Pack Rat

While sorting through an old box of stuff in the basement, I came across heaps of mementos including a photo of my mom on a date in the 50s in a frame that says, "Souvenir of Moroccan Village: The Gayest Spot in the Village" and "Slumming in Greenwich Village." Inside that frame was also the front page of The AMBAssador 25th Anniversary Issue (October 1953) which I'm guessing was the internal newsletter for employees of Alexanders. My mom was apparently an Alexanderite (posh name for a salesperson?) and was pictured with four other women alongside an article that states, "Alexanderites strutting proudly down the aisles of our two Bronx stores and at White Plains recently had ample reason for thrusting out their chests and boasting a bit." You go girl!

Speaking of strutting themselves, I also unearthed a picture of my dad circa 1945 with a bunch of other guys in the Navy all dressed up like (I think) girls? They're lifting their skirts (yes, you read that right) to show their boxers but also are wearing hats, garter belts on their thighs, and scarves around their necks. I'm thinking that they may have fit in better at Moroccan Village than on the U.S.S. Richmond. What happens at sea stays at sea?

In the pile, I found a bunch of my old concert tickets including the Who, the Stones, Rush, Santana, the Dead, the Lounge Lizards, Elvis Costello, UB40, Joe Jackson, Janes Addiction, Simple Minds, the Call, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, the Plasmatics and more.

And I found a receipt from Marine Midland Bank dated March 16, 1983 where I ran into the Thompson Twins at the ATM and they all signed my bank balance ($311.68)! I also have an REO Speedwagon ticket signed by Gary Richrath and Kevin Cronin. Ah yes, you can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish.

My least favorite ticket? The Cars. I'll never forget them singing, "Can I bring you out in the light?" and flooding the War Memorial with stadium lighting. Unbelievable buzzkill. Worst ending to a concert ever. Not just what I needed.

Lastly, I found a copy of Playbill magazine circa 1984 in which Aaron Sorkin (an SU grad with whom we used to stay on our weekend trips to the city) wrote, "It was great sex! Come live with us." Aaron S. For whatever reason, his S looks more like a backwards dollar sign. (Note to mom: We didn't really have sex. It was his roommate who hit on me at the time but I feigned death. It worked.) In any event, Aaron was convinced that he would be famous one day and I believed him. Back then he was a talented writer living in a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen; now he's a talented gazillionaire living presumably in some heavenly mansion in California. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer now?!

Image Matters

I've been interviewing senior-level marketing candidates for a position on the leadership team of a local firm. This individual will report directly into the President/CEO and will be responsible for guiding the organization's strategy and marketplace presence.

One candidate, who we liked immensely, sent gorgeous cards to both the CEO and me. Beautiful, gold embossed cards inside of which she inserted a nondescript, poorly written, two sentence, typed note on a scrap of paper that was literally ripped (i.e., not nicely cut) from a piece of white copier paper.

No time like the present to conserve paper. And time. It wasn't even personalized to us, the job or the company.

If we hired her, can we expect the Marketing Plan to be written in crayon?

I Found My Thrill

I just trolled a bunch of beer review sites (e.g., Beer Advocate, Rate Beer, The Brew Club) where I discovered that I may be the only person on the planet who likes Anheuser-Busch's Wild Blue blueberry lager.


(Image from JustBeer a fun little beer blog.)

Maybe because I don't normally drink beer? And I love Kool-Aid? Or perhaps my sudden attraction to (necessity for) Hall's cough drops and NyQuil are tainting my view.

Anything that's brightly colored with purple foam can't be bad . . . not to mention the antioxidants.

Perlo on Furlough

Okay, so I'm not trying to get into the business of restaurant reviews but my boss and I took some high-profile clients to a much touted Perlo's last night and -- oh, how do you say -- never again?!

When you're across the street from one of the city's best Italian restaurants, your decor is suboptimal and your food only marginally better, shouldn't customer service be your strength? Otherwise, how do you differentiate yourself (in a positive fashion)?

With six people ordering appetizers, soups and full meals, shouldn't one person be "allowed" to order a smaller (i.e., children's) portion of the ravioli, if so desired? Doesn't the customer come first? Our waitress not only said "no" but also checked with the owner who also said "no dice." Our client didn't order a meal at all. Somehow that's better than
a) pleasing the customer and b) generating more revenue?

Did I mention someone in the restaurant was smoking?

What's Italian for "ass backwards": àsino al contrario?

Ciao.

Why God?

"Life is like an onion, which one peels crying."

--French proverb

Dinosaur Jr.

Met some Simon school friends for barbecue ribs at the Dinosaur last night. It was sooooooooo good. Sooooooo good. Sooooooooo good. Loved the Drunken Spicy Shrimp Boil the most. And I really enjoyed my flight of beers -- a little strange since I don't even like beer. My favorite: The Arrogant Bastard.

When I just clicked through their site, I happened to notice their tagline (of course).

"You're Not Worthy."

Classic! (Although it shouldn't take a multi-million dollar ad agency to tell you that you don't need quotes around your tag; just a quick gander at other taglines or a dogeared copy of Strunk & White.)

