wonderful characters.

One thousand forty nine miles south of the publishing metropolis is a growing media company gracefully gathering magazines and entertainment companies under the sun. Sandow Media, now a decade young, known for thick slick glossy mags like Luxe, New Beauty and Worth, is now putting some focus on treating its audience to experiential luxury events such as CURATOR.

Sponsors first:

(l to r) David J.Archibald, President, Rolls-Royce Motor Cars NA, LLC; Ronald B. Laconi,President, Chartis Private Client Group; Andrea Bezark, VP MarketingCommunications, Chartis Private Client Group; and

James N. Dimonekas, Executive VP, Group Publisher, SandowMedia.

CURATOR, Presented by WORTH magazine and Chartis Private Insurance, and held on the grounds of Sheltair in Ft. Lauderdale, was a platform for exclusive exhibitors to target a luxury-seeking quality-demanding public.

The red dress makes (and the woman wearing it) the shot.

At 5'9" plus 3" heels, I found it hard to slink into the Lamborhini Adventador.

As late afternoon turned to evening, dramatic lights lit up the tarmac, and guests climbed into planes, slunk down into sports cars, and washed down BurgerFi fare with fruity vodka drinks.

Though the Occupy Wall Street movement was protesting nearby at the Boat Show, the decadent mood at CURATOR, was enjoyed free of guilt.

Compliments of Chartis, photographers Thomas Daniel ofSplashlight and Maicol Diaz of Unique Photography & Design, snapped crispblack and white portraits of guests all night long.

L.A. designer and wardrobearchitect David August (left) siftedthrough swatches with clients

Mia Foley (left)and Lorena Arbelaez model DeWitt timepieces as....

guests, each handed a key upon check-in, tried to unlock the box holding a $26,000 DeWitt Twenty-8-Eight Regulator A.S.W. Horizons.

Inside a top-of-the-line Hawker 4000 that smelled so leathery good: Hawker Beechcraft demopilot Dan Raffaelli (left) andVicente Miralles, Sales Consultant with Avia Service.

A Wynn-win situation with Larry Altschul, Executive VP ofPlayer Development at WYNN ENCORE in Vegas, and friends Teahnna Suriano andJacqueline Bicknell who flew in from LA.

The Moto Art group: David Hall (right) with sales execs Melissa Pelligrini and Mike Rudden, anda few recycled airplane creations, including 2 fuselage partitions, a propellersculpture, and desk from the private collection of Sandow Media CEO Adam Sandow.

I loved this computer animated artwork by Julian Opie called "Susanna Walking Forward". Click here to see her walk forward.

* * *

A School Assignment I Didn't Like

2011-11-07T21:17:00.000-08:00

I think I might be channeling the curmudgeony spirit of Andy Rooney. It's a phase, and I'll be back to my happy-go-lucky self in no time. But while I'm feeling particularly disappointed today by a homework assignment, I thought, "Why not blog about it?"

Sammi and the entire fifth grade class is preparing to spend a day at Biz Town next week. Biz Town is a very cool local interactive exhibit where kids get to act out business and job-related roles. Sammi and her friends are totally psyched about this field trip, and in preparation, the class is learning about jobs, taxes, and expenses, and economics-lite. The kids have special homework assignments that digress from the usual. Today's assignment was to watch television, find 8 good commercials and write the reason why you like them. The class had discussed some of the properties that constitute a good ad.

Sammi started watching TV at 6:30 and by 9:00 had managed to write down 7 examples that were likeable. Besides the ad for a cellphone with a 3D camera, it was hard for her to articulate why she actually liked the ads. She liked the Hershey ad because she loves chocolate, and the pizza ad pleased her in the same way. Perhaps she was used to clicking the "like" button on Facebook -- an easy to express opinion that requires no comment.

Early on in her assignment, I asked, "Can you write down commercials that you do not like and explain why?" "No," she told me pointing to the form that provided a 3 1/2" L x 1/2" H "like" space for writing her reason. I said, "But I bet you could as long as you explain yourself." She didn't agree.

I took a shower, and found myself getting more pissed at the assignment. Was I over-reacting or was it narrow-minded to only ask kids why they liked ads? It wasn't like it was even the Superbowl or Oscars. As the holidays approach with ads for all the things we fake need, I would be much more interested in tapping into a healthy dose of budding skepticism.

Leave your Worries on the Mat

2011-10-17T15:29:00.000-07:00

When I became a first-time mom in 1996, I started looking atdirt differently. For me, motherhood happened to coincide with the purchase ofan expensive wool off-white carpet, but I assure you, my preoccupation withkeeping a clean, germ-free house was more about the baby than the Karastan. Forthe last 15 years, my family and our guests have been kicking all shoes off atthe front door.

We started with one shoe basket. Then we had two. We couldhave had three, even four. It didn’t matter. The shoes piled up and spread out.My entry hall looked like crap. It may have smelled a little like that too – noone complained but I was always self-conscious. Not to mention that mygrandmother’s beautiful antique oriental rug, which had served dutifully as ourwelcome mat, had worn thin from too much sole-rubbing friction.

In an effort to save an heirloom, correct a decoratingeyesore, and stave off germs, I bought TheMagik Mat. I saw a demonstration one morning on The Balancing Act and thought this might just be a simple, chemical-free, part-timesolution to shoe cooties and footwear management. The Magik Mat may not be the most fashion forward mat,but the neutral pattern – somewhere between an organic design and animal print– is totally livable and less of a “decorating don’t” than pre-existing ShoeMountain. It actually looks fine layered on top of granny’s old rug.

I am hoping this mat does what it professes. Germs aremicroscopic so it’s hard to tell. Forever the skeptic, I would like to conducta comparison test to see if there is indeed a reduction of germy residuebrought into our home. But until then, I can tell you that there is ameasurable reduction of mess in the entry of our home and that the “better” rugis finally protected. Instead of leaving shoes at the door, we now wipe our shoeson the damp Magik Mat, and then walk right on in through the house, and depositshoes into their respective closets. And that’s certainly a step in the rightdirection!

STITCH ROCK: Tis the Season for Beguiling StitchCraft

2011-10-01T20:36:00.000-07:00

Stitch Rock. My first. I have a habit of going away in early October, so I have always missed it. Stitch Rock is 5 years old, and is Delray Beach's cool Indie hand made bazaar topped off with kick-ass secondhand clothing, vintage wares, and fab people watching. By not going these last 4 years, I figure I have saved about $400.

In other words...I spent about $100 today. My loot included an Odille (that Anthropologie brand) copper-colored silk skirt with crochet hem ($20), and then a felt bracelet ($18), a feather hair decoration ($20), a few pins ($10), and 3 duct tape wallets for gifts ($45). All but the skirt are gifts.

Here are a few of my favorite things :

Unicorn Chicks and Dear Deer Trophies made by Sara at Stitch Whimsy

Vintage from Moderna Muerte soon opening on Dixie in West Palm Beach

glass dish garden stakes made by Jennifer at Smash Art Studio

lace doily pillows from Betsy Bell

Melodie from SnipTease is snipping some sass into a friend's tee.

Wear what you sell:
Karlee's rocking some of her feather hair ornaments and jewelry

and

Brenda from HumbleBumbleb sporting a pillbox

wallets from Treasured Tape

and colorful crochet afghans that i love collecting.

RECOMMENDED FIRE SAFETY FOR MULTI-TASKERS

2011-09-05T18:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I steamed corn... or rather smoked it. I put a 1/2 inch of water in the pot, placed two ears on the steamer basket, and turned the stove on. Then I started working on a collage.And totally forgot about the corn.

Forty minutes later when I detected the faint smell of smoke, I blurted, "Oh shit, the corn!" and ran to the kitchen. The pot was badly charred, but the corn, had a grilled flavor, and was surprisingly tasty. I was lucky on both accounts.

Because I tend to start several projects at once, I normally set the microwave timer when I am cooking. That way even when I get caught up in something else, the ding reminds me to come back to the kitchen. Using a timer, I have found, keeps me and my family out of harm.

Last night, i forgot to set the timer. Today I spent $35 on a new pot.

REFLECTING: BRANDS HOOKING UP

2011-09-01T06:50:00.000-07:00

et me preface this blog by saying that I am not an advertising, licensing, or entertainment industry insider or expert. Rather, I am a casual observer of popular culture who takes an interest in marketing and branding. Now more than ever, disparate or formerly competitive brands are hooking up all over the place and these dalliances seem to be successful.

Mergers are nothing new. But merging without being acquired, merging of equals or merging without the slightly smaller guy forfeiting identity – well that seems fresh. There’s a good message in creative collaboration, and perhaps sharing the spotlight, rather than hogging it, is the ticket to economic survival, at least for now.

Here are three successful instances of brands hooking up:

Performing artists are brands and in the music biz, I never thought that tough boys Eminem and Royce da 5’9” of Bad Meets Evil would hook up with Bruno Mars, a singer with a beautiful voice and a frequent pompadour. I mean Bruno Mars croons la-la-la and the other two rap from a harder harsher place. And yet when "Lighters” comes on, I am mesmerized, sucked into the lyrics and the chorus. The parting shot in the video gives me chills. It’s an incredible symphony of styles. It works beautifully.

The same thing for this week’s airings of NBC’s The Nate Berkus Show and HGTV’s “Design Star.” I was a bit surprised – and happily so -- when Nate was the special guest of “Design Star” and the competing “Design Star” designers debuted on “Nate.” Since both shows share viewers but not time slots, this was no doubt an audience and advertising booster win-win for all. Like a pinch of salt, Nate Berkus is an enhancer.

And then turning to the magazine biz, when back in April, the innovative on-line design magazine Lonny gifted half of its web chic-ness to Traditional Home when the two launched TradHome. While so many magazines are struggling for ad pages, this 347-page collaborative launch was so optimistic. Perhaps if more magazines had a merge mentality, less would have fallen by the wayside. It’s probably better to have a little less pie than to have no pie at all.

There are obviously many more instances of brands hooking up. What do you think are some good examples? Not so good ones?

Is Social Media Truly Social?

2011-08-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

That's the question I kept asking myself a few weeks back when I participated in the Capture the Catalog social media scavenger hunt at Ikea Sunrise. Co-produced by Ikea and Exposed P.R., it was a first of its kind event and the goal was to generate buzz about the 2012 catalog.

The goal was met, and in 4 hours our unique Twitter hashtags combined reached 700,432 people with over 8 1/2 million impressions. The fun we had spread like virtual wildfire as we begged our Twitter followers to RT. The classic Faberge shampoo commercial philosophy -- "...and they told two friends, and so on, and so on..." -- really does work!

But this social media event wasn't very social in the traditional sense. Save for the always warm and welcoming Ikea staff, I had very little authentic human connection outside of my team. I took a stroll around the room seeking some eye contact, but got very little as team members stared down focused on their phones, tablets, and laptops.

I am not an extrovert nor am I shy. I like knowing people and craved human engagement beyond my own team. I had a brief interlude with a member of The Pancake Movement team who basically rebuilt our wonkily constructed FILLSTA lamp. I also had brief dialogue with a woman on either The Vixen or SuperMom team. "What color is your lucky underwear?" I asked. Yeah, maybe that sounds weird, but just hours ago she had tweeted that she was wearing her lucky undies. So she put it out there, and I, being a curious gal with an interest in lingerie, simply followed it up. If I remember correctly, she smiled and answered, "Pink!"

Just because it wasn't a highly social affair, doesn't mean it wasn't fun to run around Ikea after hours making beds, building lamps, and stuffing down meatballs. My fabulous team (cheerleaders included), assembled last-minute by a combination of begging, bribing, and default, included an interior designer, a media marketing coordinator, and four kids. Though we may be a well-rounded bunch who use social media regularly, we are not super-tweeters, and we had no formal strategy save for "it doesn't matter if you win or lose".

(fast forward 2 weeks)

I was invited to participate in a flash mob at Ikea. I declined but the video makes me smile a lot!. Check it out.

WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON HERE? The Naked Piano Player in Venfield's Sputnik Chandelier Ad

2011-07-31T18:00:00.000-07:00

At a quick glance, I saw the fabulous Sputnik chandelier in a posh room. But then, my eye wandered over the page, and located the naked piano player. "Oh my!" I thought -- not out of prudishness, but more out of the ad's audacious blend of home decor and sexuality.

This ad inspired me to start a regular Miss Blogworthy feature which I shall call:
"WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON HERE?"
In this feature, I'll state my side of the story and I encourage any readers to share theirs. I think this could be fun. So... here goes it.

