Pow! Bang! Crash!

I just received a package of financial statements that my client rendered in Comic Sans. It's a bit hard to take a P&L seriously when it's coming from Wolverine.

Maybe I'll design my bar charts out of hearts (where trending is favorable) or possibly employ some sad emoticons (where the data appears less advantageous).

It's best to know your audience.

Fashion Challenge

I was thinking of attempting to buy my clothes for next 12 months from only one fashion-backward, mall store, like Sears or JCPenney, to see what I could come up with. I thought that, over the course of the year, I would possibly a) save some money due to the dearth of options, b) look absolutely heinous even by local standards (or lack thereof), or c) rise to the challenge and throw some *great* looks together on the fly.

Then I ran across the Winter '09 collection by Juliette Hogan (via Down & Out Chic). So pretty!

Professional yet feminine, the look above consists only of a simple cardigan, pencil skirt and blouse in muted colors. Shouldn't be too hard to replicate, right?

So I decided to compare against the online Sears catalog to see if they had anything remotely of that caliber.



Wow! A lime green, short-sleeved suit with white buttons and contrasting stitching? You betcha.

This could be fun.

Functional Silos

Yesterday, I offhandedly said to my co-worker Jenn, "I've been eating my Lean Cuisine every day for weeks with a spoon 'cause I'm too lazy to go out and buy more forks."

She replied, "OMG! I've been eating my soup everyday with a fork because I ran out of spoons."

Pretty friggin' stoooopid for two women who consult with organizations on communication, teamwork and process optimization.

Ageless Beauty

According to a recently published study revealing the secrets* to looking younger, I'm hosed.

Bad news: Sun, smoking, alcohol and stress can add years to your face

Good news: Additional weight fills in and softens wrinkles

As a stressed out, cocktail imbibing, ex-smoker with a strong proclivity toward sunny beaches and/or hammocks, I'm not poised well. Once again, there goes my modeling career. However, as luck would have it, I can somewhat offset the effects of aging simply by continuing to overeat. Yay!

Bring on the cupcakes!

*Are any of these illuminating research findings really a surprise?

H1NE1?

Son #1 was reading a library book last night on wizardry and decided to read my palm. Not that I believe in this stuff but my lifeline fades and splinters mid-palm for a good quarter of an inch, regains strength and continues until it reaches my wrist. Since I'm quickly rounding the age bend toward 45, I'm thinking I've gotta be entering the fractured, mid-palm stage of life right now.

And given that I've been sick with what I'm calling "the plague" for over five weeks and, once again, have tissues stuck up my nose today at work (i.e., stunningly gorgeous, as always), I'm thinking this is the beginning of the end. Or at least the beginning of the prolonged "life support season" of my apparently fragile-but-lengthy existence.

Thankfully with all of the (justified?) pandemic paranoia going around these days, my kids have really long, thick, lifelines. I just pray to God every night that they remain safe, healthy, happy and filled with wisdom to make the right choices in life -- especially if I'm no longer around as God continues thinning the herd.

On a related age note, we watched the Wanda Sykes HBO special over the weekend. She, too, is 45 years old and makes a few great jokes about her aging body (and her bulging midsection's demands for bread and alcohol). Sounds familiar. She even delivered the following zinger:

“I used to pack an extra pair of panties in case I got lucky. Now I pack an extra pair in case I sneeze.”

Afterward, she dropped to the floor pretending that she had a Kegel-induced charlie horse. If only it wasn't so funny . . .

Who Killed Bambi?

I believe this falls squarely in the "ask and ye shall receive" category.



Found at the Kickerville Long Lake gas station! And it can be yours for a mere $140.

That's all we really are is squirrels!

I'm driving up to Saranac Lake today for work and I'm hoping to see a lot of these on the way.



Gotta love Crappy Taxidermy!

Ganondagan

I took my little scouts to Ganondagan last night. It's the hilltop site of a former Seneca community that once housed 150 communal longhouses and over 4K people. Today, there lies a reconstructed longhouse in the midst of beautiful, rolling hills with hiking paths through the woods.

Our guide took us into the longhouse and tried to direct our imagination back to life in the 1600s. As we were seated on the bottom bunks that lined the walls of the house and faced the firepits, she talked about how the structure was built out of elm bark, selling pelts to the traders, herbal medicines, marriage between different tribal families, hunting at the age of 12, etc.

My kids were bored, bored, bored. Much akin to our dreaded ride aboard the Sam Patch last summer, our family apparently doesn't like to learn about the area's rich history in our spare time. In retrospect, since most of my childhood was spent in abject fear of my parents foisting another achingly dull museum tour on us (with my dad eternally chiming, "some day you'll regret this," under the misguided assumption that we would one day grow up to be cultural sophisticates), I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Like mother/like sons.