Your Vote Counts

Apparently Obama went from a 70:30 favorite a few weeks ago to dead even in the Intrade prediction markets. This is likely more credible than my qualitative analysis with supplemental Facebook statistics. D'oh!



In tribute to the woman, the myth, the legend (and since a Sarah Palindrome is boring), I thought I would give you some Sarahnagrams instead.

HA IRAN SLAP
AH LIAR SNAP

And my favorite: I A RASH PLAN

McCain v. Obama

Here's to me stepping, once again, into territory where I don't belong and my economist brother piping in with details regarding where my logic is flawed! (Bring it on.) But really, who's going to win?

Today's polls show the candidates neck-in-neck: 47% McCain v. 46% Obama. ABC.com boasts myriad conflicting articles as I type, "Public still doubts Palin's readiness," "White women shift to McCain," and "George Stephanopoulos examines how Sarah Palin has boosted McCain's campaign."

A lot of my friends/neighbors are split. My Obama-oriented friends are filled with passion and outrage. They send missives all day long. My McCain-favoring friends are quietly smug. They somehow don't need to fight for their cause; it's a given. Perhaps mere mortal words cannot state their case effectively.

If I turn to my trusty Facebook, the "One Million Strong for Barack" group has 707,941 members and "Barack Obama (politician) has 1,855,105 supporters; whereas, the "1,000,000 Strong for McCain/Palin" group has a scant 65,820 members and "John McCain (politician)" only has 337,872 supporters. Quite a contrast.

While I realize that Facebook is not a representative sample of the U.S. population, it is an interesting dynamic. I think the numbers may actually support the key finding of my random qualitative survey of friends and neighbors: one segment vehemently supports its candidate and the other segment appears to be simply accepting its candidate to a moderate degree.

I wonder how the passion (or lack thereof) will manifest itself in driving people to the voting booths come November. If you want me, you can find me left of center off of the strip.

Think or Swim

This morning I went to a different location than my regular gym. (And by "regular," I mean the gym that I stopped going to two years ago and recently re-signed due to excess flabbiness. Positive correlation?) This facility is closer to the client site where I currently spend my Tuesdays and it has a pool. A gorgeous, heated, well lit pool!

So I started my day by enjoying one of my absolutely favorite things to do. And I had the entire place to myself. I also had the sauna to myself afterward.

I think that's one key to enjoying life: having refreshing, vacation-like moments interspersed in the midst of the daily grind.

Can't Spell Bruegger's without Rue

I have to moan momentarily about being on a diet. Mainly because I want to eat . . .

Thank God for Weight Watchers which helps me to control my intake. By calculating my points for the day, I can better ensure I don't overeat. However, calculating my points after eating can be downright shocking.

Case in point:
Breakfast today = coffee, bagel and peanut butter
Lunch today = grapes and a La Yogurt probiotic, nonfat yogurt
Dinner today = none because I have no points remaining

Bruegger's sucks. More points in one whole wheat bagel than in a McDonald's Egg McMuffin. More points than two pieces of pepperoni pizza at Chuck E. Cheese. More points than chocolate ice cream at Haagen Dazs. I could have had chocolate raspberry cake at Starbucks instead.

Or almost four glasses of wine. Four.

Sure, wine has no protein but it would help me to forget that I'm STARVING.

My Bologna

Yesterday at noon, Son #2 desperately wanted to play.

Me: You need to eat some lunch.

Son #2: I'm not hungry. Can I go see if the W's can play?

(Lines repeated for a few minutes until I, per usual, caved in. Why force him to eat?)

Ten minutes later, Son #2 appears back home.

Son #2: Can I play Play Station?

Me: You really should eat some lunch.

Son #2: I just ate over at the W's.

Two seconds later, Mrs. W called: I just wanted to let you know that monkey came over for five minutes, ate lunch with us and then said, "I'm going home now."

Are processed bologna Lunchables at the neighbor's house really that enticing? Bizarre.

Raggedy Mama

Walking son #1 next door tonight for a sleepover as he carried his sleeping bag and Matchbox cars.

Me: "Did you bring a stuffed animal?"

Son #1: "Mama, I don't need to sleep with stuffed animals."

Me: "Just thought I'd ask."

Son #1: "But I would like to have a full-sized stuffed animal of you so I could snuggle all night and not want to come home in the middle of the night."

Damn that's cute.

Self-Actualization

When asked to name the one person absent from her life that she missed the most, she responded, "The person I hoped I'd be by this point in my life."

I hear ya sister.

For this, and other true stories told in one sentence, head over to OneSentence.org. Pretty cool!

Good Luck

I went to Good Luck restaurant last night with the girls to celebrate Christine's birthday. One word: must go! Oh, did I say one word? I meant two. It's a large, open, industrial space in the old Fabrics and Findings warehouse at the Village Gate with a bit of a French country community ambiance thrown in.

Their tapas-like menu boasts "food to share" which makes the whole dining experience interactive and fun. The food was fresh, flavorful and light -- and it just kept coming. We shared two bottles of wine; the charcuterie plate; leeks with lump crab; shrimp, bean and goat cheese crostini; warm arugula with bleu cheese and roasted figs; and heaps of funny and/or tear-filled stories about our kids, jobs, lives, sex, faith, parents in nursing homes, etc.