SPUTNIK SERENADE

This beautiful apartment belongs to Sergio and Paola. Sergio, in white shirt, is pouring his lovely wife her first glass of Dom Perignon. Their two children (pictured on the piano) are off spending the summer in Lugano with their grandparents, and Paolo and Sergio are toasting to a season of delicious debauchery.

They have invited a few friends over to play "Strip Name That Tune." The naked piano player, an outgoing Prada salesman by day, has already demonstrated the outcome of guessing incorrectly.

Judith,(far left), Paola's aesthetician, is game but somewhat shy. "Is it possible to dim the lights on the chandelier?" she asks with a slightly nervous laugh.

"With this chandelier, everything is possible!" replies Paola with a smile.

NOMANCE: relationSHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT

2011-06-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

I do not pretend to be a couples therapist or anything approximate, but from time to time I think I can look at the topic of relationships with a discerning a (if it's not mine) or at least amusing eye. I may gain some clarity on this subject at a long stop light, spying on other people, or over a few glasses of wine. My astuteness comes to me unexpectedly.

Like this evening.

There I was listening to Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight." A classic bittersweet love song. A song that takes me back to my teens and to my best friend who shared this song with the boy who took her virginity. There I was alone in my car, duet-ing it with Bob. I can't sing for shit, and am notorious for not singing publicly. That is a good thing for the world.

And I thought, "I love this song!" I love Bob Seger's strained, gruff voice. I love the feeling of desire and the acceptance for what it is -- tonight, no promises, just be present, that I want you tonight kind of thing.

Then I thought about a friend of mine, an intimate friend with whom the seas have been rough lately...and I thought, "He would hate the basic premise of this song."

My thought process continued.

Perhaps, on the first date or so, dating people should come clean and divulge favorite songs, favorite movies and also, since the home environment is important to me, pages torn from home design magazines. I mean if my mate hands me his dream house with shiny black leather reclining sofas and a giant TV in an oak wall unit...I may just have to step away.

And this all leads me to wonder where the line is between media-generated romantic fantasy and real life want. We relate to songs not only for the rhythm and voice, but because the words stir deeper emotions attached to a fantasy, a precept, a need, an attitude. Does what turns us on in the world of entertainment set an expectation for our real life relationships?

I'm just in that wondering kind of mood.

BARBIE REFLECTS (not) ON SUNSCREEN

2011-06-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday was the first stiflingly hot day of our Florida summer and all of the news channels, quite befittingly, were reporting on sunscreen. On that day, I ventured down to Miami's 125th antique strip, and in a sunny twist of fate, shop owner/designer Marc Corbin gifted me with David Parise's fab photo of Barbie and her playmates tanning rather irresponsibly on South Beach.

To celebrate Marc's lovely gesture and my new awesome photo, I shall share some random sunscreen info, garnered from NPR, that I scribbled down at red lights on my drive home from Miami.

1. There is no such thing as waterproof sunscreen. Instead, look for "water-resistant" sunscreen.

2. Sunscreen needs to be applied liberally and reapplied every two hours.

3. the vote's not in on the effectiveness of spray-on sunscreens vs. lotions - and there are unknowns as well about the potential hazard of inhalation from sprays

4. people of color are more naturally protected from harmful rays but they should still wear sunscreen.

5. 50 SPF is the max anyone needs.

And one last shot from Marc's store.

MARC CORBIN INC.
875 NE 125TH STR.
N. MIAMI, FL 33161
(305) 899-2509
marcorbin@earthlink.net

Wishing Safety from Whirling Dervishes and other Natural Disasters

2011-05-25T11:07:00.000-07:00

My friend just texted me and told me she's hiding out in her basement. She lives in Kansas City and a tornado threatens yet again. I am worried for her, yet thankful for cellars right now.

I have friends all over the country -- many in tornado alley. In particular, I am thinking of some dear ones in Missouri, New Orleans, Oklahoma, Alabama and Tennessee. I listen to the news and I see their faces. The violent weather that is either destroying or threatening their daily lives is beyond crazy. I wish I had a special power to stop it.

I wonder where the safest place on earth is. Or rather, is there such a place? I'm talking natural disaster rather than crime. A few years back a Forbes article ranked Hawaii among the safest places to live, with Santa Fe and Boise, Idaho close behind.

When I moved to Florida in 2002, I didn't think about weather systems. Hurricanes were not on my mental radar. In September 2004, however, after surviving Frances, but thinking we might not, I was obsessed with them.

With one week till the official launch of hurricane season, I am not raiding the shelves for water and canned goods quite yet. My preparedness style is to pick up a few things here and there. I don't want to get stuck in a panic like I did in 2004. I promise to keep 4 spare gallons of water, a dozen "c" batteries, and to keep my gas tank at least half full.

From my house to yours, wishing you safely through....................

To Sag or Not to Sag

2011-05-09T11:08:00.000-07:00

I have always had a small butt. Even when I belt my pants, there is a good chance that throughout the day, they will slip down a little bit here and a little bit there. When I was in middle school, my friend Ike would grab my belt loops and pull up my jeans.

At 47, this problem still exists. I, along with my two daughters, patrol my waistline. I do not flash my underwear purposely, but I know that many people do.

As an underwear admirer and liberal thinker, I am not anti-sag, but I do think saggy pants are inappropriate in certain settings such as school. Seeing a guy with serious sag out on the street actually makes me laugh. As one who likes color and pattern, I also find that colorful drawers can add interest to a pair of jeans. As long as I don't see what's under the briefs, I'm good.

I was reading "Pants No Longer on the Ground." In a nutshell, this article addresses a new school dress code that prohibits indecent or vulgar exposure of body parts and underwear.

I smiled at Domingo's comment, because beyond his typos and lack of apostrophes I could sense his passion:

ITS ABOUT TIME THAT SOMEONE TOOK A STAND ABOUT THE PROBLEM OF PEOPLE WEARING THERE PANTS AND SHOWING THERE UNDERWARES IN PUBLIC AND IN ANY WHERE I THINK IT COMES DOWN TO THE PARENTS DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT IT SHOULD START AT HOME ITS NOT THE GOVERMENTS JOB TO LOOK OUT FOR WHAT THE KIDS ARE DOING AND THE WAY THEY DRESS I THINK ITS SICK THE WAY THAT TOMORROWS KIDS ARE WALKING DOWN THE STREETS AND WHAT THEY ARE WEARING I HAVE TWO BOYS AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE THEN WEARING THERE PANTS DOWN AND SHOWING THERE UNDER WARES AT ANY TIME THATS ALL I HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT.

My only question, "Who are tomorrow's kids?"

In Memory: Sharron Lewis

2011-03-24T20:02:00.000-07:00

I emailed my friend, Sharron Lewis, after the New Zealand earthquake. She was born there and I wanted to find out if her family was OK. She didn't respond.

Several weeks later, when I wanted to interview her for a story, I emailed her again. Once again, Sharron didn't respond. Yesterday I called her shop down in the Design District. "IS Sharron around?" I asked. There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. Sharron, an associate sadly revealed, had died on the 17th.

I first met Sharron Lewis when she managed Wolfman Gold in NYC. She was tall, thin, wore simple chic clothes, and had a bright blond rocker hair. She was nice, but quite reserved, and her cool and stylish confidence intimidated me.

Several years later we connected while hanging out at a furniture market soiree. I noticed her strength and I also detected her vulnerability. Our friendship took root.

Sharron eventually made her way down to Miami. I had the good fortune of shooting her first Miami Beach condo for Country Living. With its billowing sheers and pale wood floors painted the subtlest blue imaginable, it was so light and air and I fantasized about living there. I can still see Sharron, in a blue and white sarong and soft linen shirt, plating stone crab claws on a huge ironstone serving dish. It was fun. We bonded.

Sharron's design career was on a permanent incline. She evolved from a designer to a brand. White was a constant theme. Chippy flea market cupboards were replaced by lacquered chests. Quirky vintage beds turned into unpredictably scaled sexy upholstered headboards. Her signature look evolved. The Sagamore Hotel is one big testament to her talent.

Though her style seemed effortless, Sharron worked hard. I was so happy for her when she met the love of her life, Jihad. Together they created much beauty and comfort in the world.

Sharron and I were not close in the sense of frequent phone calls, but we liked and admired one another deeply, and twice a year when we did get together we always parted saying, "We have to do this more often." And now it's just too late.

SETTING RECORDS AND TABLES

2011-02-08T12:00:00.000-08:00

My parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last month. As the almost-always-good non-confrontational child, I never thought their marriage would last beyond my sister's rebellious boundary testing years. But it miraculously did and we marked the occasion with a festive photo-taking Facebook uploading family gathering.

I may not have been hugely successful in marriage, but I commend those who stick it out, enjoy it, and even figure out how to make it stronger. I also commend people, like Christopher Jagmin (above, pictured kind of), who figure out how to keep the bridal market fresh.

Check out Christopher's very cool customizable plates that will not only be the delight of your dinner party, but can be the solution to one's wedding party favors. Use at the rehearsal dinner, have caterer wash and put in gift bags, and then give them out as souvenirs or gifts. Though much of his line is spanking new, Christopher collects one-of-a-kind plates from the flea market and gives these "unloved" plates a second life.

Christopher's graphic work goes beyond bridal. It can commemorate a birth or bar mitzvah, or even...get this... your everyday life and desire for well-designed goods!

I met Christopher for the first time this January at the Atlanta Gift Show. He is clever, talented and quite tall. His blog is also amusing.

Crumby Marketing or Salty Wit?

2011-01-26T19:09:00.000-08:00

AirTran serves gourmet pretzels that taste and look exactly like regular pretzels. And on the blue foil pretzel bag they have squeezed in some lighthearted marketing.

The tone is meant to be humorous, but my response was more of a phony "ha ha" then a sincere appreciative chuckle. Was I just too exhausted from the Atlanta gift show to see the good humor? Am I jaded and hard to please? Or does their ploy just miss the mark. Please help me figure out if I am a savvy judge or a whiny bitch.

Rozelle's Linen Legacy

2011-01-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

It was another long day at the Atlanta Gift Show. I think I have seen enough for one day. My back-up camera's battery is about to die. I am considering skipping the last two aisles.

The trade show tyrant in me awakens, and uses guilt to keep me on track. "You are here to cover the show. You haven't been here in a year and a half. I can't believe you are thinking of going back to the hotel and reading a book!!" The triumphant tyrant walks all the way to the end of Aisle J on Floor 8. There I discover a new company that makes me very very happy in a bittersweet way.

Sisters Gay (left) and Dinah started Shades of Grey when they bought out the remaining inventory of luscious linen from David Lentjes. David's wife, Rozelle Lentjes, an amazing designer who passes away from esophageal cancer 2 years ago.

Gay, a Birmingham-based designer and Dinah, a Nashville mom with great taste, already owned plenty of Rozelle's pillows. They were fans who are continuing her linen legacy.

This was a wonderful way to end my day.

Let's make like eggs and scramble!

2011-01-20T07:09:00.000-08:00

I have one more day with my beautiful sister. Therefore, I don't want to sit at my computer and work. My mind isn't on writing, it's on being out and about and talking with sis. We can never get enough time. We are going to the beach. It is a warm sunny day in Florida, and she needs to go back to Seattle with a hint of tan. So we are off and running after breakfast. She made her signature dish: scrambled eggs with salsa and feta over toast.

Simply FONTastic

2011-01-17T20:21:00.000-08:00

For me, letters spell "h a p p i n e s s." Here are a few joy spreaders from the Atlanta Gift Market.

Tee hee hee...I see "SeX" in Design Ideas' display

I left my mark in the Vagabond Vintage showroom.

A friendly and welcoming display at Eastern Accents' Studio 773 exhibit

Guests who sleep on your sofa can now put French Laundry's throw pillows back on in order.

Last year the boss gave personalized mugs to the secretary pool. This year it'll be these colorful pots from Peddlers Home Design. Great for holding pens, clips, and the afternoon candy fix.

This fab rug was in the Assouline booth.

Fred Grandy cuts these letters by hand. His favorite one to make is Q.

Don't Look Dead

2011-01-16T22:10:00.000-08:00

This is what happens.

I am inspired.
I feel the urge to write.
Words pop into my head.
Sentences start to form.
I mentally compose a great introduction.
Then I do my laundry and clean the house.
Another great idea sabotaged, drowned, suffocated in layers of bleach and Windex.

