When I walked past a Christmas tree at BJ's around Labor Day, I shook my head. Here I was in shorts and a tank top while the wholesaler was pushing a fake fir for my living room. Yikes, wasn't it incredibly early to think about Christmas?
Perhaps not.
The calendar turned to November, and one of my ten FM presets began playing holiday music. The windows were down to let in the mild air, and I don't think I was wearing even a light jacket yet my speakers sang out, "It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid."
It's not Christmas time. It's November 1st, and I'm scared out of my mind.
The next week, another FM preset station followed suit. "Have a holly, jolly Christmas, it's the best time of the year! I don't know if there'll be snow..."
Hey Burl, can we rake the leaves first?
I once worked with someone who insisted we start playing holiday music in the hospital lobby as soon as the Thanksgiving dishes were done. And I thought that was rushing it.
But you know, this may all work out in the end. If we keep extending the season earlier and earlier, we'll never have to take down our Christmas lights.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Or So I Thought...
Last night my preschooler was "reading" one of his latest favorites, "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom." For those of you not familiar with the book, all of the letters of the alphabet go up the coconut tree until the massive weight of them causes all to plummet to the earth. Some letters invite others to "meet" at the top of the tree, while others offer the challenge of "beat"-ing other letters to the top.
I don't want to ruin the ending, so I'll just continue with the point of my story. Since my son was "reading" it by memory, the words he recited reflected his interpretation of the story, or that is, the words he thinks he hears when someone reads the story to him. At first it goes, "A told B and B told C, I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree." But in my son's violent re-telling, he recites, "A told B and B told C, I'll beat you at the top of the coconut tree." Yikes! Who knew A and B were such aggressive letters? I guess that's why they're first.
On the next page, after shrieking gleefully, D challenges E, F, and G to a race up the tree. But in my son's rendition: "Whee, says D, to E, F, G, I'll beat you to the cop of the coconut tree." Well, obviously there is a cop at the top. He's there collecting witness accounts of the butt-whooping A and B delivered to C.
Anyway, I'm sure once he actually reads, he'll figure out the more politically correct version of the coconut tree. His recitation reminded me of misconceptions I had as a kid. Things I thought I had straight in my mind but were really way off-base. For example, I thought the phrase "next door" was actually "next store," and I couldn't understand why we referred to other houses as stores. And speaking of houses, I was nearly certain that the house numbered one on our street was the first house ever built, and that's why it was assigned a one. Goes to show you how small a kid's world is. But I couldn't get it entirely straight in my mind because I considered that tee-pees were the first "houses" built, and how could this neighbor of mine have the first house ever built because it was not a tee-pee? Wow, sort of makes the whole coconut tree debacle seem not-so-crazy.
I don't want to ruin the ending, so I'll just continue with the point of my story. Since my son was "reading" it by memory, the words he recited reflected his interpretation of the story, or that is, the words he thinks he hears when someone reads the story to him. At first it goes, "A told B and B told C, I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree." But in my son's violent re-telling, he recites, "A told B and B told C, I'll beat you at the top of the coconut tree." Yikes! Who knew A and B were such aggressive letters? I guess that's why they're first.
On the next page, after shrieking gleefully, D challenges E, F, and G to a race up the tree. But in my son's rendition: "Whee, says D, to E, F, G, I'll beat you to the cop of the coconut tree." Well, obviously there is a cop at the top. He's there collecting witness accounts of the butt-whooping A and B delivered to C.
Anyway, I'm sure once he actually reads, he'll figure out the more politically correct version of the coconut tree. His recitation reminded me of misconceptions I had as a kid. Things I thought I had straight in my mind but were really way off-base. For example, I thought the phrase "next door" was actually "next store," and I couldn't understand why we referred to other houses as stores. And speaking of houses, I was nearly certain that the house numbered one on our street was the first house ever built, and that's why it was assigned a one. Goes to show you how small a kid's world is. But I couldn't get it entirely straight in my mind because I considered that tee-pees were the first "houses" built, and how could this neighbor of mine have the first house ever built because it was not a tee-pee? Wow, sort of makes the whole coconut tree debacle seem not-so-crazy.
Friday, October 3, 2008
No-Frills TV
Last night I actually opted out of high-definition television. I wasn't watching sports or the latest adventure flick, just the VP debate. So why should it matter? Well these days everything is high-def...you'd be crazy to watch "regular" TV, right? I beat my husband to the couch last night, which probably has happened three times in our seven-year marriage. By default, I had remote control control. And since I'm not used to that kind of power, when the debate magically appeared after simply pressing the power button, I didn't wander off looking for another broadcast. Ten minutes into the debate, my husband congratulated me on finding a channel without "those graphics." My fixation with "those graphics" started last week...
