Photo Per Day #3: Election Night

Yesterday I had the honor of voting for one of my best friends from childhood who ran for NYS Senate. My eyes welled up with tears at the voting booth. I was picturing us playing kickball as kids. Camping on weekends in high school. Taking *sightseeing* trips to Mexico and Canada. Visiting colleges. Drinking blue whales at T's after her wedding still in our formal gowns. And on and on.

While she didn't win, she came close gaining an impressive 47% of the votes in our district.

This photo of two childhood girlfriends (and one hubby) was taken at the Hyatt downtown last night from the Democratic campaign headquarters. Tons of TV crews were stationed in the ballroom. We were in a river view suite on the 21st floor watching the results roll in. It felt like such an historic event and, while the outcome sadly wasn't in her favor, it was a privilege to be there. 

Meet the Dress

Last night, I dreamed that I was having dinner with Tom Brokaw. I ran into him at the gym so I left wearing a wet towel with a blazer over it. I was hoping he would assume it was a dress given the extreme confidence I was exuding.

Not exactly a nightmare but a little surprising. Not the towel so much but Tom Brokaw? And, wait, me confident?

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?!

Dumb Luck

My coworker Bill once said, "I think this was meant for you" as he handed me a fortune cookie that read, "Your success will astonish everyone."

Insult notwithstanding, I'm still waiting . . .

Dress for Finesse

I just came across the following bit of advice:

[Creative] Directors do not wear band shirts, ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. If you are looking to move up in the industry, dress for where you want to be, not where you are.

I thought I would adopt the opposite philosophy for myself:

Management consultants should embrace band shirts, ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. If you are looking to remember that you once had something that remotely passed for personality and yearn for those idyllic days, dress for where you want to be, not where you are.

Stupidity

A few weeks ago, my brother sent me an article from Scientific American entitled, “The Secret to Raising Smart Kids,” which states, in a nutshell, that the key to success in school and life isn’t intelligence or ability but drive (i.e., a focus on effort and achievement).

The article goes on to say that parents actually do a disservice to their kids when they tell them that they’re smart because intelligence becomes an innate and fixed belief which “makes them see challenges, mistakes and even the need to exert effort as threats to their ego rather than as opportunities to improve. And it causes them to lose confidence and motivation when the work is no longer easy for them.” Longer term, this leads to managers/employees who discourage constructive criticism, don’t value feedback and don’t see themselves as works-in-progress
(i.e., learning and growing).

I keep thinking about these findings as I watch my kids attempt to learn how to play guitar, tie their shoes, rollerblade in the kitchen, etc. And I talk about success with them when they’re reluctant to try new things out of fear of failure. I’ve begun trying to get them to change their phraseology from “I’m not good at ice skating” to “I’m not good at ice skating – yet.” Subtle difference but I hope it gets them into a lifelong mode of striving.

Then, last weekend, I picked up a December copy of the New York Times Magazine that was headed to the recycling bin and read an article entitled, “Quitting Can Be Good for You” which cites research that “suggests that success — or more specifically, the persistence required to achieve hard-to-reach goals — may not be worth it.” Specifically, “teenage girls who are unable to disengage themselves from trying to attain hard-to-reach goals exhibited increased levels of the inflammatory molecule C-reactive protein (C.R.P.), which in adults is linked with diabetes, heart disease and early aging.”

Huh. So what’s it going to be?

As W.C. Fields is quoted as saying, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”

Or, more vividly, as the December page from the Despair calendar that my sister gave to me (which hangs proudly next to my desk at work), depicts, “Quitters never win, winners never quit, but those who never win and never quit are idiots.”