At the end, a few kids asked questions such as, "It's cold in here. Didn't they suffer from hypothermia?" but after a few minutes of Q&A, one kid finally raised his hand and asked, "Is this thing almost over?" Thankfully, he wasn't one of mine.

Unlike the scouts, I loved it. I could have stayed all night. I wanted to try on the deerskin dress with the fringe and wrap myself in a pelt. I would love to have taken off my shoes and felt the hard, cold soil against my feet. I wanted to light a fire and . . . yeah, okay, I wouldn't know how to cook anything. How did they survive without takeout?

But here's what amazed me the most: the men would walk to places as far away as the Mississippi River to hunt and gather skins to be traded. That's 1500 miles round trip, sans GPS, and they would find their way back to that same, obscure hillside in the middle of nowhere. I would get lost in the woods in two seconds flat-- nevermind trying to figure out which hill, of all the gazillion hills in upstate NY, my family lived on.

Can you hear me now?

Free Advice

I just got a call from a sales rep who wanted to set up a 30 minute web demonstration with me to view their research database. He began by saying, "It's the perfect tool for your organization."

How does he know what's best for our organization without having a preliminary discussion?

So I told him how we conduct research, the access we already had to competitive tools and the varying types of projects for which we employ secondary research.

Because he had his talking points and his script, he didn't quite understand what to do with that information that I had given him. With no ability to deviate from his intended path, he again tried talking me into watching his demo. Not gonna happen: not on my billable hours and certainly not on my personal time.

I dropped to the bottom line: how much does your database cost?

He responded by saying that, since it's newly introduced, it's being aggressively sold for only $12K per year. So I asked him, for that much money, why we should invest. I was expecting a benefits-related sale but he restated that it is the best tool for our organization. Oh really?!

I told him that he was wasting his time with me and then gave him some free (read: unsolicited) advice: 1) ask probing questions to find out more about any organization's needs before pitching them, 2) target larger companies that are more likely to have budgets to support this solution, and 3) provide a back-of-the-envelope cost-benefit analysis to justify the expenditure.

If my billable rate is $1500/day and his solution can save me eight hours of research on a per-client basis, I can breakeven after only eight projects.

Here's where he could have potentially engaged me in conversation*:

• The quality of the data I currently employ -- often from myriad, conflicting sources and frequently a source of confusion
  
• Concerns around the ability to find critical pieces of data needed to ensure the recommendations we're offering, and the assumptions on which they are based, are solid
• The potential ramifications/consequences to my clients of a misguided strategy
  

Nah. Instead, he thanked me for my time and hung up.

I'm now left wondering why his company either didn't hire more qualified sales reps or provide adequate training for those on board.

What a waste of time and money.

*Note: not strong concerns. We're extremely careful and conservative with our assumptions.

Two Guest Entries

I've been looking at all the gorgeous women with skin-tight, high-heel, over-the-knee boots this year and realizing I'm not edgy or sophisticated enough to get away with it. I want to blame age -- but as my girlfriend Laura attested, many wearers of said boots are older women who are still rockin' it. Oh well.

Given our climate, Laura recommend these rechargeable, heated boots from Columbia Sportswear for me instead. S-E-X-Y.



Practical. Very practical. My mother would be proud. And they'll come in handy when I'm playing driveway hockey, going sledding or tracking Yeti.

*******

On an unrelated topic, the newest entry to the blog roll on the left side of the screen is A.S.S. This link comes from my brother Kevin and features many unsavory acronyms. This should keep us entertained.


I'm thinking our old student newspaper at the University of Rochester's William E. Simon Graduate School of Business Administration, The World According to Simon, would have been prominently featured on this site.

Sunday Morning

I threw out a huge box of cassette tapes a while back but the hubby must have found some more of my collection including a really old Andy Warhol tape. He placed the tapes on the seat of my car as a little surprise.

Much like the period of time after I originally purchased it, I can't stop listening to the Velvet Underground. Can't stop.

It's just the wasted years so close behind . . .

Etiquette Smetiquette

My coworker and I are in the midst of scheduling conference calls with a number of international Olympiads. (Don't ask.)

My first two calls yesterday, just to get on their calendars, went something like this:
1) I can't talk right now; I'm in the middle of a competition (voice: agitated)
2) I can't talk right now; I'm in the middle of a clinic (voice: whispering)

I asked Jennifer, "Why are these people even answering their phones? Don't they use voice mail?"

Immediately thereafter, she called a guy who said, "Can you call me back later? I'm in the men's room." Then he continued to talk to her for a few minutes.

