We're Through Being Cool

My girlfriend Mary just sent me this test which assesses how cool you were in High School (what crowd you ran with, etc.) vs. how cool you are now.

Share it with your friends to see if they've changed.

But first, click here to see if you're still cool!

I'm cool . . .

We Are the Champions -- My Friends

You know how sometimes you don't understand the gift(s) that life is giving you until everything falls into place and you look back and think "Ah, now I understand why I tripped over that hole in the sidewalk and spilled coffee on my sweater and had to go to the dry cleaner where I ran into Stella and heard about her car woes and then we realized with her mechanical abilities and my tremendous ideation capabilities that together we had the perfect solution for an all new flux capacitor"?

Well, that's exactly how I felt when I realized that, in addition to heaps of love, my kids have been preparing me to compete in something far greater in life than I could ever have imagined.

Color me inspired and awestruck. I'm already visualizing the "world champion 2008" headlines.

No time for losers.

My Treasure Chest of Love

My girlfriend Laura was in town recently from Delray Beach. We spent a little time viewing the permanent collection at the Memorial Art Gallery while the kids accompanied us on an animal scavenger hunt—looking for horse carvings, dogs in paintings, etc. We also went to see the hubby’s jazz band, The Steve Greene Trio, play at the Little Café and later saw his Podunk-punk band, The Chinchillas, play at The Cottage Hotel (a fun a little hole-in-the-wall). We inevitably faced the, “What do you want to do?” question for which Rochester has few fabulous options for repeat visitors (especially at this time of year). There are only so many times visiting the Pittsford “mega-Wegs” continues to have allure, the lakes are too cold to swim, the mountains are not yet snow capped for skiing, and the Maid of the Mist is docked for the season so why bother heading to Niagara Falls for the day?

We ended up late Saturday afternoon at Organic Alley, a fabulous local health market, which was having a holistic health fair. My girlfriend had a reading from an “intuitive,” while I sat on the floor praying to God, “Please put your words in this woman’s mouth.” I have a fear of mediums and spiritualists but this lady was spot-on in her dialog with Laura: not only nailing her raison d'etra but also giving her food for thought.

She then turned to me and asked, “Do you like to sing and dance?” and I wasn’t sure how to answer. I love to sing and dance but I’m horrible at both. I actually lip synch in church and, when I do sing aloud, people turn around to see what kind of mutant I am.

She said that my body was dancing and my heart was singing, “I have a treasure chest of love.” Laura and I started laughing. This woman proceeded to tell me that a) I work too hard, b) life doesn’t have to be this hard, and c) I need to focus on my talents—stop challenging myself further—and life will come much easier.

I came to work on Monday and immediately told my boss! Guess what, I’m planning on not working hard anymore . . . you okay with that?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh wait, that was last week. Anyhoo, here goes . . .

Things I'm thankful for:

• My family, friends, kids, health, job, life, etc.
  
• God
• The fact that I can go from indoor garage at home to indoor garage at work and circumvent some of the horrors of the Rochester weather
• The fireplace in my office (albeit unused)
  
• The holiday season and everything it entails (i.e., carols, lights, candles, shopping, giving, receiving, incense, warmth, celebration)
  
• My leopard-patterned, rubber rain boots
• Stinky's warm, furry, purring body
  
• Hugs
  
• The body's amazing ability to heal itself!
  
• Massages, facials, mani/pedis, acupuncture, etc.
  
• The full, pink roses that unexpectedly popped up in our backyard recently
• The joy of repeated visits from the Tooth Fairy lately
  
• Vacation days -- even (or especially) when they're spent rummaging through boxes and throwing out tons of useless stuff or donating it to the Salvation Army
  

While I was cleaning all this crap out of the basement last weekend, I found my godmother's high school graduation ring from Cottonwood ID circa 1928, my worn-out gingham nightgown from childhood, a "love letter" from some guy named Ian who apparently I worked with at Xerox but I cannot remember, an email from a girlfriend who died of breast cancer in 1998, a number of books that I have wanted to read and countless pictures of my hubby and me from 20 years ago, Brazil, my 30th birthday party, grad school parties, etc.