BUT........
I just got back from the Atlanta Gift Show. Besides sleeping too little, coveting objects, and seeing friends whom I admire and relish, I attended an hour seminar on "The Power of Blogging." The overriding message was that when it comes to blogging, the most important thing is not to appear dead.

And so I am determined to make time to write, post pictures and not seem uninterested, apathetic, or dead. Because I am very much NOT uninterested. In fact, the trip to Atlanta has, in some ways, caused many of the random ideas that once ricocheted off the white matter in my brain to take root.

If I can just relegate certain times for cleaning, I'll be off and writing.

I DUNNO... I'M JUST DRAWN TO HIM

2010-10-13T19:58:00.000-07:00

Julien Lavigne and I met for coffee last week. I drank regular; he had decaf. It was a clear sunny day, and we sat on his back porch as he toured me through his sketchbook.

In many ways 9 year old Julien is like any other 4th grader. He plays soccer on Saturday mornings and kicks the ball around the house long after his mother requests that he stop. He's fascinated by lizards, frogs, and bugs, and hopes to be voted in as student council president so that he can pass a motion for in-classroom lunches on Fridays.

In many other ways, Julien is extraordinarily unique. He is fluent in French and English, keeps his room neater than mine, and aspires to be an architect. He tends an herb garden and has created a website that reflects his passion for the environment. He can also spend hours on end drawing…and doing it well.

Julien's mom started saving her son’s artwork when he was three. They were living in Paris back then, visiting all the museums, and freely absorbing the artfulness of the city. She showed me a scan of Julien’s “Giraffe.” I couldn’t really see the spotted animal per se, but I did notice a thoughtful sense of artistic control and color that some people don’t ever attain.

These days, Julien totes around a not-so-little black book, and he’s been filling it up with sketches he’s done since August.

Julien draws from his imagination and also from pictures.

He has a knack for portraiture and also for cartoons. He tells me that it takes about 30 minutes or so to draw a face, like Young Abe Lincoln’s. About Albert Einstein, Julien says, “The hair was the most fun part and that went pretty quickly.”

I am not the only adult, besides mom, to recognize his ability. He was awarded a scholarship to art camp at Museum of Art Fort Lauderdale’s Creative Summer Art Academy. Initially, after completing a four hour challenge, he earned a two week scholarship. Then it was extended, and then extended some more. Julien spent the entire summer there on a full scholarship, and exhibited more work, than any other camper, in the final show.

I planned on staying just an hour, but I stayed for two. Beyond the art, Julien revealed his plan for a car that can recycle gasoline, and demonstrated a pulley system he had rigged in the garage enabling him to open the door from many feet away. He pulled out a piece “300 year old petrified wood that I found at the root level of his garden,” and he granted me access to detailed spying maps he uses to startle his mother. And then after all that, he beat me in Foosball.

I am already looking forward to my next visit.

A Business That's Sticking

2010-09-13T15:15:00.000-07:00

Entrepreneurship is a turn on. It combines all good things -- creativity, ambition, skill, and yes...MONEY. When this business sense is discovered in a particularly young person, it is fascinating and of course ridiculously cute.

I have my eye on entrepreneur Benjamin Posner. Ben, an eleven year old sixth grader, was given a duct tape wallet as a present. He thought it was so cool that he made it his business to find out how it was constructed. He went no farther than You Tube, and Ben is a fast learner.

He bought a stash of tape at Walgreens and replenishes rolls as needed. His well-edited collections of tape includes zebra, a dreamy tie dye, red, turquoise, and of course classic black and white. He manufactures by hand at the dining room table. Jeremie, his nine year old bro, can apprentice as needed.

If Ben works uninterrupted, he can make a billfold in under an hour. There are 4 basic styles in his line and prices range from $1-$4. One dollar gets you a solid coin purse and $4 gets a 3 color, 4 pocket billfold. Shipping is extra.

I found that the $3 three-pocket style suited my needs. Slim enough to fit into a pants pocket and sleek enough to tuck into an evening clutch, Ben's duct tape wallets are as sporty as they are chic. And speaking of sports, once Ben gets his hands on some more neon orange tape, he'll be cranking out wallets in that killa Miami Dolphins color combo in no time.

Like any responsible entrepreneur, Ben is tracking his expenses and earnings. He keeps records on a computerized spreadsheet and also in a pink composition book. To date he has spent $43 on duct tape. He has filled many orders and has 12 waiting. Ben's first goal is to net $50.

He is intent on reaching that goal by the end of the year. On a recent phone interview Ben confided that lots of people frame their goals in yearly units, so it seems like a good idea. Ben has a five year plan which includes a car. And if his business takes off, he'd like to start banking some funds for college too.

Da buck don't stop there! "I'm a big guy on helping," Ben adds, disclosing the charitable component to his plan. "I have a soft spot for oceans, animals, the sky -- earth charities." Ben has always shown great compassion where it is needed. On his recent launch, the places he is aiming for, and on who he has always been,his mom puts it simply. "Beyond proud!"

Interested shoppers can inquire through me.

Me Time

2010-08-10T17:49:00.000-07:00

I've been on a vacation from parenting for two weeks and one day. I refuse to round it down to two weeks, because every day has counted momentously. My vacation lasts another 2 hours.

I am beyond grateful for this time. I have been exceedingly joyous through this time. I love my kids but I also love myself and know what I need. First and foremost, I want to thank the people who orchestrated this vacation. You know who you are. Thank you. Thank you.

I wanted it and needed it. Anyone who is in a day in and day out relationship needs alone time. It was nice to get back to the source of Me free of guilt, worry, and boundaries of time and appropriateness. I was free to discover my own rhythms (i do like getting up early!) and what I want for dinner.

I balanced the time between ventures outside the house and work inside the house. I spent a relaxing day thrifting along Dixie Highway, befriending antique dealers in MiMo, a section of Miami I had never visited. I went to Ikea and did some political volunteering. I took up walking (and talking) with a friend. I visited a friend who recently lost her mom. I went to an afternoon showing of "The Kids are All Right." I enjoyed a leisurely dinner with friends and did not have to answer the "When are you coming home?" phone call.

I spent relatively little money, saving bucks on those daily romps through supermarkets, Wal-Marts, and Targets. Apparently when my kids are around there's never anything good to eat. I discovered that I could exist of some simple food basics such as arugula, cheese, wine, ice cream).

I thought i would write and write and get really poetic and search deep inside during this solitary time, but I was wrong. A started a new writing gig which kept my mind engrossed. I also decided that I needed to organize all the tear sheets that I've ripped from inspiring magazines into binders. That was a huge project as piles of images covered the floor waiting to be sorted. I made some crafts.I sifted through a giant bin of shells and marveled at each one's individual design and then I took photos. I baked biscotti. I watched whatever TV I wanted without consideration. I've seen "The Invention of Lying" about 8 times. It's very funny.

For two thirds of my vacation the front end of my living room looked like I was moving in or out. It was congested with boxes and paintings lined up against the wall. I was serious about cleaning and clearing out. I rented the Rug Doctor and steam-cleaned the carpets. I was grossed out, yet wildly satisfied at all the dirt that came up. I washed every sheet, mattress pad, bath mat and towel. I took the silverware out of the cutlery tray and washed it. I rearranged cabinets and threw out fancy gifted vinegars that were still sealed.

I asked my sister why I was so insistent on cleaning my surroundings just so. So matter of fact she said, "Jane, it's like taking a big shit!" Getting rid of all this stuff, getting order back was a physical and emotional cleanse. I've been bragging to friends about the hundreds of pounds i must have thrown out in paper alone.

On Sunday I finally put the girls' rooms back in order. I made the beds and fluffed their pillows nicely. The amazing thing is that each time I walk down the hallway and check on their rooms, everything is just as I left it. Time spent cleaning feels well-spent because it lasts. Cleaning for one is really, really rewarding and lasts pretty long.

Alas...time marches on and in another hour and a half I turn back into the driving, doting, rushing, yelling, negotiating, shopping mom that I left behind on July 26th. I know how good it will feel to hug my kids and to bury my nose in their thick hair. Sam will crawl into bed with me tonight and ask for the night after and the night after. Dylan will roll her beautiful brown eyes at me any chance she gets. And we will be a mostly happy reunited family.

The Clinical Conspiracy

2010-08-05T06:23:00.000-07:00

“The Today Show,” just like all the news, sometimes offers TMI as I sit and sip my morning joe. However now and again, I can find topics to sink my teeth into that I consider relevant and blogworthy.

During the 8 o’clock hour I listened in on a discussion that gave me impetus to finish writing a blog that I had started more than two weeks ago. Spurred by a WSJ article Matt Lauer led a discussion about the pronounced increase in dodging the doctor. Joined by medical expert Dr. Nancy Snyderman and finance editor Jean Chatsky, this group confirmed that making fewer routine doctor visits or being more discerning in general was tied to unemployment, loss of health care benefits, and health care plans with high deductibles.

Dr. Nancy Snyderman said people are making their own healthcare choices. For example, elective surgeries are being put off. Manageable health problems, however, are dismissed until they snowball into a more serious and therefore more expensive problem. She urged viewers to not skimp on child immunizations, dental hygienist visits, and blood pressure and cholesterol screening. Jean Chatsky said that health fairs can be a great place to sign up for some free basic screenings.

And this hot topic brought me back to the clinical conspiracy which I discovered about two weeks ago while sauntering through the personal care aisles at Target. Maybe I was late to the wave, but I was struck by the abundance of over the counter formulas that are labeled “clinical.” Toothpaste, deodorant, and face serums took on a stronger prescribed health care twist rather than being simply cosmetically unique, arousingly aromatic, or just plain new. When wetness starts to look like wellness, I am interested.

So not only are people being more discerning about what ailments are appropriate to bring to a doctor’s attention, they are self-medicating with products that are touted as one step below prescription strength. Someone who has an excessive perspiration problem can now go out and attempt to tame the sweat with a super strength clinical antiperspirant. He may spend precious time masking a more serious health lurker or stress related occurrence that can have more serious ramifications.

Is clinical really new or is it just the marketing of it that seems spanking? Haven’t clinical trials always been helpful in pumping out formulas for the general public. Aren’t over the counter products tested in labs and by doctors. I grew up, afterall, in the 4-out-of-5-dentists-surveyed generation.

And now...here’s my ad pitch for clinical deodorant:
Played to the tune of Olivia Newton John’s breakaway 1981 hit "Physical," a Newton John look-alike appears in her work out wear, legwarmers, and headband singing “Let’s get clinical. I wanna get clinical.” In one version she is alone dancing with the energy of a Flashdancer, fade out, silence and then we just see the bottle with a simple tag line. In another version our deodorant mascot dances and sings her way through a series of Jack-and-Jill bathrooms dropping off the gift of clinical deodorant to unsuspecting people in need.

The Noah's Ark Movie Theater

2010-07-09T21:44:00.000-07:00

This evening I took my daughters and two of their friends to see "Eclipse" at the recently renovated Sunrise Cinemas in Deerfield. The last time I was there, the lobby had just been completed, and the beer and wine bar was officially open. This evening I was excited to see how the individual theaters had been updated. My daughter mentioned something about the cool love seats.

We walked in. She was right, it did look pretty swanky. Big boxy leatheresque armchairs were paired up in twos with a movable arm rest in between. Couples can easily raise the arm rest and get cozy. Non-couples can raise the arm rest and spread out if no one requested the other half. Three small people cat fit on the double seater, but someone inevitable gets the crack.

I like change. I like a new comfy theater too. But I don't like walking into a theater and all of a sudden being hyper-aware that I am the fifth wheel, the one without a buddy, the single girl.

I imagined, had the theater been full, that a lovey-dovey couple would walk in just as the movie was starting, and seek me out from the available light, and whisper, "Would you mind moving to one of those single seats over there?" I would mind out of principle, but knowing me, I would move if one of the two single chairs in the theater -- 3 rows up and to the side -- was available.

I get the concept of the renovation, like when an airline goes upscale, gets a slick new brand identity, and then offers more leg room. But If I had been in charge of the renovation, I would have provided alternative seating. According to the Miami Herald, "80,000 people in Florida divorce every year." I would have, therefore, mixed doubles in with singles, perhaps positioning the love seats around the periphery and filling the center of the theater with rows of singles. I have drawn this on a napkin.

OK. I'm off it now. I was caught a bit off guard, and was irked. But now I am inspired. I shall learn a lesson from the glass. The next time I go to that movie theater solo, I'm going to delight in all that space, and look at the love seat not as half empty, but as half full.