Has the world gone crazy? I have no problem bringing the phone into the bathroom when I'm chatting with my girlfriends (!) but I don't typically answer it when I'm performing in front of a panel of judges. My medals are too important to me.

Hey Mambo

When I was little, I was into all sorts of performance arts-related stuff that has since fallen by the wayside. I took summer acting classes at Nazareth College, performed in all of our school plays (including an ill-fated production of Gilbert & Sullivan's The Mikado which may explain why I hate musicals today) and took modern dance at the University of Rochester. My first dance classes, however, took place in our town's original, one-room, school house. At the end of one session, we painted sheets and put on an eclectic show for our parents. Our "art work" was later hung in a now-defunct gallery that sat alongside the canal next to the Del Monte Lodge.

Even though it is located less than a mile from our house, I was in the Mile Post School House last night for the first time in over 30 years for a cub scout meeting. It definitely took me back in time. I wanted to clear out the tables, chairs and chalk board and start dancing wildly. Thankfully, my professional sensibility and wraparound, black dress kept me in line.

At the end of the night, we learned that each parent has to conduct one cub scout meeting per year. People were stating their preferences such as, "I'll lead the Webelos Outdoorsman activity." I remained silent knowing that I have pretty much nothing to offer the group until Tommy's dad chimed in, "Hey Mrs. R., you gonna get these kids their M&A badges?"

I drove home while thinking: how did my life come to this?

I just wanna dance.

Bringing Home the Bacon

80's version: You got peanut butter in my chocolate!
Today: You got chocolate on my bacon?

Like cherry vodka and Pixy Stix, these are two things that I love independently but I'm not so sure I want to try together -- especially with the not-so-delicious sounding name of pig candy and the $38/lb. price tag.



From Serious Eats.

As an aside, before writing "cherry vodka and Pixy Stix," I had written "bourbon and brownies" but then decided that actually sounded promising. Now I know what I'm doing this weekend!

Chez Iron Chef

Why doesn't the Food Network open an Iron Chef restaurant in NYC (or LA, Las Vegas, Rochester, etc.) where the menu changes every week and features the six platings which each of the chefs prepared on the show that most recently aired?

Our family watches Iron Chef on a routine basis and I always want to try everything -- even the vile sounding/looking (but apparently delicious) blood sausage with blueberries.

People that otherwise want to try new restaurants may continually be drawn back to the Iron Chef Cafe because the menu would rarely be the same twice (except between regular seasons when the establishment could revisit some of the old favorites) and different, top-ranked chefs nationwide or worldwide would be the originators, albeit not preparers, of each dish.

What a great way for up-and-coming chefs to learn from the masters and for us, plain folk to have an amazing culinary experience.

Just a thought.

Reaching New Audiences

One of my favorite local radio stations is WBER: the only station that matters. (As tag lines go, it's a bit too pompous and aggrandizing but, hey, a minor issue.) The station is on my preset which allows me to quickly scan to other great stations at the far left of the dial if needed, namely WITR and WRUR. The DJs fully engage their audience members, have heaps of CD and concert giveaways, play the Beasties every Friday at 8:00 a.m. and continually seek feedback on what should be played on air through their Prospect Song of the Week. (Aside: a bunch of songs that failed in years past are on my iPod. What does that say about my taste in music? Either it's awful or . . . I can just pretend that I am, or was, avant-garde. Let's just go with the latter. See below for substantiation/rebuttal.)

Anyhoo, one thing that keeps grabbing me lately is an ad that they're running for the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra. It's skillfully written to draw in what might, on the surface, appear to be divergent audiences (i.e., classical music vs. The Chemical Brothers). The copy, however, draws the connection, "sharing WBER's love for live music." And the closing line negates any preconceived notions that listeners may have about the RPO, "No suit required." I'm loving the RPO marketing folks that decided to pitch their brand, and become a "proud sponsor of," an alternative music station!

So, three "oldies" that have been rejected by listeners but I still love are below. Come on people, you gotta agree: these are great songs, right??

Ghetto Gifts!

My co-worker Jennifer and I just drove past Juan's Ghetto Nick-Naks (sic). Colorful storefront. Awesome name. And it's just up the street from Effen Haute*. Two birds/one stone! How on earth did I not notice it ever before?

Now I'm burning with curiosity to know what Juan sells in there . . . seriously. Any guesses?

I may have to stop next time I'm in the (neighbor)hood.

*Effen Haute is not, as it turns out, boarded up. It was open for business today. Thanks for all your concern.

Your Love is Better than Wine

As someone who loves, loves, loves music, it's taken me quite a while to get into Christian music. Since I recognize that what I fill my mind with is critical, over a year ago I started to listen to positive, encouraging K-LOVE. (Yes, they preface their call sign with their tag line. I think all two of my readers know how I feel about that. Hi mom!)