We were watching our local CBS affiliate broadcast of the Obama-McCain debate. After a few go-rounds on what's wrong with Wall Street, I found that I couldn't focus on the candidates. I kept looking at the bottom of the screen where a waving American flag graphic flanked the network logo. I tried to concentrate, but my eyes kept coming back to that flag. So I asked my husband to find a different broadcast. (I did not have remote control control that night.) We went to the ABC affiliate. Same waving flag, only smaller. Moving on... NBC affiliate, even bigger graphics. Fox, more of the same. "Let's try CNN," my husband suggested. OH MY WORD... or rather, lots of words. Panic-attack-inducing graphics on both sides and bottom of the screen. There were six analysts rating the candidates throughout the debate, plus updates running on the bottom of the screen. As a last resort, we tried C-SPAN after crowing "No way will C-SPAN have graphics!" but they were running Congressional talks rather than the debate. Dizzy with visual stimuli, we settled on the ABC affiliate because it had the "slimmest" graphics. Fine. A few minutes later I was distracted by this shooting arrow thing revolving around the station logo. Overwhelmed I fell asleep ten minutes later.
But last night, having watched Curious George earlier, the television was already on Channel 11, the New Hampshire public tv station. I didn't even realize what channel I was on until my husband pointed it out. Of course we had to compare the low-def to high-def (I could discern Palin's lipstick color!). CNN was still running the same hyper graphics, and even though low-def, the Boston public tv station actually had a small PBS logo in the corner. (Even that sideways-looking, bald-headed, empty eye socket graphic freaked me out.) It was back to NH public tv, where I was able to follow every word and wink from the candidates.
We were watching our local CBS affiliate broadcast of the Obama-McCain debate. After a few go-rounds on what's wrong with Wall Street, I found that I couldn't focus on the candidates. I kept looking at the bottom of the screen where a waving American flag graphic flanked the network logo. I tried to concentrate, but my eyes kept coming back to that flag. So I asked my husband to find a different broadcast. (I did not have remote control control that night.) We went to the ABC affiliate. Same waving flag, only smaller. Moving on... NBC affiliate, even bigger graphics. Fox, more of the same. "Let's try CNN," my husband suggested. OH MY WORD... or rather, lots of words. Panic-attack-inducing graphics on both sides and bottom of the screen. There were six analysts rating the candidates throughout the debate, plus updates running on the bottom of the screen. As a last resort, we tried C-SPAN after crowing "No way will C-SPAN have graphics!" but they were running Congressional talks rather than the debate. Dizzy with visual stimuli, we settled on the ABC affiliate because it had the "slimmest" graphics. Fine. A few minutes later I was distracted by this shooting arrow thing revolving around the station logo. Overwhelmed I fell asleep ten minutes later.
But last night, having watched Curious George earlier, the television was already on Channel 11, the New Hampshire public tv station. I didn't even realize what channel I was on until my husband pointed it out. Of course we had to compare the low-def to high-def (I could discern Palin's lipstick color!). CNN was still running the same hyper graphics, and even though low-def, the Boston public tv station actually had a small PBS logo in the corner. (Even that sideways-looking, bald-headed, empty eye socket graphic freaked me out.) It was back to NH public tv, where I was able to follow every word and wink from the candidates.
Friday, September 12, 2008
I Hate to Harp on this Old Thing But...
The new 90210 makes me feel old. And not just because I can see the slight aging around Jennie Garth's eyes during the Kelly Taylor close-ups. My husband and I both think that the show's music -- intro, backgrounds, transitions -- is louder than the original series. Is it, or are we just more sensitive to it? I started noticing that a long time ago...probably around my mid-twenties at the entrance of an Abercrombie and Fitch store. Why was the music so loud and the clothes so wrinkly? I fled to Banana Republic.
The volume of music is not the only issue. In conversations with background music, I usually can't make out what the characters are saying. Sadly I have AARP-card-carrying relatives with this same problem in everyday life. (Is this how it starts -- with TV?)