Passion in the Pages

2010-07-07T11:02:00.001-07:00

I went to the Deerfield Thrift Shop in search of a particular book. I was there two weeks prior and delved through a box that had yet to be unpacked. In it, I found "Theater World."

It was a book that anybody might have donated, but it was intensely personalized. Pages were dogeared. Newspaper clippings were folded between the pages causing the binding to bulge. Even though I love a Broadway show, but I do not live for the theater, so i let it go. But not before I took some pictures.

The book wasn't there today. I looked carefully. In its place, I found four other winners: "Gene Rhodes:Cowboy", a Children's Weekly Reader from 1954, "All About Dogs" written in 1962, and a BH&G "Sewing Book" from 1972 -- and then "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex*...but were afraid to ask", as explained by Dr. David Reuben, M.D. in 1969.

I thought about buying it for a gift. Really! I am serious. I have a dear friend who is a therapist and might love to add that to her bookshelf. Then I shrugged the idea off. But then I entertained it again. I am all too familiar with the "should I/shouldn't I" buy dance.

I opened the book again. All of a sudden, rather than being just any old copy of a classic, it had a story. First, tucked in between pages 208 and 209, I discovered a 1970 Bradley University Homecoming brochure addressed to 1969 alumnus Michael Glick of Chicago. Then, I found a torn corner of a 1970 New York Magazine. What sealed the deal, however, was the B'nai Brith bookmark holding place on a particular page which I shall call (ahem) "Page 69."

Some dots are easier to connect than others. Michael Glick and B'nai Brith didn't seem to fit snugly together. I had to come up with a story that would make sense, even if it was a little far-fetched. And so here's what I came up with:

Michael Glick married his high school sweetheart, Charlene Rosenfeld, shortly after graduation. They had attended separate universities, and though still committed, had been realistic, and agreed that they could casually explore other relationships. They vowed to let the other know if anything got too serious.

Michael and Charlene both fooled around sampling the collegiate buffet, but they always came back to one another. Every winter holiday they found themselves wrapped in each others' arms making future plans. Though Michael had a few fits of jealousy and Charlene occasionally turned green with envy, those emotions did not sour the big picture. Their love was strong.

They married in October 1969. It was a beautiful fall wedding. They did not take a honeymoon because Michael had enrolled in accounting school, and could not afford, in money nor time, to travel. They delayed the immediate celebration and said that their first anniversary would simply be a bigger one. Charlene was actually relieved to stay home in Chicago. Unbeknownst to the wedding guests, she was already two months pregnant and feeling rather sluggish.

On June 10, 1970, Baby Henry arrived. Charlene and Michael were unprepared for the upheaval that came with the glory of parenthood. Their former carefree lives were unrecognizable. Charlotte could barely find time to brush her teeth. She wasn't sleeping. She took on the bulk of babycare so that Michael would be rested for school. She was a supportive wife, and an extremely tired mother. She looked like hell. Her mother even told her so, gently warning her to clean up her act.

The Homecoming announcement arrived late August. Michael was excited to go and see the gang. Charlene would accompany him of course. He had asked his parents to come from Michigan, and stay with Henry for a few days.

Charlene had mixed emotions. On the one hand, she longed to go away with her husband so that they might be able to rekindle a little bit of the "them" that got lost under dirty diapers. On the other hand, she was nervous about how she looked -- thin, pale, unkempt. There was no way she could show up looking this way. There would surely be some of Michael's old girlfriends present, and she wanted...NO, she needed to pull herself together.

She was determined to become a member of the outside world again. So Charlene scrapped together some of her own money, hired a nanny two days a week, and started taking brisk walks along the lake. She was reading the newspaper again, so that she was up on current events and could form an opinion about them. She was a smart girl, afterall. She signed up to volunteer at B'nai Brith, and then went to Lord & Taylor and picked out some new clothes. She was down a size since Henry was born. For the first time in several months she gazed at her reflection and was not terribly disappointed. Then she cried.

Emotionally, Charlene was all over the map. Hormones, over-tiredness...it didn't matter. She was totally doubting her sexuality and whether or not Michael still found "the babymaker" attractive. She pulled herself together and knew what to do. She went to the bookstore, and without asking for help, finally found the book she wanted. She had read about it in Good Housekeeping. She plunked $6.95 down, and took home her very own copy of "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex..." -- the book that would guide her through her insecurities.

Charlene was determined to become a most adept and easy lover. She read the book voraciously, often re-reading certain pages. She hid it from Michael at first; she wanted to surprise him with her latest project. And that she did.

One evening, after Henry had fallen asleep, and after a day of pampering herself with a bubble bath and hour long nap, she slipped on a blazing pink Vanity Fair dressing gown, dabbed on some Tabu, and coated her lips in a Revlon shade to match. She greeted Michael at the door, told him to take a seat, and then shared her new wisdom with him. Later in bed that night, she told him about the book.

The Homecoming gathering, September 30 - October 3, made for a fantastic weekend. Charlene felt confident. She loved being paraded around. She knew that other women were looking her over. Michael was on the road to success, and she was his chosen roadie. He held onto her hand tightly. Apparently not tight enough. For in the course of an evening, Miss Penelope Ford managed to tuck her phone number into his palm.

In November, Michael Glick was in New York for a special accounting class. He called up Ms. Penelope Ford and took her to dinner. Before he left, he managed to swipe the copy of the book from the bedside table.

(to be continued...maybe)

Gladys Busse Did Not Like Spice Cake

2010-06-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

Gladys Busse did not like spice cake, or should I say "she did not like that spice cake." In fact, out of the more than 100 handwritten recipes collected in her cookbook, there was just one cake that did not bake up to par. Gladys, a woman who seemed well-organized in print, made a note of it, writing "rotten" over a series of bold ink strokes. Two other sponge cake recipes appeared in the pages that followed.

Pouring through Gladys' unassuming burgundy notepad, I found myself designing her life. I created it partially on what I actually read in the book, and then expanded upon that. I may be making up a bit of Gladys' story, but truth be told, I feel privileged to be holding a piece of her past.

Gladys was well-educated. She finished high school and went on to an all girls college for two years. Her penmanship is neat and her spelling is very good. I am certain that she enjoyed cooking, and took pride in it as this was a key opportunity to nurture her family and friends. She had great patience to write 45 pages front and back. She was also apt to punctuate -- "Candies!" -- with exclamation points.

Gladys was in her prime in the 20's. Just above the butter cookie recipe is written "Sept. 29, 1927." From my rather rapid googling, I discovered that in the 20's gas ovens were powered on and then simply got hotter. Gladys' baking directions specify timing but they do not specify a baking temperature. She uses "moderate" to describe the necessary heat. Other good old-fashioned signs of the times include her preference for lard, "4 good cups of flour," and "a pinch of salt."

Gladys wasn't all about the food though. She had in interest in skin care, and copied down Aunt Jen's Cream of Roses face cream recipe. Not only did Gladys use this every morning and every night, but she also spooned it into small tins at the holidays. One recipe yielded 3 quarts, so she could give to all the ladies in her cooking club, the ones with whom she swapped recipes.

As i flipped through the book I wondered about Gladys' dreams. Perhaps she was looking for financing to open up Gladys' Grill, a neighborhood eatery serving up authentic home cooking and tasty desserts. Perhaps Estee Lauder had got wind of the face cream. I wondered about Gladys' significant other and also about the small child who probably grabbed Gladys' notebook on more than one occasion and decided to scribble just a bit in it before being caught.

One of these days, I am going to try one of Gladys' recipes. I have already nixed the Salmon Wiggle dish. Sounds a bit too gelatinous. And I won't make anything that calls for lard. The Molasses Cake is a possibility because next to it in parenthesis Gladys had written "Never Fail." Why, then I wonder, hadn't she used "!"?

Tales of A Substitute Teacher: BOY NOT

2010-05-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday, I was certain that my virgin tour of the faculty lounge would be a high point of my day. I wasn’t expecting massaging recliners or a complimentary espresso bar. I was just planning on being inspired by a place about which I had always wondered and never had the offical right to use.

This virgin visit, however, was upstaged by an episode that happened a bit earlier in the classroom. Plain and simple -- I made a big mistake and dwelled on it the whole day long... and then some.

I thought that a girl was actually a boy and I referred to her as “He.” Some of the kids corrected me. “He? She!” they said, but in that moment it didn't register. I repeated “He.” They repeated, “He? She!”

Then I got it.

And in that split second I found clues that I had overlooked... or had never looked for in the first place. I spied a pink bag strap peering out from behind her stocky frame. I noticed breasts which could have easily been mistaken for a few extra pounds of flesh.

My body was heating up, filling with embarrassment. I looked at her and apologized, attempting to recover. I offered a few excuses. The girl seemed more resilient than me. She let me know that I was not the first to be mistaken. This was her way of forgiving me, and, though I was thankful for that, my carelessness weighed heavily for the rest of the day.

I learned that it is better to address an individual by name rather than by a pronoun. Actually, that is something my mother has reiterated through the years and I finally got it.

Mean Mommy

2010-05-06T18:59:00.000-07:00

It is 9:40 pm. She is 9, and I have kindly or foolishly allowed her to watch the end of Ice Age...again.
"Sammi please brush up now."
(1 minute later)
"Sammi, brush up now!"
(3o secs later)
"Sam. Brush. NOW!!"
(she pretends to be stuck in the chair lolling her feet, tells me she can't get up)
"Sam UP! NOW!!!"
("I can't" she is laughing. Unfortunately for her...I am not.)
"SAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!"

First she freezes.
I usually don't go this distance.
She is bawling in the chair and squirms her way out of it.
"Leave me alone," she says crying her way into the bathroom.
I am in the living room, crawling around, whisk brooming tiny relics from the day,then wetting a cloth and erasing the mass of black scuffs here and there. I am channeling my irritation toward sanitation. That usually works for me.

She stomps down the hall to her room, turns out the light and gets in bed. She returns, grabbing her iTouch which she uses for an alarm. I do not follow her. I know what's coming. If i wait a few minutes she will ask for me. If i go in there now, she will say "leave me alone", all the while meaning "come, i need you."

She asks for me. It is dark, but i can see her pained face.
"You hate me," she wails.
This is possibly one of the most difficult things to hear from one's child if she really means it. With Sam, sometimes yes, sometimes no.
"You don't like me. You yelled at me. You think I'm a pain."
I think she means it tonight.
But no matter how many times i tell her that I love her, she won't hear it or accept it until she is ready to let me back in.
"I love you, Sam, but I do not like the way you were acting. I understand why you would think that, but it simply isn't true. Even when I yell,I never stop loving you."

She has emotionally exhausted all the petals in her love daisy -- loves me, loves me not -- and has finally let me put my arms around her and stroke her hair. After a few moments, my eyes start to fill. She is so small and dependent on me.

I turn her toward me, "Sam, I've never stopped loving you for a minute." She looks right into me with those puppy dog deep dark eyes and we just hold each others' gaze for a few seconds before returning to snuggling. .. actually spooning. "Mom," she says, " don't go till I'm asleep."

I don't like it to get to this point. And it doesn't happen very often, but I have to say that making up with my daughter is better than any make up sex I've ever had. Yeah, OK. Maybe I just haven't ever had the end-all-be-all MUS.
Nevertheless, when we are lying there, and my arms are around her making her feel safe again, and I hear her breathing return to a calm rate... this is my personal heaven. I think I could lie like this forever, that there's this completeness that is so powerfully beautiful and also sad.

Silly Bandz -- The Cool and Collected

2010-05-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

"I have 117!!" one kid flaunts, wagging her personalized plastic Silly Bandz case right in front of my face. "That's great," I say sounding enthused, then adding, still smiling, "but honestly, honey... I really don't care." I am straining to keep my voice of judgment neutral. I think of how a child in Haiti would be thrilled with just one or two.

We are casually invested. By that, I mean my daughter Sam has begged and bartered for them too, and gotten some. She is not, however, obsessed. I bought 2 or 3 packs for her, and she has spent her own money on a few. This past weekend her daddy bought her a "Sammi's Silly Bandz" box. If i was the present parent, I would have said, "Let's make one instead."

I do enjoy observing this trend. From a business perspective, I commend the inventor and marketers on creating an affordable amusing craze and topping it off with the suggestion that each juvenile collector needs a silly-specific receptacle for safekeeping. From a substitute teacher's vantage point, I understand why certain schools have "banned the band" during school hours. From a mother's perspective, I was impressed with how these stalwart bands retained their shape after countless cycles of washing and drying.