I now love worshiping in my car and even know many of the songs/artists at this point which makes singing along that much easier. But . . .

Whenever I hear a song that I dislike and change the station, I am immediately reminded by non-Christian radio stations how much better mainstream music is. While I really like the Revelation Song, Phillips Craig & Dean simply can't hold a candle to Radiohead. As such, I'm thinking they, and other Christian bands, hold limited appeal to a larger audience.

So here's what I propose: Give select portions of the Bible to well known and/or infinitely cooler bands who have a talent for soulful pop tunes and ask them to write and perform their own songs based on the lyrics. They don't have to be believers; they simply have to enjoy a good challenge. My recommended bands would include, but not be limited to, the following -- not because they're my favorites (not all of them, at least) but because I think they could do a bang-up job.

• Sonic Youth
• Liz Phair
  
• Matthew Sweet
• Beck
  
• Counting Crows
• Jakob Dylan/The Wallflowers
• Sheryl Crow
• Radiohead
• Cracker
  
• Wilco
  
• David Bowie (of course)
  

Based on their rendition of The Carpenters' Superstar, I honestly think Sonic Youth could do an amazing, languish-filled lamentation taken directly from the Psalms and generate a big hit.



While not even a remotely Christian song, I wonder if Stephen "Tin Tin" Duffy was quoting the Song of Solomon 1:2 when he rose to fame with Kiss Me back in the day?



See, it could happen.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Son #2 is rapidly gaining his father's sense of humor and, along with that, his inherent disrespect. Thankfully, I think it's funny (for now).

Case #1: As I was learning to skateboard over the weekend, and unsuccessfully attempting to guide the skateboard toward one of the ramps in the driveway, Son #2 shouted, "head to the left." When my poorly directed skateboard continued veering slightly right, he then deadpanned under his breath, "your other left." Tough crowd.

Case #2: This morning, I bumped my head on the kids' wooden coat hook when I was bending over to pick up my laptop bag. As I laughed aloud, I could hear a little voice from the couch asking, "Uh, first time with the backpack, mom?" Sheesh. No margin of error allowed.

All I'm askin' is for a little respect (just a little bit).

My Day of Atonement

Years ago, after the hubby had his wisdom teeth out, I rented Beaches and some other horrible chick flick like Fried Green Tomatoes. Kick 'em when he's down, I say. He's never quite forgiven me.

I finally atoned for that sin during Yom Kippur by getting sick, staying home for two days, reading a boring book and watching three films -- all of which left more to be desired. The worst of the lot was Adrift in Manhattan starring Heather Graham. The only thing that could have saved me from interminable boredom during this "drama" was if I were adrift in Manhattans but alas I'm deep in the heart of my pseudo-Lenten, non-drinking period. Next up was Grace is Gone with my main man John Cusack. Not bad; not great. Touchingly so so.

Hands down, the best movie of the three was Burn After Reading which was disappointingly not up to par with other Coen Brothers films. But here's what I really want to know: how did they get John Malkovich to play the part of the jilted agent/husband? Did he read the script before signing on? He, of course, was fantastic (as he typically is) but his character spent the entire film saying and/or asking "What the f*&^?" in a million different, highly expressive ways. I'm not sure he had many (if any) other lines but he delivered each WTF with a new, fresh intonation while stressing different words. Impressive. I guess that's acting. The hubby's guess is that he needed a cash infusion to renovate his kitchen.

Oh well. I think it's high time to put my movie picking to rest and let others select films for me from now on. It's no wonder I'm not allowed to touch the remote.

Whole Lotta Love

Last night, as I was tucking Son #1 into bed, he said to me, "Every day during school, I dream about playing hooky. There's even a big, red sign over the door leading to the playground that says, 'exit' and I'm like 'come on!' -- it's actually encouraging me to want to run out the door. Why would they do that?"

I told him that he and I could play hooky together some day. He would, after all, need someone to write his excuse the next day. He countered by telling me that he was thinking of creating a cyborg that could mimic daddy's handwriting . . . just like Santa does.

"Dad's probably gonna come clean with us about the Santa thing in about 30 years when he feels it won't be so disappointing. I know he doesn't want to let us down yet."

It breaks my heart that the Santa days are coming to a close. (Not to mention that it ticks me off that the hubby gets all the credit for everything!)

As I kissed Son #1 goodnight, I said, "I love you from the depths of my soul and the bottom of my heart." He responded, "I love you from the top and bottom of my heart and the right and left sides. And the bottom right, top left, top right and bottom left. I love you from all the cardinal directions of my heart."

That's a lot of love.