And even if I do make out what they're saying, someone went and changed all the slang I knew in high school. At one point, Annie got a text from her date that said something like, "I had to bowl to catch [some musical act I've already forgotten]." At least that's what I think it said. I had no idea what he meant by "bowl," especially since they were at a bowling alley. I wondered why he was staying to bowl if he had to leave. My husband explained that "bowl" probably meant leave. Urbandictionary.com confirms that "bowl" can mean "to leave someplace," among other more interesting definitions. Why not bail? Maybe it was bail but again, my declining hearing...(it's the iPod-listening, not my age, I swear). At any rate, I'm sure the message looked more like this: A I M BLG CU L8R. Rendering it completely incomprehensible to anyone over the age of 25.
And finally, the show's plot reflects how much more we cram into life these days. In the premiere, Annie passed an old essay to a friend who then plagarized it. In the next scene, Annie and her brother left for a party without waiting for their parents' approval. And later in the episode, Annie flew to San Francisco for dinner with a guy she barely knows. All of this in a two-hour episode, and the only punishment (for the last infraction) is the prohibition of school-night dates. Hello?!? When Brenda drove to Mexico with Dylan, it was World War III in la casa de Walsh, with a lasting aftermath. Each of Annie's transgression would easily have been fodder for three or more episodes. It's no wonder I'm exhausted after an episode of the new 90210. Oh wait, that's because it's past my bedtime.
The volume of music is not the only issue. In conversations with background music, I usually can't make out what the characters are saying. Sadly I have AARP-card-carrying relatives with this same problem in everyday life. (Is this how it starts -- with TV?)
And even if I do make out what they're saying, someone went and changed all the slang I knew in high school. At one point, Annie got a text from her date that said something like, "I had to bowl to catch [some musical act I've already forgotten]." At least that's what I think it said. I had no idea what he meant by "bowl," especially since they were at a bowling alley. I wondered why he was staying to bowl if he had to leave. My husband explained that "bowl" probably meant leave. Urbandictionary.com confirms that "bowl" can mean "to leave someplace," among other more interesting definitions. Why not bail? Maybe it was bail but again, my declining hearing...(it's the iPod-listening, not my age, I swear). At any rate, I'm sure the message looked more like this: A I M BLG CU L8R. Rendering it completely incomprehensible to anyone over the age of 25.
And finally, the show's plot reflects how much more we cram into life these days. In the premiere, Annie passed an old essay to a friend who then plagarized it. In the next scene, Annie and her brother left for a party without waiting for their parents' approval. And later in the episode, Annie flew to San Francisco for dinner with a guy she barely knows. All of this in a two-hour episode, and the only punishment (for the last infraction) is the prohibition of school-night dates. Hello?!? When Brenda drove to Mexico with Dylan, it was World War III in la casa de Walsh, with a lasting aftermath. Each of Annie's transgression would easily have been fodder for three or more episodes. It's no wonder I'm exhausted after an episode of the new 90210. Oh wait, that's because it's past my bedtime.
Friday, September 5, 2008
A Different Point of View, 15 Years Later
You know you're old when...
I'm blaming parenting as the force that pushed me over the line between young and old. I don't mean old as in creaky knees and cloudy vision. I mean old as in "being a square," to borrow a term from the 60s. (Was it the 60s? I'm old but not that old.) Nothing looks the same when you're a parent. In discussing age-related driving restrictions (for both the elderly and teens), my mom told me the story of a friend whose teenage son had recently got his license. The boy had assured his mom that he would never have more than one passenger with him on the way to or from his afterschool job. Mom knew better because two of his friends worked with him. She waited in the parking lot at quittin' time and nabbed her son trying to drive away with two passengers (against the law for his license status). Fifteen years ago I would have thought, "Wow, what a pain in the backside. Doesn't she have better things to do than lurk behind parked cars?" But upon hearing this story I thought, "Good for her! Good that she cared enough to check it out." And that's when I realized, yes, this is what old feels like. The knees are fine, the vision is great, but welcome to the world of college savings accounts and double-checking toy recall lists.
The parenting perspective carries over into the make-believe world too. Somehow we caught an episode of Different Strokes (nice flashback!) on TV. Arnold had snuck out to a party, leaving his 7-year-old stepbrother asleep at home. Alone. Of course the kid woke up and was freaked out. Granted, the Drummonds lived in an upscale building with a doorman, leaving little possibility of a burglar (although wasn't that another episode?). And granted, Gary Coleman isn't my first choice of sitter. But I couldn't help thinking, "What if there had been a fire?" or wondering if Arnold's careless abandonment had scarred little Sam for life. I wanted to ground Arnold myself. But I'm sure I saw the same episode 20 years ago and at the time hoped that Arnold wouldn't get caught sneaking out.