But what's gonna happen when the next tween craze comes along, and knocks the Silly Band from favor? I have a few ideas:

- Sling over wine stems next time my fave cowboy or dog trainer comes for happy hour

- Use them to communicate when my throat is sore. Here I'm saying that I'd love an apple."

- Make art. This fashio-political work is called "High Heel Hell."

- Start "Band Aid" fundraiser. Sell bands and give money to fave charity.
- Add to pile of regular rubber bands and use them similarly in my office, kitchen, etc.

(NOTE:If you have no contact with a person 12 and younger, you may not have heard of or seen Silly Bandz. Closely related to the classic rubber band, a Silly Band is a colorful shape-themed silicone stretchy band bracelet collected and worn by girls and boys.There are 47 pages worth of Bandz for sale on eBay.)

Hello, My Name is Mrs. Dagmi and I'll Be Your Sub

2010-05-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

It’s been driving me crazy – my inability to blog about my substitute teacher debut. I mean, I am rarely at a deficit for material. Every little thing usually inspires me. And taking on another part-time career was not just another little thing.

As the magazine world continues to readjust itself, I wanted to look outside my job zone. Substitute teaching made sense. It combined my genuine love of learning with the need to be creative and make a difference. With two kids in the Broward Public School system, I also wanted to get to know the system from the inside.

I was registered in Sub Central at noon last Tuesday. At 4 pm I confirmed a 3-day fifth grade assignment. I dove right into it which was unlike me, and I liked that.

So, here I am chomping at the bit with excitement over this new addition to my life. I want to write all about it, and yet… I’ve had a touch of blogstipation. Drats! Some of it’s no doubt from the sheer exhaustion of the job. I was not expecting to be totally wiped. But I think the blogstipation comes mostly from not being able to think about anything but teaching in the moment of teaching.

Usually when something occurs to me as “blogworthy” I have the luxury of turning thoughts over in my head, and maybe even jotting a few down. When I was in the classroom, however, I was on every minute and then anticipating the next. Downtime doesn’t exist. There are two half hour breaks. I filled mine with eating, peeing, brushing my teeth, checking email, checking in with the other 5^th grade team teachers, organizing my desk, and writing notes for the real teacher.

I had a couple of tests to administer on Friday. Dylan said I’d be bored and that I should bring stuff to do. I packed a newspaper and a book and, of course, a journal. I never read the paper nor opened a book nor wrote a note. Instead I gave tests, walked around the classroom monitoring chatter and wandering eyes over and over again, and then graded tests.

On the first day of the new job, it was all so new. I was just amazed I got through the day without a hitch. I had 63 names to learn, 63 faces to remember, minutes to watch, equipment to work, and a slew of behavioral issues to quell. Day 2 was similar but I felt more comfortable and confident because we were already acquainted. On Day 3, I was referring to the class as “my kids.”

Sammi is excited that I am a sub. Teaching’s been at the top of her career list for a while. This weekend when I was making dinner and fantasizing about a nap, Sammi was in the living room playing school. “Rolling your eyes won’t get you anywhere!” she warned the class. I think I’ll have to try that line.

The No Cheating Chip

2010-04-26T21:12:00.000-07:00

It's late at night. i slip into the pantry for a little salty snack. i am the only one awake......until i go for the Sun Chips.

This new compostable chip bag, " louder because it is compostable," makes the most gratingly annoying crumply noise i have ever heard.

If you are on a diet, have little or no willpower, yet have asked others (and really meant it) to help you stick to it...let the Sun Chip be your default cheat.
By merely picking the bag up, you will sound off the "I'm breaking my diet" alarm and your saviors will come running.

Selective Attention

2010-04-16T10:54:00.001-07:00

When I took this picture a year ago in Waynesville, NC I was taken with the pick up truck and acid green colonial den decorations. Now when i look at this picture, I am distracted by the price of gas and then somewhat irked.

Virginia Revisited

2010-04-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

I have met few girls named Virginia. And I have not interviewed a one. However, I have a certain feeling that sometime in the pre-teen/teenage years, girls named "Virginia" are stalked by snickering hormonal name tweakers who alter the spelling in a way that causes embarassment for the Virginias of the world.

VIRGINIA........VAGINA........VIRGIN

Several years ago, I was privy to an unexpected twist on this oh-so-hilarious word play. I was at the gynecologist for my yearly exam, looking swell in a dressing gown and stirrups. The doctor walked in. After a morsel of small talk, he got down to business. Then his cell phone rang.

"Can't talk now," he said. "I'm in Virginia."

Old Ads/New Meanings

2010-04-12T21:30:00.000-07:00

I pick and arrange things for a living. I choose words, furnishings, and pictures and put them together in an attractive, inspirational, and sometimes button-pushing kind of way.
Since it is what I love to do, I tend to automatically hone my skills at editing and composing even when I'm not working. Last night, for example, I was thumbing through a few vintage magazines and books, and came upon this ad for the State of Virginia.

By blacking out a few words and letters, I gave an entirely different meaning to the headline.

I have always found yesteryear's advertising lingo to be particularly inspiring for good old-fashioned wordplay. I once ripped out a page from a 1960's Sears catalog. It pictured a teenage boy wearing sports-logoed pajamas. His hair was puffy and his smile overdone. The banner at the top read, "FLAME RETARDANT." I blacked out the "F" and the "ant."

Here's another ad with some room for play. What do you see?

FLICK PICK: "Watermelon Man" -- Racier Than I Thought

2010-03-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

Last night I finally made it to the end of "Watermelon Man." This 1970's flick is about a 30-something bigoted obnoxious white guy who wakes up in the middle of the night to discover he is now black. This is by far not one of my favorite movies, but it does has some good socially provokative moments, and I was delighted that it did not have a neatly-tied-with-a-bow Hollywood ending.

Mr. Gerber, played by Godfrey Cambridge, never goes back to being white (which is a relief because he looks totally weird made up to look white and is a much better looking black man).

His initial shock, leads to denial, which leads to dispair, which leads to a sort of acceptance, rebirth and strength. His white family practitioner confirms, "Jeff you are a Negro," and then suggests he consult with a doctor of his own race from here on out. Though Mr. Gerber loses his family, job, and house, he gains humility, dignity, a new community after his neighbors tell him, "We feel your presence can undermine the value of our homes." Mr. Gerber, in fact plays it smart, and drives up a $100,000 buyout that enables him to start over and open up his own business.

Women reacted to his blackness differently. His wife, who once begged for Wednesday night nookie, suddenly stops asking. She offers some sympathy, suggesting that his sunlamp malfunctioned and everything will be alright. When she realizes that he will remain black forever, she withdraws completely. "I'm liberal to a point," she explains, adding, "I never thought marriage was going to be interracial."

A sexy secretary with a German accent, however, has become newly curious about her transformed office mate. She comes onto him, and finally after, getting rejected repeatedly from his wife, Mr. Gerber makes the call. We know what she's thinking even though Mr. Gerber, after looking down his pajama pants, lets the viewer know that "It's just an old wives tale." There is a brief scene with some nudity. The girl is apparently insatiable. When he gets out of bed to go home she gets angry, goes to the open window, and screams "Rape." Nice!

If you haven't seen this strange, comedic, sometimes painful cringe-worthy fictional depiction of racial issues, and like to glimpse sets staged with mediocre vintage suburban decor, then you might like "Watermelon Man." Not for the kids however. Besides a super close up of bare buttocks and a few minutes of boobs (i think they were fake), there are too many politically and socially incorrect slurs that you don't want your kids repeating.

The Newspaper

2010-03-01T16:33:00.001-08:00

I get the paper everyday. I read it about once a week. It piles up on the chair and eventually I weed through it. The Sports section gets tossed, as do most of the advertisements, and am left with the headlines, the local features, the special weekly sections, and the entertainment.

I used to get the Sun Sentinel. I used to write for them too. Hmmmm. Now I subscribe to the Miami Herald. Not because I have a grudge. Simply because they offered me a $11/month deal.

When I read it, I remember how much I like it. Reading the actual paper is a luxury. The information is a mental treat. I get inspired, pissed, and educated. I am moved, and I take notes and clip articles.

Sammi, who is 9, has been upset lately over the underwhelming response to the Chilean earthquake. She said it wasn't fair. She was saddened by the Haiti disaster, assisted in a shoe collection drive, and witnessed the world and familiar faces from her world -- Justin Bieber, Nick Jonas, and Lady Gaga -- coming together to help. She asked, "Why are we ignoring Chile?"

I didn't answer her question, but just kind of put on a pouty face that let her know I felt a little sad about it too. But then I read Tuesday's paper, and I found out why the world wasn't all over Chile like we were Haiti. I was empowered, and I was excited to educate her with fact rather than just pure feeling.

Keeping it simple for both of our benefits, I told her that though the Chilean quake was stronger, so is Chile. And since the damage occurred outside of the big city, Santiago, fewer lives were lost. I told her that the roads and buildings were built stronger and that the government had saved enough money to fix them back up. And that Chile can make money again by selling things like wine, copper, steel, and paper.

She asked me several times if Florida would have an earthquake. I said, "probably not." My response is close to the answer she wanted to hear which was "No, never ever ever," and i hope not that far from the truth. I didn't find that answer in the newspaper. It was just in my heart.

Pleasing Mom

2010-02-08T19:40:00.000-08:00

I am 46 and still worry about pleasing my mother. I know deep inside that she loves me unconditionally, and wants to be a help, but yet, her motherly advice and remarks often come off as criticism, and sometimes I just don't feel like dealing.

Today my mother and I were at the mall. We made a date so that she could hand deliver my official license plate. Four weeks ago, my parents bought me a Santa Fe Hyundai. They insited that I stop driving my 12 year old Jeep Cherokee and get a safe, reliable car. My mother and I had lunch followed by a little shopping.

After walking around for a while, I thought she might be tired. It has been 2 1/2 months since hip replacement surgery and this was her first time gallavanting around town without my dad. I offered to pick her up at the mall entrance and drive her to her car. She accepted the ride.

As I approached the black SUV, I noticed a small white spot on the passenger side door. I rubbed it with a little bit of saliva. It did not go away. I rubbed it again. Hmmmm. I noticed another spot. I wasn't happy. I hadn't noticed these dings before.

The car was almost a month old. My parents bought it for me. This Santa Fe was my first brand new car. I practically ran my blazing red '98 Jeep Cherokee into the ground. I owned it for seven years.

As a first time new car owner, I was doing my best to take care of it without being obsessive. But now, noticing these dings, I felt a nervous rush of "Oh Shit" wash over me. My mom would be upset. I did not want to hear the disappointment in her voice as she might say: "Oh honey, you've got to park it far away from all the other cars" or "Lord, you're gonna ruin this car before its paid for" or "YOU really have to be more careful. If you keep going at this rate..."

I walked around to the driver's side. I kept pressing on the key switch. The locks did not make a sound. I looked in the window and saw a McDonald's cup and stack of library books on the seat...PHEWWWWWW, this was not my car. I had mistaken a Lexus for my car.

I laughed out loud. I got this image of me practically licking the car to avoid a confrontation, and it was quite ridiculous. When I got to my car just a bit further down the lane, I was happy to see that besides a little bit of dirt, there were no dings.

I picked my mother up, and she told me how delighted she was to see how nice I was keeping the car. She turned to me, "Do you like your seat that far back? You might want to put your seat more upright. I find it's less stressful on the back."

The Top 10: Working from Home

2009-11-18T20:11:00.000-08:00

Working from home is not always ideal. I don't have a proper office. My desk is in my bedroom. It's over crowded, and feng shui proponents would be wary. Yet, most of the time, it works just fine, like this afternoon. At about 2:30 i was feeling mighty sleepy and rather than fight the feeling, I honored it. I crawled under the covers, read for about 3 minutes, and then drifted away into power nap semi-oblivious bliss.
Here are my top 10 reasons why I like working from home:

1. The coffee is consistent and fresh.
2. The dress code is barefoot and braless
3. Don't have to share fridge.
4. Ditto for bathroom.
5. Don't have to pretend that I am very deep in thought when I am really sleeping.
6. Reoccurring fantasies about UPS guy could actually come true.
7. I can multi-task -- make business call while scrubbing shower or making soup
8. Flexibility in scheduling appointments with Comcast, exterminator, etc.
9. Saved gas money goes toward computer printer ink fund
10.When I am not in the mood to work, I can clean closets and still get that feeling of accomplishment.