But the email from Gisella ripped my heart wide open and reminded me of how fleeting life can be. I burst into tears and Son #1 came running over. "What's the matter mama?" and I told him why I was crying. He then put his arms around me and said, "Don't be sad about her death; just be really happy that you had her in your life at one time."

So, yes, the main thing I am thankful for at this moment: all of my relationships including those that have now ended or are solely maintained from afar. Without them, there is nothing.

Eawaches

Son#2: "What does the cown doctor heaw?"

Me: "The what doctor?"

Son#2: "The cown, c-o-r-n, doctor."

Me: "Oh, what does the corn doctor hear?"

Son#2: "Noooo, heaw, h-e-a-l."

Me: "Uh, bunions?"

No Estoy Estupido

During dinner the other night, Son #1 commented on how daddy is older than I am and then innocuously stated to his brother, “Yeah, that’s why he’s smarter than mama.”

Whaaaaaaaaat?

Of course, the hubby is going to town with this. His response to everything I say is now, “What was that . . . stupid?”

I'm thinking of investing in this little number to improve my self-image.

When the Moon Hits Your Eye . . .

I cannot count on one hand how many times people have said to me, "I must know! Who is your inner European?" Sadly, I was never entirely sure until now . . .

Your Inner European is Italian!

Passionate and colorful. You show the world what culture really is.

Who's Your Inner European?

My oldest brother is apparently French. As he says, "Say it ain't so!"

Getting to Know You

As a bit of a data nerd, I can fully appreciate providing as much information about myself as possible to retailers (e.g., interests, buying patterns, preferences) if it is used to make my overall customer experience better. I actually enjoy, to a minor extent anyway, swiping my Shopper's Club Card. That way the super-powers-that-be at Wegman's know that I am a profile unto myself as I purchase Avalon Organics shampoos and meatless Quorn alongside my Pixie Stix and Ho Hos. Maybe I'm conflicted but I highly doubt that anyone else fits neatly into any prescribed category.

Needless to say, I'm a huge fan of collaborative filtering -- the science of taking my self-reported preferences, matching them with the tastes of a gazillion others, and making predictions about what I would like.

According to MovieLens, the minute I have a moment to watch a non-Pixar movie (heaven forbid) I should be renting a bunch of movies that I have actually never heard of including Monsoon Wedding, The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg, and Gone Baby Gone. Yes, there is life beyond repeatedly watching The Sandlot or Star Wars (all episodes) with my kids.

Why is this important to me? Because I think I am one of the only people on the planet not to love oft-favored gems such as Forrest Gump, As Good as It Gets, or (dare I say) Bridges of Madison County. Puhlease. I obviously cannot trust popular opinion to dictate my tastes so I must turn to the only friend who truly knows me: a robust database in Minnesota.

By far my favorite application over the past couple of years is Pandora. I can select bands I like, Pandora plays similar bands, and I get to rate whether or not I like their selections for me.

Right now I requested bands like Rilo Kiley, Wilco, Sonic Youth, Beck, Ramones, The Psychedelic Furs, Dwight Yokum, Bowie and the Pixies. Given these selections, Pandora has just played the Clash, the Cure, INXS, the Stone Roses, the Jesus and Mary Chain, Brian Eno and the Smiths. It's like having my own custom DJ. Mind you, given these selections today, I'm not really hearing anything new but that's okay; I can switch them at any time.

Now, if only I could swipe a card carrying my preferences as I enter a bar/restaurant and have songs that I would enjoy automatically entered into the mix, that would be cool. A futuristic Pandora on steroids. It could happen.

Craptacular!

For the past week, every time the McDonald's new "snack wrap" commercial came on the TV, my kids would burst out laughing.

Me: What is sooooooooo funny about that?

Them: McDonald's has something called "snack crap"!

Ah yes, reason #1 for teaching proper elocution. And yet another reason for the kids to clamor for McDonald's. Who doesn't want snack crap and a free toy?

I'm lovin' it.