So I'm old but there's no turning back. Just don't let me catch you smoking.
I'm blaming parenting as the force that pushed me over the line between young and old. I don't mean old as in creaky knees and cloudy vision. I mean old as in "being a square," to borrow a term from the 60s. (Was it the 60s? I'm old but not that old.) Nothing looks the same when you're a parent. In discussing age-related driving restrictions (for both the elderly and teens), my mom told me the story of a friend whose teenage son had recently got his license. The boy had assured his mom that he would never have more than one passenger with him on the way to or from his afterschool job. Mom knew better because two of his friends worked with him. She waited in the parking lot at quittin' time and nabbed her son trying to drive away with two passengers (against the law for his license status). Fifteen years ago I would have thought, "Wow, what a pain in the backside. Doesn't she have better things to do than lurk behind parked cars?" But upon hearing this story I thought, "Good for her! Good that she cared enough to check it out." And that's when I realized, yes, this is what old feels like. The knees are fine, the vision is great, but welcome to the world of college savings accounts and double-checking toy recall lists.
The parenting perspective carries over into the make-believe world too. Somehow we caught an episode of Different Strokes (nice flashback!) on TV. Arnold had snuck out to a party, leaving his 7-year-old stepbrother asleep at home. Alone. Of course the kid woke up and was freaked out. Granted, the Drummonds lived in an upscale building with a doorman, leaving little possibility of a burglar (although wasn't that another episode?). And granted, Gary Coleman isn't my first choice of sitter. But I couldn't help thinking, "What if there had been a fire?" or wondering if Arnold's careless abandonment had scarred little Sam for life. I wanted to ground Arnold myself. But I'm sure I saw the same episode 20 years ago and at the time hoped that Arnold wouldn't get caught sneaking out.
So I'm old but there's no turning back. Just don't let me catch you smoking.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Why I Hate Summer, an essay
No, I was not on another Internet-free vacation. And really, I don't hate summer. I love it. So much that it exhausts me and leaves me with little time for blogging. When you live in New England, summer feels like it lasts only seven or eight weeks. That might seem like a long time, but when you compare it to winter which lasts, oh, seven or eight months, it can feel overwhelming. Why overwhelming, you ask? Isn't summer supposed to be the time to kick back and relax? Well, supposedly. But every year I feel as though I must cram every single hallmark of summer into two months (maybe two and half if the weather is good). BBQs, beach days, bike-riding, marshmallow-toasting, baseball games, popsicle-eating, amusement park trips, more swimming, more hot dogs...it's endless. Every moment seems like it's slipping by. I tried to go to yoga but spending nearly two hours in a dark room on a Saturday morning seems so much more appropriate for February. Almost every thing we do, I try to move to the outdoors. I was painting on the deck with my son yesterday -- it was perfect weather, not too hot or humid -- and I thought about how nice it was to be outside in shorts, just painting. But pretty soon I'll have plenty of time to blog when the snow on the deck is so high I can't even make a path to the grill . And that time must be coming soon because I'm already tripping over the Halloween costumes at the store.
Monday, July 14, 2008
And the year was 1993...
If I wanted to call a friend, I picked up the phone. If I needed the definition of a word, I looked in the dictionary. One with actual pages made out of wood pulp. If I wanted to kill some time, I turned on the radio. Maybe I even read a book. Ah, life without the Internet.
I attempted to re-create life without the Internet (LWOTI) for ten days, starting on July 4th. It was an experiment born from a sense that I spend way too much time in front of the screen. As a writer, there is very little I can do for work that doesn't involve a keyboard and monitor (interviewing and prep work are the exception). Add business emails, personal emails and my latest time-suck, Facebook, and, well, quite frankly, I would hate to actually add up the time.
So what is life like without the Internet for a week and a half? Not as scary as you might think.
I should start by saying that I chose a timeframe that included a national holiday and a week-long vacation away from home. Surely there would be less business email over the holiday weekend, and people wouldn't expect me to reply to emails over vacation. And that was one thing I quickly realized...the stress of email pile-ups is compounded by your perception of how quickly you think you should be responding. When you let go of that -- for a day, or a weekend, or a vacation -- you allow yourself to focus on other things rather than the paralyzing guilt of the emails you should be typing.