Roll With It

2009-11-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

One of my closest friends called today. I love our Sunday conversations. They are an accumulation of a week's worth, or sometimes two weeks worth, of action and emotion. We discuss our relationships, careers, and kids mostly. I miss her terribly since I left New York.
After the usual personal updates, she politely asked, "Can we change the subject?"
"NO," I answered sarcastically.
She went on to say, "My stomach has that roll!"
There was a dramatic pause; she used to be an actress.
"I read about it," she said describing it as an 'our age' kind of inevitability. " And I am quite troubled by it," she added.
Though her son had just told her that morning how beautiful she was, there was more on her mind.
"There I am...my skinny legs, fat arms, and this roll. I'm like a donut woman."
My friend, though sweet, is not a donut woman by any stretch. She's more of a smart cookie, is very revered in her field, has a lot of fans, plus her son is absolutely right about her beauty. Caught without her Spanx, however, she feels a tad "less than" cause she has "more of."
(It is rare to post without a pic, but Miss Blogworthy notes that she promised anonymity to her donut pal, and would not post a photo of her or any middle aged part of her body. Finding a body double in the wee hours of the morning would prove too difficult.)

Breathtakingly Bad Judgment

2009-10-29T09:25:00.000-07:00

Last week there was a most beautiful sunset over the Coral Springs Super Wal-Mart -- My appreciation for the pink sky and dramatic cloud formations, however, was overshadowed by the orange glow of a cigarette. A father lingered by the front entrance smoking. His fidgety kids waited as he luxuriated with deep rhythmic drags. Eventually he put it out and they went inside.
I don't want to sound overly righteous. But the only not-very-eloquent thought I had was "Are you f--king kidding me?!?!" It's not about the smoking. It's about making it look like such a treat in front of his kids.
I mean, is that really necessary?

Checked Baggage 2

2009-10-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

I wrote a letter to Delta expressing my dissatisfaction with the checked baggage system (see "Checked Baggage" post). I decided to sign it "Dr. Dagmi." I don't think it had impact on the response, but it was kind of interesting to borrow a different identity, and kind of scary to do it so easily. Stan the Man read the good doctor's plea, and sent me back this note...........

Dear Dr. Dagmi,

Thank you for sharing your concerns regarding the service provided while
traveling with us on October 10, 2009. On behalf of Delta Air Lines, I
sincerely apologize for your disappointment with our checked baggage
fees.

Your feedback is important to us and we appreciate the time you took to
write. Be assured I will be sharing your comments with our Corporate
Marketing leadership team.

Since the fee charged for your bag was correct, a refund would not be
due. Prior to your next trip, we invite you to visit the web site of
your operating carrier for the most up-to-date information on checked
baggage fees.

As a gesture of goodwill, I have issued an Electronic Transportation
Credit (eTCV) in the amount of $25.00.

Dr. Dagmi, I hope I have been able to resolve your concerns. As a
valued customer, your business is important to us and given the
opportunity of serving you in the future, I am confident Delta will not
only meet but exceed your expectations.

Sincerely,

Stan M. Pereira
Coordinator
Customer Care

I am still wondering how many of the airlines are going to manage this problem. I flew Jet Blue two weeks ago, and they managed it very well. They didn't charge for checking bags.

Checked Baggage

2009-10-10T19:03:00.000-07:00

The bag checking system is far from perfection. I get royally irked when i pay $20 per bag, and others check theirs at the gate for free.

It happened today flying back home from Tallahassee. I flew with Delta, on a 50 passenger plane operated by Atlantic Southeast airlines. It was a pretty full flight, and as we boarded nearly everyone was asked to hand off their rolling suitcases so that they could be stowed in the luggage compartment below. Credit cards, however, were not swiped.

My breath quickened. I felt the frustration of unfairness spreading inside of me. I got to my seat and had to rant to my neighbor, Mr. Cedric Austin. I noticed the shallow and short overhead bins. I am sure the Delta personnel were well aware of the size of the aircraft, saw the terminal gate swell with people, and knew that many bags would need to be checked.

We deplaned, and all the pink ticketed bags sat on the tarmac. Passengers readily picked up their bags. I asked a bag handler, "How many bags did you just unpack?" "About 30," he said. So Delta got my 20 bucks but let this additional $600 fall through their fingers.

I picked up my bag 20 minutes later on the carousel. Naturally, mine was the last bag out. I know that I shouldn't just whine. I should make suggestions on how to better the systerm. But it's 3:38 AM and I need to get my daughter to school around 7:30. I emailed Delta customer service on Saturday afternoon and am waiting for a reply...................to be continued.

BLACK THUMB

2009-10-05T12:48:00.000-07:00

I can keep fresh flowers alive for a couple of days,but I can't seem to get the gist of plants. The last plant that i killed was an orchid. It was given to me on my birthday last year. I strategically placed it in a place that I pass by everyday, so that I'd remember to check on it often and see if it needed watering. That did not end very well.

I discovered that I do like fake flowers -- but I mean the seriously fake kind, so that there is no mistaking them for the real deal. I like my fakes made from plastic, beads, yarn, fabric,and paper -- these are les fleurs for me.

I now have a virtual garden around my house, and all they require is a little dusting.

TWICE LICE

2009-09-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

I am finally seeing the lice...........i mean light.

Last night, howeverm I saw the former. I was not happy, but neither was I in denial like the last time. The first time "we" had lice it took about 10 days for me to finally make the connection between sammi's incessant head scratching and head lice. I chalked it up to dry skin, allergies to shampoo, allergies to food...anything but lice. But you know what. We got through it.

Today, less $295, I could breathe a sigh of relief and release my children back into the social arena in which they most brilliantly shine!(Well, ok, that was a little over-dramatic, but the gentle sarcasm laced with iced coffee that's running through my body, made me write that.)

At the Family Lice Removal in Coral Springs, Sammi and Dylan were de-loused, I was head-checked, and we bought a can of anti-nit mint hair spray which smells good to humans, but repulsive to lice. Wendy Pincus, owner and Head Lice Specialist, has opened branches in Atlanta, Maryland, and New Jersey. We'll be checking back with Wendy for a $75 follow up visit at the end of next week.

I could also buy the product from Wendy, apply it, and then hopefully (and joyfully) confirm the absence of lice or eggs. But, simply put, I do not have faith in my own ability to know if my children are de-loused. I have never been a mom who does hair -whether french braiding or diligently parting and combing, it's just not my thing.

Last night I took the over-the-counter NIX kit and smothered Dylan's hair in the formula. As i sifted through her heavy, thick, beautiful infested hair, I knew I would be taking her to a specialist in the morning. But I continued nit-picking for a while. Even though i know i'm not that good at it, there is something very satisfying about finding lice and removing them. The "Got ya!" moment is extremely rewarding. You've seen monkeys at the zoo patiently lovingly picking through one another's coat....same thing.

DIAPER DRAMA AT 10,000 FEET

2009-08-27T05:39:00.000-07:00

Setting: August 26, US AIR Flight 959, enroute from Charlotte to Ft. Lauderdale, 11:40 pm. Sometime between initial descent and landing. A toddler makes a near fatal error by taking the poop of his life at a most inconvenient time.

Intercom: "...tray tables up, please pass any trash to flight attendants...."

Me (thinking): ooh, what is that smell...did someone throw up...something happened...yuck

(a young mother with a diaper in hand, races to the back of the plane)

Me (thinking): ohhhhh...poop...poor Mom...glad I'm not her.

(the mother returns to her seat hastily. though she is partially hidden from sight, we know she is changing her child who happens to be babbling sweetly. She tells him to hush. Meanwhile a very tall flight attendant appears at row 14)

Attendant:You can't do THAT here.

(she thrusts a plastic trast bag into the mother's hands.

Attendant: Put that under his bottom. It's unsanitary for the people who will be sitting there after.

(the attendant walks away leaving a snitty cloud in her wake)

Me (thinking): Just make a fucking note to clean row 14 with lysol. seems pretty simple to me. I mean...really.

(A second attendant is making her way toward row 14 with a plastic bag in hand)

Attendant 2: The diaper has to be in a bag and deposited in the bathroom.

Mom: I put it there.

(Attendant walks away with an exasperated sigh which meant: "How could you let your child do this.")

Me (thinking): did you ever think of helping her rather than condemning her for her child taking a big shit. aren't you supposed to be of service rather than of judgment...are you a mom.

The confrontation subsided as did the scent of poopy diaper. I could hear the mother speaking Hebrew which was a consolation to me because Israelis are pretty thick skinned when they need to be. Where as I would have probably been bawling in my seat, she was probably a little incensed but it would take more than two judgmental unhelpful US AIR workers to upset her. But there's more.....

(Plane lands, passengers unbuckle and quickly stand, a tall lean woman with a smart khaki pants suit in row 13 is standing hunched over her seat. She faces the mom in Row 14)

Lean Woman: "Changing your child in your seat...do you realize how unsanitary that is. Are you even aware of how bacteria spreads.........."

I heard the mother ask if she had any kids. And some more dialogue ensued, but that was all I heard in the deplaning shuffle.

I was ticked off because the attendants were bitchy and unprofessional. Perhaps there was some earlier interaction where the mother caused "a stink" -- so to speak. And now the flight attendants were getting their revenge. Who knows... I was asleep for a good part of the flight.

But to me it seemed the mother was in a lose-lose situation. If she had taken her baby to the changing room bathroom, they would have scolded her for getting out of her seat. She was "in deep shit" either way.

As I walked off "the poopy plane", I almost said something to one of the attendants.

I know almost doesn't count.

Self Esteem is a Beautiful Thing

2009-08-03T07:34:00.000-07:00

The floor of my car is a collection site for book, gum wrappers, and doodles. While I was away, my 8 1/2 yr. old daughter created the "Who Dosent Like Me" page. Knowing that it took me 40+ years to discover my best traits, I was ecstatic to see that Sam has already discovered many of hers, spelling not amongst them.

In case it's hard to read, some of the adjectives she wrote are (spelled as she spelled them: awsome,entelegent, doutgoing, pretty, cool, good, friendly, creative, chic, flexeble, honnest, wonderful, funny, cute, smart and strong.

contemplating cleavage

2009-02-08T19:56:00.000-08:00

I was flat-chested for what seemed like an eternity. I don't even remember wearing a bra until freshman year in college. I had gained 40 pounds and finally had breasts. My body changed and thinned out some after that, but the boobs pretty much remained front, center and fairly perky, hovering between a 34B and 36D (i was breastfeeding!), for the next 18 years. At 37, however, when child #2 had given up nursing, I was relatively flat-chested again.

I might not have felt the impact of flat, if I had not moved down to South Florida. There, breast implants are as common as highlights and with tank tops being the state uniform, it was impossible not to notice. I began contemplating surgical enhancement daily; my ego, like my chest, was deflated.

I had a boob fantasy. I would enroll a few girlfriends and we would “Beg for Boobs” at a busy intersection. We would have signs and "Tit Jars" and naturally there would be a website link about this particular project. I envisioned that this public fundraising ploy would get news coverage, and then an empathetic, opportunistic, and skilled plastic surgeon would take notice, and volunteer to do my surgery.

Then a cop friend of mine told me that I could get arrested for soliciting. When I imagined my children's faces peering at me through the bars, I scaled the plan down some. I bought a couple of Wonderbras instead, and watched my real breasts and nipples disappear into padded oblivion.

Six years went by, and after regularly contemplating cleavage at Publix and PTA meetings, I finally accepted my breasts and let go of the idea of surgery. Choosing real and natural in the land of milk and money was refreshingly liberating. My petite breasts were uniquely mine, and left room for other parts to be admired.

On this journey to basic acceptance, however, I amassed quite a collection of bras, and they are divided into three categories: No, Low, and Whoa! The No has no padding, the Low has a modest amount, and the Whoa! -- well, hmmm, take a guess.

When I told my teenage daughter about my bra rating system, she smiled so big which is no easy feat for her these days. She shared the story with some of her friends which made me happy because not only did she actually retain what I said, but she found it worth repeating. Her math instructor overheard one conversation, and he said that it had no place in his classroom.

Is Oprah's Word Losing Weight?

2009-01-22T16:53:00.000-08:00

You know how they say that Oprah's blessing is golden...that if you are lucky enough to be on her "i like you" list, you've got it made.... well , perhaps the power of O is not as salient as it once was.