Mr. Mistoffe-Lays

A coworker of mine was bemoaning the fact that his beautiful and talented girlfriend is appearing in a musical right now. He feels that, akin to drinking and driving, regardless of how gifted she is in both areas, one should never mix acting and singing. This combination creates, in his opinion, the “lowest form of art” which is “lower than pantomime.”

Years ago, my much beloved uncle Ed came in to NYC from CA and treated my cousin, my hubby and me to a world-class meal at the Four Seasons followed by an evening at the now-defunct Broadway musical Cats.

Say what you want about musicals in general, or even Cats in particular, we had a really unusual night. Why? Because the heavyset, middle-aged man seated directly behind me, who was flanked by two adoring women, sang along to every song. Yes, aloud. And his date(s) didn’t even seem to mind! One actually complimented him during intermission; she was amazed that he knew all of the lyrics. He shared with her (and me because I was eavesdropping) how a) he had seen the musical a million times and b) what made it so easy was that the lyrics were about cats. And who doesn’t love singing about cats?

Not to be outdone, during the climax of the big hit “Memory” at the close of the show, the man across the aisle from us opened a big bag of potato chips and began chomping away.

Apparently he shared Nathan’s views on this mode of artistic expression.

When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin . . .

'Cause You Had a Bad Day

I friggin' hate it when this happens!

Haste-makes-wasteology?

Until last night, I sincerely believed I was the easiest person to please food-wise. I’m equally as content dining in upscale restaurants as I am gorging myself on cheeseburgers at Tom Wahls. And, in my humble opinion, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese – the powdered kind lest there be any confusion – is better than “gourmet” Mac & Cheese any day. On the flip side, I can’t find a suitable tuna anywhere since I had killer sashimi years ago at the Market Street Bar & Grill in the Hyatt at the Reston Town Center. Alas, my hunt continues.

In recent weeks, I’ve enjoyed a fabulous Chilean sea bass at Max of Eastman Place, shared a delicious plate of Cajun calamari with my girlfriend at Bistro 135, devoured a heavenly breakfast empanada at Juan and Maria’s in the Rochester Public Market, and even found a little slice of yum with the Triple Chocolate Meltdown at our neighborhood Crapplebee’s. Really, it doesn’t take much.

Welcome to Tasteology: Rochester’s very own introduction into branded “health food.” With a clever concept, fabulous mission (the passionate pursuit of great food and inspired customers) and a CIA-trained head chef, what could go wrong? Oh, I wish you hadn't asked. The poor execution of an overstated brand promise, that’s what.

If you like dining at the Ikea Café sans the deliciously fattening Swedish meatballs, this is the place for you. Picture an oversized, nondescript dining room with Pergo-like flooring, colorful green painted walls and what I possibly remember to be plastic chairs —devoid of any warmth—and voila, try to make yourself at home on a chilly, wet, November evening. And feel free to ignore the woman being filmed in the kitchen and broadcast on a giant screen toward the back given that you cannot hear a word she's saying and the top of her head is cut off.

But really, lack of ambiance and technical difficulties aside, we were there for the “great food.”

I ordered the Parrilla touted as “grilled Argentinean style barbeque beef with chimichurri herb sauce, fire roasted tomatoes, chiles and Spanish cheeses (on a flatbread)” and sold to me as “really spicy.”

I received what tasted like sweet, barbequed, pulled pork over chunky Ragu on a flatbread. Being the good friend that I am, I kindly gave pieces to each of my friends. “Try this! No really, I insist!”

Being the good friends that they are, they offered samples of their meals in return. The noodle bowl I tried, to me, tasted like vomit. My girlfriends didn’t mind it nearly as much as I. One commented sadly that she could easily make it at home. Me too! If I stick my finger down my throat . . .

With all due respect, the Sizzology (i.e., stir fried beef, broccoli and cashews with black bean sauce, cinnamon roasted sweet plantains and sesame basmati brown rice) was the best item at our table. Hearty flavor with a hint of cinnamon sweetness. If there’s ever a next time, I’ll be sure to order it. I don’t want to venture out of my comfort zone here ever again! And I'm not naturally risk-adverse.