While I was away from my own computer, I knew that my husband would bring his laptop on vacation and that our rental house had free wireless Internet. The temptation would be there, so I swore it off. When I logged off late on Thursday evening (July 3rd) I headed to bed. As soon as I settled under the covers one thought screamed through my mind: "I didn't send the attachment on my email to Noah's music teacher! I must log on tomorrow to make sure I did!" But you'll go back on your promise, a little voice said. So I went with reasoning that I had probably sent it, but if I hadn't the earth wouldn't shatter to pieces.
It was extremely easy to stay away from the computer for a couple of days, but as the week went on, I had minor slip-ups. Not that I touched a computer...oh no, I had someone do my dirty work for me. My husband logged on every day, so I would casually ask, addressing no one in particular, "I wonder what time the Chatham Jam and Jelly Shop opens?" Minutes later, Bob replied, "10 to 5, Monday through Saturday." This sort of thing happened a few times. "What does it really mean to be an amphibian?" "What do people become lactose-intolerant?" Or when we returned home "Where is the closest REI?" I lived with none of the guilt over email but reaped the benefits of instant information. You might ask why I wouldn't just look it up myself. It was more than just my "challenge." I knew that five minutes of info-searching would lead to a half-hour of email, perhaps a blog post and definitely some online window-shopping.
I made it until Sunday night (the 13th) when I decided to check email for the sake of not having an overload on a weekday. The business account wasn't too bad, just 44 emails. But my Yahoo account was loaded with 90 emails, most of very little substance. Online coupons/sales events, hoaxes, forwards, and the like crammed my inbox. It reminded me of the heap of mail we pick up at the end of vacation. It's a foot high, but only a tiny portion is relevant stuff. You might read it all if you picked up the mail on a daily basis, but looking at the humongous stack you realize you just have to jettison most of it without a second glance. Perhaps that's the solution for email. Check it less frequently and dump the junk immediately.
Was there any benefit to LWOTI? Well, I read two books while on vacation and I woke up each day without the crushing feeling of THE INBOX. I went to yoga a week before vacation. The instructor came over to me several times during class, each time pushing my shoulders "down my back, away from my ears." I went this past Saturday (LWOTI Day 9) and not once did she move my shoulders. But this is a pretty long blog...I think I feel them inching again.
I attempted to re-create life without the Internet (LWOTI) for ten days, starting on July 4th. It was an experiment born from a sense that I spend way too much time in front of the screen. As a writer, there is very little I can do for work that doesn't involve a keyboard and monitor (interviewing and prep work are the exception). Add business emails, personal emails and my latest time-suck, Facebook, and, well, quite frankly, I would hate to actually add up the time.
So what is life like without the Internet for a week and a half? Not as scary as you might think.
I should start by saying that I chose a timeframe that included a national holiday and a week-long vacation away from home. Surely there would be less business email over the holiday weekend, and people wouldn't expect me to reply to emails over vacation. And that was one thing I quickly realized...the stress of email pile-ups is compounded by your perception of how quickly you think you should be responding. When you let go of that -- for a day, or a weekend, or a vacation -- you allow yourself to focus on other things rather than the paralyzing guilt of the emails you should be typing.
While I was away from my own computer, I knew that my husband would bring his laptop on vacation and that our rental house had free wireless Internet. The temptation would be there, so I swore it off. When I logged off late on Thursday evening (July 3rd) I headed to bed. As soon as I settled under the covers one thought screamed through my mind: "I didn't send the attachment on my email to Noah's music teacher! I must log on tomorrow to make sure I did!" But you'll go back on your promise, a little voice said. So I went with reasoning that I had probably sent it, but if I hadn't the earth wouldn't shatter to pieces.
It was extremely easy to stay away from the computer for a couple of days, but as the week went on, I had minor slip-ups. Not that I touched a computer...oh no, I had someone do my dirty work for me. My husband logged on every day, so I would casually ask, addressing no one in particular, "I wonder what time the Chatham Jam and Jelly Shop opens?" Minutes later, Bob replied, "10 to 5, Monday through Saturday." This sort of thing happened a few times. "What does it really mean to be an amphibian?" "What do people become lactose-intolerant?" Or when we returned home "Where is the closest REI?" I lived with none of the guilt over email but reaped the benefits of instant information. You might ask why I wouldn't just look it up myself. It was more than just my "challenge." I knew that five minutes of info-searching would lead to a half-hour of email, perhaps a blog post and definitely some online window-shopping.