On January 13th, Oprah interviewed Kate Winslet. And in the conversation, Oprah let it be known that she loved Kate's breasts. In fact, Oprah high-fived Kate and emoted, "God bless your real breasts!"

So why then, did Kate rank 99th out of 99 on AskMen.com's 2009 edition "Top 99 Women." Kate placed, but placed last. Is that cause for celebration or a recount? Was the poll settled before or after Kate picked up two Golden Globes, before Oprah complimented her 'girls'?

AskMen.com had these glowing words to say about Kate: "She fearlessly confronts negative body images in the media and bares her own voluptuous ”imperfections” in films." True, Kate's weight has fluctuated over the course of her career, and it is truly a pity that she has had to deflect criticism about her real curves, top and bottom. I just saw "Revolutionary Road," and one thought that kept popping up was how hot she looked in those tight 50's pencil skirts.

If the poll were Askmenandjane.com, Kate would have made the top 10.

Restraint

2009-01-14T06:07:00.000-08:00

I am vain. Not exceedingly so every waking minute, but I am vain in the sense that one zit can make me go into hiding. I am presently sporting one on my chin, and of course, I feel like it has taken over my entire face. Yet with this particular eruption, i am heeding the advice, here-to-fore unheeded, of my mother, not to touch it. I am excercising restraint.

This zit is running its natural course. I have played dermatologist too much, ending up with little scars along the way. I've battled zits by trying to steam them into oblivion with super hot washcloths followed by a clay mask. I have gone after them with a sanitized needle, followed by a pimple drying medication or calamine lotion.

This may all seem silly, petty, and overly narcissistic because, quite frankly, it is. And I know that, and I am not going into hiding with this one. I have chosen to face life with or without the zit.

Sorry, no picture.

Wishbone Creative

2009-01-08T18:41:00.000-08:00

On Thanksgiving, I was awarded the turkey carcass. I took it home in a ziploc and it provided me with meat for one turkey vegetable soup, flavor for 3 containers of stock, and the inspiration for one wishbone craft project. I returned the wishbone from whence it came (is whence a word??. My dear friends got their wishbone back on Christmas Eve, just a little altered a la Miss Blogworthy.

Materials:
1 wishbone, cleaned, boiled, dry
1 old crappy frame
paint (and a brush)
glue (and a brush)
thin wire (and a wire cutter)
Drill
A coupla magazines for cutting (note: don't use issues of any of the following defunct mags: O at Home, Cottage Living, Home Companion, Country Home,CosmoGirl, etc. -- they may be worth something in 30 years)

How to:
Paint frame. You will probably need 2 coats.
Paint wishbone and let it dry.
Once dry, brush on a coat of elmers glue and sprinkle glitter on top.
Arrange cut out phrases on cardboard frame insert and affix with glue.
Drill small hole in top of wishbone and through top of frame.

Twist wire in wishbone and then feed up thru frame hole. Secure with tack.
Write something meaningful on the back.

unaccompanied minor

2008-12-02T11:06:00.000-08:00

Last week I was travelling back to Florida from New York, and I in Row 27B had the good fortune to sit next to JD in 27C. JD was eleven years old and skinny. He had on a red and white wristle, the symbol for an unaccompanied minor. His seat pocket was bursting with a gallon size Ziploc full of snacks. I was hungry, he was a bit bored. It was a match made in heaven, or at least in the clouds.

We played hangman for nearly the entire flight. He had messy boy writing compared to my girls who are constantly adding squiggles and curlicues onto ever letter in the alphabet. Our categories included movies, food, and the famous anything category. No one got hung. At one point I begged to take a nap. JD was clearly bummed. But when I woke up, we resumed our play.

Things were going swimmingly. I had a thought. I asked JD if he would basically write a letter or reccomendation to my girls. I in turn wrote a letter to his dad praising JD's mature plane behavior. We took a picture for posterity.

Of course this all leaves me with the slightly irksome questions, "Why do i have vastly more patience with kids who don't belong to me???"

LAUNDRY LIZARD

2008-11-20T11:18:00.000-08:00

Every now and again, I am reminded of the stuff men are good for...today was one of those days...(flashback)

I had taken time out from my busy work schedule to cross a few househould chores off the list. The sauteed chicken breasts were cooked and I was eager to eat one, and it was time to transfer the wet clothes into the dryer.

If you or someone in your family is not the best at pocket-empty-outing, you know that when the wet clothes come out, anything could be lurking in the drum -- lip gloss, candy, phone numbers, and money. I have always respected the way money stays intact while other papers shred to bits. I wasn't, however, expecting a lizard.

I jumped backwards and said "yuck" a number of times. My body tightened. Then came a multitude of "oohs." I slowly approached the open washer and peaked in and noticed the lizard was missing some digits. I found them scattered about. Like a tornado rips apart a mobile home, so did the spin cycle destroy the amphibian.

I gathered up gobs of paper towels, much more than my eco-conscience would normally permit. I collected the odd bits first, got some extra toweling and as I turned away, dipped my hand in for the rest. And quickly took it to the trash which i will be removing momentarily.

And so that had me thinkin' that I could have saved the lizard removal for a man if I lived with one. But a minute later I was happy I had just the right amount of self-reliance to do it myself. Somehow I just couldn't stomach the chicken.

GAS-TV

2008-11-18T20:40:00.000-08:00

I stopped to pump gas this morning and wasn't paying much attention to the background noise until I heard a familiar voice that was very un-Shell Station-like. I heard the voice of SNL's Seth Meyers. Weird. It was then that I looked up and saw a TV screen embedded into the pump. The entertainment, which was largely advertainment, concluded when i disengaged the nozzle from my tank.
I wonder if I bought the more deluxe gas, would the entertainment be upgraded too?

Short Hair is In

2008-10-27T20:38:00.001-07:00

NATIONAL BREAST (cancer) AWARENESS MONTH L.A. STYLE

2008-10-06T19:49:00.000-07:00

All she needs is a little pink ribbon.

4 EYES 4 NEW CHARTS

2008-09-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

Sam is getting a new pair of glasses. She lost the ones she got last year, the ones that my friend and trusted opthomalogist prescribed. Sam seems to be following in my nearsighted footsteps, although she's just a fraction sight-impaired. Sam wants glasses more than she needs them.

Every year my girls and I sit and read through the eye chart, responding to a series of "Is this better or worses?" We recite the characters line after line...."E V O T... and A P L O 5..." Gee, I remember those same lines from when I was a kid.

I started wearing glasses in the second grade and now at the ripe age of cough, cough have graduated to a built in bifocal. As I rattle off the familiar sequence of letters and numbers, I am not sure if i am actually seeing the letters or filling in the right answers from memory. I wonder if that could be a problem in diagnosing a prescription, because my vision with glasses could, in fact, be more crisp.

The American Optometric Association recommends an eye exam every other year for adults with no risk, up until the age of 61, after which they recommend an annual exam. Why can't they just scramble the letters every other year, or issue a new set of charts or send something to download at a reasonable expense to doctor's offices. I welcome change.

Here's what Sam picked out.

wishful thinking

2008-09-18T13:33:00.001-07:00

(as seen in Ft. Lauderdale)
Thought it read 'Clooney.'
Sigh.............

SERVICEABILITY

2008-09-17T12:25:00.000-07:00

On a recent Saturday I ordered a bundle of services from AT&T. Ten days later on the designated installation date, eager for hook up, the man who appeared to install the satellite Dish, told me, "I can't give you Dish. You face the wrong way." I had asked the woman who signed me up if my Eastern exposure was OK for dish. "No problem," she assured me, and she and I spent 1 1/2 hours planning my technological future which now looked grim.

Up until this point, my husband was the one who took care of this kind of this stuff. I was quite successful at pawning off this busy work which involved long phone calls and lots of patience. I called my husband to tell him what the guy said, and he casually tossed in an "I told you so," which I casually brushed off. I called AT&T to cancel the whole bundle. I looked at the boxes of equipment AT&T had sent to me; they got my name wrong twice in one order.

Desparate for reliable tv and internet service, plus a new home phone so my seven year old can talk to her friends, I got in my car and drove a few miles to the closest Comcast office. I had tried to retain Comcast before, and had been told my apartment was not serviceable. When it was my turn with the customer service rep, I heard it again, "Sorry. You are unserviceable."

(Rewind: I had been to the office several weeks prior, after hearing that the apartment was unservicable, to prove that I was a new renter who did not stiff them on a bill. I cleared my name and was told everything was cool)

"What makes me unserviceable? What does that mean -- unserviceable? And can I do anything to become serviceable again?"

"No. I don't know what to tell you." Debbracca(De-BRA-kuh)turned her computer screen around to me so i could see the big "X". She told me to take it up with the property owners.

I was frustrated and felt a lump starting to grow in my throat. Why was this so difficult? I left, sat in my car and called the property manager who said, "Let me talk to her."

I walked back into the Comcast center. Debbracca saw me and I know what she was thinking -- "troublemaker." When she was finished with her customer, she beckoned me over with her hand.

"Look, can you please talk to my property manager. She says there's nothing she can do. Unserviceability is not coming from her direction."

Debbracca shook her head and as I was waiting for "Miss, you're not hearing what I am telling you," I heard this instead, "OK, I'm gonna talk to my tech guy."

Long story, still long but not exceedingly so: I am now serviceable thanks to Debbracca's patience, Rich the tech supervisor's willingness to help, Tony who hooked me up today, and me, who was surprised at my own tenacity.

Separation

2008-09-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

When I asked my husband to leave, I didn't know how it would feel down the road. I just knew that we had to separate at the time.
The first time something went down the wrong pipe and I coughed and coughed and it was hard to catch my breath, I realized that what was missing was someone who cared to whack me across the back and make sure I was o.k.
The first time I got scared in the middle of the night and wondered why someone was knocking on my door at 3 a.m., I realized that what i was missing was someone to put their arm around me and tell me it was just some idiot. Instead I lay for another 30 mins, eyes wide open, body tense, mind racing.
And the first time, I had to run an errand late at night and leave the kids alone, I realized that if something happened to me, the girls would be alone longer than they should be and very scared.
The first time I rushed out of my office/bedroom at 4 pm to pick up the girls, and left a ton of paperwork in piles on the floor, I realized that no one would come home in the interim, shake their head, and judge my mess. That was a completely liberating revelation, and I was smiling big time.

walk to beat cervical cancer

2008-09-10T20:43:00.000-07:00

There's a walk for cervical cancer on Saturday September 13th, 8 am - noon, in New York City. Go to www.tamikaandfriends.org to sign up.

Buzz

2008-09-05T11:55:00.000-07:00

As I wait in long lines at Wal-Mart (yes, I know I shouldn't shop there, but I do) I am often entertained by those last minute items that catch my eye at check out.

Take the limited edition Sickers "Charged," for example. Just when i thought the Snickers bar was perfection they go and give it a caffeine upgrade. As if the chocolatey peanuty gooey confection didn't already perk me up in the afternoon, now i can get an even better buzz. And if that buzz still isn't quite strong enough for me, I have this great idea of dunking my Charged bar into a steamy Starbucks latte.

Around five o clock, when that buzz wears off, and I wish I was drinking wine and eating guac with friends, but instead I am shuttling the kids to activities and squeezing in last minute errands, I may have found just the ticket to ease my stress. Orbit's new Sangria gum may be the answer. I wonder whether the juicy goodness will relax the tightness in my shoulders or if the hint of lime tartness will boost my confidence just enough to drum up conversation with the cute guy in front of me that I'm pretending to not notice.

Should I buy it for my kids. They like fruit flavor. But on the risk of triggering some sort of addiction, I decide against it. I kind of don't want to hear my kids clamoring for some more Sangria.

Car-bage

2008-08-23T19:42:00.001-07:00

Suddenly, I'm not feeling so bad about my car.

WHERE IS EVERYBODY?

2008-07-31T20:36:00.000-07:00

Laguardia Airport, 2:15 PM Saturday July 26

AWESOME & SHAVING

2008-07-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

AWESOME: I am on hiatus from the word "Awesome." I think the word started as a bridge word for adults to use to relate to kids, a word that the generations could share, but now everyone uses it as a blanket descriptive for just about anything. Parents use it to describe their children's achievements, teachers generate enthusiasm for science by labelling certain phenomenon as "awesome" (which phenomena truly is anyway, but lots of kids don't get that yet), and TV show hosts on shows such as Trading Spaces use it to compliment the young designers and their creative ideas. I just think it's overused and the last time i caught myself saying it, I felt slightly inauthentic about it and went "Ugh."