Thankfully Brio is next door. The minute we finished our meals, we walked (make that ran) next door, grabbed a bottle of wine and sunk into the leather couch and seats by the bar. Surrounded by candles and floor-to-ceiling curtains, we then proceeded to relax and stuff ourselves full with two fairly large bowls of spicy snack mix.

Goodbye health food. Hello Frito Lay!

Please, Tasteology, do us a favor, take some more time to perfect your recipes before going to market. We really do want you to succeed.

I'm a Brainiac, Brainiac

According to an article published in The Financial Times last Friday, “Mindless gossip feeds the brain.” Specifically, researchers have discovered that:

• memory and mental performance improve during a few minutes' conversation with another person
• rambling on about a soap opera seems to be as effective as a weighty conversation about social issues
• socializing is as effective in sharpening your faculties as doing a crossword

Off to the water cooler I go! Really, it's all in the line of duty.

Oh, you know her, would you look at that hair? Yeah, you know her, check out those shoes . . .

Happy Birthday Monkey!

Today is our little guy's sixth birthday! He already opened one gift: a Webkinz German Shepherd that he named Derek after Jeter. The hubby tried to get him to call it Derek Dieter (he is German after all) but the humor was lost on him.

So six years ago today, my boss gave me the day off! Crazy! I was due three days prior and was as big as a house. "Stay home and have that baby," she counseled me. I heed advice well.

I had the world's fastest labor. Either that or I slept through most of it; I do have a high tolerance for pain. I took a nap, woke up in labor and knew I needed to get to the hospital STAT. (Love using that term in that sentence!) I took a quick shower and, as we were walking out the door, my boss called. So what did I do? Why I took the call, of course! Never mind that it's rush hour traffic on a Friday night and I'm about to give birth, what interesting events happened at the office today?

We hung up when she caught wind of the hubby's insistence in the background.

We made it to the hospital in record time only to find they didn't want to admit me because my water had not broken. So they put me in triage and called for a doctor. A few minutes later a nurse came in, checked me out and told me that I'm not even close to giving birth and they'll probably just give me some drugs to ease the pain and send me home. What??? I politely shared with him that I'm giving birth THIS INSTANT and not leaving the hospital.

We then waited a few more minutes for a doctor. The doctor examined me, with the nurse by her side, and not-so-calmly said, "Get her to a room immediately. This is an emergency!"

So, the nurse started running and wheeling my bed down the hall lickety-split. We were careening and hitting walls while he yelled at people to get out of the way. The hubby asked him if he had just come in from Happy Hour. Even though I was in some serious labor, we were all laughing.

I give birth approximately two seconds after arriving in my room. All-in-all, less than an hour in total and <30 minutes after I hung up with my boss.

After calling my mom to tell her all was well, the hubby left a message on my boss' home answering machine. She got home about a minute later amazed that in the time it took her to pack her gear and drive home, I had already gotten to the hospital and given birth.

No wonder we promote our process optimization services so highly. I gave birth to the poster child for streamlining and workflow efficiencies . . .

Role models

I’ve been interviewing a lot of job candidates lately for client-related positions ranging from Executive Administrative Assistants to Controllers and I’ve noticed the following. A lot of the younger candidates for positions—who I typically find to be much more in tune with themselves, level-headed, well spoken, focused and driven then I was at their age—respond to the query, “Describe for me a leader you admire,” with a narrative of their father or mother whereas older individuals cite a current/former manager, military strategist or President (including one nomination for George Bush recently but that’s another rant altogether).

Did parenting change over the past 25+ years or rather, as you age, do different types of leaders emerge in your consciousness to change the frame of reference? Worse yet, perhaps the impact of parenting lessens over time?

Regardless of the cause, after listening to scores of aspiring, freshly minted college graduates give testimony to the strong character development functions their parents provided, the sound role models they were, and the solid foundation of integrity and ethics imparted, I am suddenly keenly aware of my own responsibility as a parent and the enormous impact I can have on the success of my kids both short- and long-term.

I now aspire to be the future response to that same question when my children are on their many job interviews throughout life. And color me a braggart, but I think I can top George Bush . . .