But one of the best parts of our evening was our waiter: Storm. He was the most articulate and knowledgeable waiter I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not to mention likeable and funny. He had no fear of making solid recommendations and sharing with us what foods were locally sourced, how they are prepared and plated, what spices are used, and so on. (As a contrast, I often hear the "I don't know, I've never tried that" response to my inquiry which makes me cringe. Really? Because isn't knowing about the food your job?) I really hope he's compensated well because he's worth his weight in gold.

One more thing. Unlike Label 7 (a.k.a. Mustards) our local tapas-style eatery in the village, which has to-die-for rich, creamy, yummy foods and attractive space, this place was also packed to the gills but otherwise noiseless. At Label 7, you cannot hear your friends seated at your same table; at Good Luck, you cannot hear others at the table next to you. Although, last night, that would have come in handy as the man next to us unwrapped a dress for his birthday gift. Uh, what's with the frock mister?

Next time, I'm ordering one of their original cocktails. For the girl who never knows what drink to order and continually pesters bar staff to create something original, I cannot believe I didn't try the Johnny Walker black cat tea or the Knock on Wood (Appleton Estate Rhum, apricot brandy, lime and brown sugar). As Clarissa sang to Rudolph, "there's always tomorrow."

Road to Nowhere

This Friday night, I have to stand in front of 300 people and speak at a fund raising event. This, alone, is making me extremely nervous. So much so that I have an eye twitch.

To make matters worse, I have to read something that I did not write. It's a heavy-handed bio for which I need to channel Charles Kerault. Or Charlton Heston as Moses parting the Red Sea. I'm more of a light-hearted quipper who is more comfortable one-on-one or with a small group of friends.

Yet, I recognize that this is not about me. It's an honor to have been asked to give this speech.

When I was first hired by Kodak in the late 80s, I didn't speak to anyone for months. Literally. In retrospect, I recognize that I have come a long way from my intense shyness. I used to get physically ill beginning new jobs; now I meet with new clients on a daily basis.

I guess it's all part of my path. I'm just not exactly sure where I'm going. Or why.

I'll gladly accept any and all prayers that I do justice to this piece that was written, I'm sure, with love. I just hope I don't trip myself up over the hokey Hallmark sentimentalism. It's not my strength.

I Dare You to Vote for Me!

According to Political Calculations, it's time for me to "Fire up the spin machine, you're ready to kick off your campaign this week! It's time to start courting donations from lobbyists and to put underlings to work deciding what you believe!"

Actually, this site calculates my "qualifications" based not on my experience in office (or lack thereof) but rather on whether or not I've ever toured with a rock band which I have not -- yet. Oddly enough, it doesn't ask race, gender or whether or not I'm a total babe. It's also more focused on my current bio. Holding all values equal, I'm still qualified for office if I am married with two sexual partners vs. in a relationship with only one. Yee haw! As I said to my brother, this doesn't account for my millions of past affairs or the fact that I'm one step away from rehab next week. As long as I'm clean and perceived to be sober today, all's well.

Not to mention that I can strangle moose barehanded . . .

All Hail the Return of the Pant

Oh thank God! I can finally wear pants again. I was getting so darned sick of my pinafores.



Seriously, is it only in middle America where pants never went out of style or is someone in the Victoria's Secret advertising department smoking crack? Way to be in touch with your audience.

And is that silky blouse with puffy sleeves really the "most-wanted look inspired by the fall fashion shows"? If so, I'm glad to be living in the land of the lost. That outfit doesn't even look compelling on her and she's presumably a supermodel.

Somehow, I'd much rather be in this little number from J. Crew.

Subversive Cross Stitch

I think I just found just the thing to complement our family needlepoint sampler.



Really catches the eye.

Back to School 2008

One kid is beyond excited for school; the other is filled with the dread of sitting idle. One kid cannot wait to make new friends; the other couldn't care less. One kid is anxious to play kickball during recess; the other wishes that school could be taught through video games where the kids compete against each other virtually and win prizes.

After two years bearing his of extreme boredom, I think his idea actually has merit.

For Labor Day weekend, I decided to spend as much time as possible being a kid again. I woke up on Saturday morning and played almost two hours of Guitar Hero III with Son #2 -- and he let me play whatever songs I wanted (e.g., Sonic Youth, Beasties, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols). He won every round.

All the kids in the neighborhood and I played in the dirt pit. I had mud all the way up my arms but I built a big volcano and then a tepee out of sticks. What talent!

Son #2 and I went for a bike ride and the following day we went go-carting and played miniature golf. On Monday we went swimming at my girlfriend Christine's house.

We had the neighbors over for Sangria on Saturday night, a fire pit on Sunday night and a neighborhood picnic, complete with the hubby's famous "green chicken" burritos, on Monday night.

No work. No work. No work.

I think I fully understand Son #1's position on school. "I'd rather just run around all day." Guess what? Me too.