And yet, when deciding how to describe The Noxzema Bikini Shaver my initial thought was "Awesome." This is Miss B's first product endorsement, coming on the eve of an appointment for laser hair removal. After zealously waxing since I've become Florida-ized, I did the math and decided that laser is cost effective, not to mention mentally liberating.

To prep for laser, you've gotta shave the intended area. And so I bought this cute pint size razor (comes as a set of 6)and used it on the more delicate parts of my bod. I found this handy tool to be effective, painless, and easy to maneuver.

Thank You Starbucks

2008-06-30T19:39:00.000-07:00

It was 10:30 AM, Sunday the 22nd, JFK airport. I was making my connection to Charlottetown. Since about 5 a.m. I had been plotting celebrating the first leg of my journey with a venti latte at JFK.

I waited in line for about 15 minutes. I was surveying the baked goods from a distance, debating the chocolate chip scone. Yes, no, yes, no. I had packed some delicious fennel wine biscuits in my knapsack. I could do without it. But heck I've been up for 5 hours already, I deserve something a bit more decadent. Mmmmm. Ok, i'm going to get the scone.

As I inched closer to the cashier, i noticed that each carbohydrate had a little card sitting in front of it announcing its calorie count. 480. That pretty much sealed the deal. My turn to order -- A venti non fat latte and a bottle of water please. That's it.

Follow up: Top vs. Dress

2008-06-14T04:38:00.000-07:00

In a related fashion discovery, last night while folding laundry, I felt compelled to measure my almost twelve year olds Abercrombie jean shorts. They just looked so absolutely tiny splayed out there on the hood of the washer.

I took out my trusty 25' Stanley tape measure, the one that I use for interior design projects. I knew full well i'd need less than 1/25 of it to accuratley measure the doll-like shorts. From the button on the fly to the middle of the crotch, it is 8". My hand, from where my wrist begins to the end of my middle finger, measures 7 1/2".

My daughter has a beautiful body. I am intrigued by her beauty which incorporates the best of our genetics. It is developing earlier than mine ever did. And she doesn't understand its power. Lessons will come.

I wonder if she'll be amenable to me sewing some colorful pom pom fringe onto the hem of this 8" loincloth to give it another 2".

Drape-goat

2008-06-02T15:28:00.001-07:00

O Rachel Ray. Even though you kind of annoy me, I thought you looked good in the coffee ad. I have no talent for accessorizing, yet I can spot the talent on others. That paisley patterned scarf, otherwise known as "what appeared to be a black-and-white keffiyeh," seemed to be so nonchalantly draped though i am sure the stylist belabored the fringe over and over again.

The scarf looked like an item you've owned for years. You know, it looks a little ratty. I didn't think Muslim extremist for one minute until the keffiyeh seed was planted in my head. At that point, I did entertain the thought that perhaps you had slept with a hot Lebanese guy, and then just kind of adopted his favorite scarf as a sweet souvenir, much like some women like to hang out in their boyfriend's soft oversized button down shirts.

This Dunkin Donuts drama has even caused a stir in the land of half-votes where i reside. For example, I was in Marshalls yesterday, detoured through accessories, and noticed this pileup of scarves (above). Just as i was out the door, men stormed in wearing orange haz-mat suits, and confiscated this very display. Apparently some body talc from the neighboring cosmetics department spilled all over the display, and someone had called in an anthrax alert. It was quite dramatic. Shoppers applauded in another symbolic win for our government.

I am fascinated by this piece of news. At this press time, Rachel Ray's website makes no note of the ad controversy, nor does Dunkin Donuts' site. For certain people, it's all been swept under the prayer rug, I suppose. But others, like me have lingering curiosity. I found some amusing commentary at Canadian Broadcasting Center, www.cbcnews.ca. Here it goes:

"I hear bank robbers and gang members wear jeans. Maybe we should ban anyone from wearing jeans in commercials. I mean seeing jeans on TV might encourage someone to become a gang member."

"Bet you Rachel Ray's now on the no fly list."

"I'm sure some poor fashion stylist has now lost their job over this nonsense."

"I think my cat just laughed."

"No one has mentioned Dunkin' Donuts complicity in this non-event by pulling the ad. Too bad they don't capitalize on the publicity by giving similar scarves to contest winners."

There are plenty more. Check out the site.

I do recognize the need for intelligent security operations, and I am sure many of these are in place, keeping us from blowing up. Thank you for that. But let's try to minimize blowing iditotic things out of proportion. Fashion police, toiletries in baggies, new mothers pulled aside and interrogated because of suspicious looking breast pumps(careful they might leak something!) -- our government is grasping at straws and overworking it to its detriment.

POST-PREGNANCY DIET SECRETS OF THE RICH AND NOT SO RICH

2008-05-28T20:04:00.000-07:00

I'm standing in the check out line at Publix, and spy the US Weekly mag. My seven year old points out Christina Aguilera's "boobies"; I roll my eyes. Yes. I am SO dieing of curiosity -- I can't ever imagine how Christina got her body back?

I think about the crazy busy life she must lead. There's no biz like show biz, right? I wonder how someone like her finds 450 minutes a week to work out. I envy her commitment to her personal trainer. Kudos Christina. What an accomplishment. Your body is an inspiration to so many of us who look forward to watching you soon again, slither about on MTV. And that hot little dress -- sweet!

For all of you diet and excercise voyeurs who want to learn her secret, I don't think you'll find the real answer spelled out in the magazine. You will find a sample menu and a list of favorite excercises. But beyond that, what I believe to be her post-prego body secret is MONEY... and lots of it.

Money can buy her a personal trainer as often as she needs it. Money affords her a nanny so she can get to the gym 5 days a week for 90 minute workouts. Money can buy a personal chef with a B.S. in Nutrition who can put her on the quintessential diet regimen. Of course money also buys her that fabulous figure flattering cleavage bearing dress. And money can also buy her a quick lipo procedure to get that last annoying 5 pounds off if ever needed, not that I'm suggesting...

Christina, you look fab. Motherhood obviously agrees with you. Congrats on Max. When he reaches puberty, his buddies will so want to hang at your house. I just would like to offer up an alternative fitness plan for the masses. Based on my own post-pregnancy experience, I call it "How I got my body back on $10 a day or something like that."

I was pretty lucky in that my babies liked to be held -- in fact they cried for it day and night. So i held them in my arms, rather than the live-in nanny that i couldn't afford and therefore didn't have. What i discovered six months into motherhood was a dinstinctive and quite beautiful definition in my left deltoid. To this day, I still get compliments. Of course, my younger child still likes to be held which keeps me flexing that muscle.

As for my legs, the secret was the Baby Bjorn. For those of you who have worn one around the house with baby propped inside, you know that when bending down to pick toys, clothes, crumbs, pacifiers, etc. up, it's best to keep your back straight and to make the movements slow. What this creates, is the ultimate squat with a 10-15 pound weight. That's how i got my quads back.

As far as calorie counting was concerned, it was just plain hard to get the food into my mouth. I was consuming less and burning more -- and isn't that what dieting has always been about in its simplest form. Duh! If you have ever sat at the dinner table, and tried to eat a burrito while holding a baby, you will understand. The majority of diced tomatoes and black beans will fall on her napkin-draped head rather than land in your mouth. Same thing goes for thick creamy soups, risotto, or paella.

Lastly what really helped me get my body back was breastfeeding. But the inherent joke is, breastfeeding actually gave me the body that i never had and always wanted. Because, for about 8 months i sported big boobs and a flat tummy. Things are quite different now, but my stomach is still flat.

cheese

2008-05-26T13:07:00.000-07:00

I have a confession:

It doesn't happen a lot, but when I order "White American" from the black ladies at the deli, i feel a twinge of guilt, like i just said something slightly racist.

My friend, Debbie, has felt that way too. Glad to know someone is as ridiculously sensitive as i am. She also mentioned feeling a little weird when she asks one of the cute black guys working the chicken display for dark meat.

TOP VS. DRESS

2008-05-20T16:05:00.000-07:00

The dress vs. top controversy has happened twice to me this season. I walk into a store wanting to buy a top and I leave with a dress. That's what it says on my receipt.

It's clearly generational. I go into a store and tell the salesgirl, "I would like to try on that top." She smiles and replies, "Oh, you mean the dress." To which I reply with friendly sarcasm, "Really. That's a dress?!?!"

This is the hemline of a pink halter "dress" that I recently purchased. You can see where i draw the line.

Drama Queen Clean

2008-05-14T18:05:00.000-07:00

Today, I was sitting in the waiting room at the dentist's office, reading my new book "Walking in Circles before Lying Down." I am engaged thoroughly by author Merril Markoe's wit, and yet something begins to happen that interrupts my concentration. it is something so strange and beautiful, that I put down the book and watch in complete motherly fascination.

My seven year old daughter is down on the floor sorting through the magazines that have been messily strewn on the small cheap wicker coffee table in the waiting room. And she is putting them back in neat short stacks. She is straightening up their office. At home, we have a very long coffee table on which and under which is all her library books, Highlights and American Girl magazines, coloring books, and notebooks. It's a mess most of the time. She's never made a move to organize it unless I've bribed her or asked her repeatedly in a voice that gets louder as each request passes.

Sam moves on, and starts fluffing the pillows on the wicker settee she has been sitting on. She moves to another chair and gives the seat cushion a refreshing lift. And so she moves along, chair by chair, pillow by pillow. She is going about her business, and has a very cute smirk on her face, and she is pretending that I am not watching.

But I am entranced by this phenomenon of unsolicited organization. I recall once when she got down on her knees and aligned the candy bars at the check out at Wal-Mart. I remember wondering "why doesn't she ever feel like doing it at home." I think she was pretending to be a store clerk and that was her job.

Clearly my daughter has a passion for role play, and when she is in another character, the notion of cleaning and straightening turn her on. She likes to impersonate a pre-school teacher. In this role, she puts on latex gloves and goes about changing diapers on dolls, reading to the class, and disciplining the make believe kids. I may participate by saying, "Miss Sam, I think the boys and girls made that table over there very sticky. Could you please get some wipes and clean it up." And she will do it because she is a good teacher.

I have used her dramatic flair to my advantage; I use it to bait her. It is the coolest thing because she has fun and I get help. Mutual benefits. The other day, for example, I look around the apartment and get completely overwhelmed. It is a mess. I call to her. "Hey Sammi, would you please be the custodian and clean the school." She happily agrees and asks for a broom, a dustpan and rubber gloves which of course are too big and look ridiculously adorable on her little hands. She proceeds to sweep the floor and then take care of the garbage. I went to the store to buy a Swiffer the next day. I know she'll like using that even better.

So back to the present...

Tonight as i am tickling her back making her sleepy for bed, I ask her what the difference is between straightening up in the dentist office and at home. She answers, "Responsibility. You don't think I am responsible, so I don't do it." Interesting. I get that.

I look around her bedroom and see piles of clothes on her dresser and devise our next game. Tomorrow we will play 'Gap Girl, and she will be the manager, and her boss (me) is coming to see just how neat she keeps the store. Yes that should work.
I am eager to hear more of her philosophy on this subject, and so I start to delve deeper. She yawns, and cuts me off, "Mom, we'll talk about it in the morning."

staples

2008-04-29T20:36:00.000-07:00

It was an ordinary day. I was working at home, pushing papers. i went to the kitchen to reload my Swingline stapler. There were four boxes of staples in the top right drawer. I picked up each box; they were mostly full. Three boxes of 5,000, plus a box of 2,000 multi-colored staples. I couldn't remember the last time I bought a box. And yet I owned about 16,000 staples.

It was right there that i faced my mortality. I thought, "I will die before I use all these staples." I had a vision of someone cleaning out this drawer sometime down the road, and saying "Did she really think she was going to use all these staples?"

I bet many people die with a good supply of staples.

introduction

2008-04-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

Miss Blogworthy is a self employed writer and producer who often dreams of becoming a teacher (for the vacations) or a police officer (for the pension), but never a dentist. She has two daughters, but has never been very good at doing hair. Miss Blogworthy, formerly Mrs. Blogworthy, has just stepped out of her 20 year marriage, and is eager to see where that leads.

Read along as Miss B shares thoughts on parenting, fashion, work, food, pop culture, etc. As you can see, she is quite smitten by the spectacle of life, both the mundane and celebrated, and she likes writing in third person.

Compassionately yours,

Miss Blogworthy