I made it until Sunday night (the 13th) when I decided to check email for the sake of not having an overload on a weekday. The business account wasn't too bad, just 44 emails. But my Yahoo account was loaded with 90 emails, most of very little substance. Online coupons/sales events, hoaxes, forwards, and the like crammed my inbox. It reminded me of the heap of mail we pick up at the end of vacation. It's a foot high, but only a tiny portion is relevant stuff. You might read it all if you picked up the mail on a daily basis, but looking at the humongous stack you realize you just have to jettison most of it without a second glance. Perhaps that's the solution for email. Check it less frequently and dump the junk immediately.
Was there any benefit to LWOTI? Well, I read two books while on vacation and I woke up each day without the crushing feeling of THE INBOX. I went to yoga a week before vacation. The instructor came over to me several times during class, each time pushing my shoulders "down my back, away from my ears." I went this past Saturday (LWOTI Day 9) and not once did she move my shoulders. But this is a pretty long blog...I think I feel them inching again.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Web site, website or web site? The jury is out...
At some point in my professional life, I found the entry for 'Web site' in The Associated Press Stylebook. Two words, with the W in caps to denote it as short form for World Wide Web. I stopped writing the term 'website' and substituted 'Web site,' so as not to draw a visit from the Style police. (They're already on me for the red and white gingham pants I once owned.)
I was comfortable with that, as I smuggly edited away 'website' and 'web site' over the last few years. But times they are a-changin'.
I began noticing 'website' in The Boston Globe. At first I dismissed it as an error. But the second time, it made me bristle. Obviously it was supposed to be there. I rushed to my latest copy of the AP Stylebook and found 'Web site' right where I had left it. To be sure, I checked Merriam Webster's online dictionary and found 'Web site' there also.
But still, I cannot stop 'website' from creeping up in my morning paper.
From what I can tell, 'Web site' is still the preferred form for many media outlets and dictionaries, but the general sense is that we will move towards 'website.' I found a blog about 'Web site' v. 'website' by Bill Walsh, copy editor for The Washington Post. His blog is called "The Slot," but oddly has nothing to do with casinos. Check it out: http://www.theslot.com/email.html
If the appearance of 'website' keeps freaking me out, maybe I'll join millions of other Americans in canceling my newspaper subscription.
I was comfortable with that, as I smuggly edited away 'website' and 'web site' over the last few years. But times they are a-changin'.
I began noticing 'website' in The Boston Globe. At first I dismissed it as an error. But the second time, it made me bristle. Obviously it was supposed to be there. I rushed to my latest copy of the AP Stylebook and found 'Web site' right where I had left it. To be sure, I checked Merriam Webster's online dictionary and found 'Web site' there also.
But still, I cannot stop 'website' from creeping up in my morning paper.
From what I can tell, 'Web site' is still the preferred form for many media outlets and dictionaries, but the general sense is that we will move towards 'website.' I found a blog about 'Web site' v. 'website' by Bill Walsh, copy editor for The Washington Post. His blog is called "The Slot," but oddly has nothing to do with casinos. Check it out: http://www.theslot.com/email.html
If the appearance of 'website' keeps freaking me out, maybe I'll join millions of other Americans in canceling my newspaper subscription.
Monday, June 23, 2008
A Drawer Full of Journals
And this is why I have never kept a successful journal. Having been more than two weeks since my last post, I actually forgot my blog password. Which I guess would make me more of a candidate for a paper journal, but my point is that I fall off the journal wagon very easily. Two busy workweeks and I'm lying on the side of the road while the blog wagon scurries ahead. So today is a blog of guilt.
I went to Nashville last week...spent some time on the beautiful Belmont University campus. I didn't get to see much of the actual city, but the whole area, including Belmont, is all about music. It reminded me of the book "Eat, Love, Pray" which my book group recently read. She talks about how every city (or location, I suppose) has a word, and if you don't live that word, you will never fit in. She and a friend came up with this while in Rome, and apparently, Rome's word is 'sex.' That's odd because when I was there, I would have sworn its word was 'church,' but that's another blog entirely. Anyway, if Nashville has a word, it is definitely 'music.' I heard a relatively new group in concert, and while I wouldn't call myself a country or bluegrass fan, somehow it worked for me. They're the SteelDrivers. I'm having trouble with the Web site: http://www.steeldrivers.net/, but they're on iTunes and they're going to be on the Conan O'Brien show in mid-July. "Drinking Dark Whiskey" and "East Kentucky Home" are my front-runner songs right now.
I went to Nashville last week...spent some time on the beautiful Belmont University campus. I didn't get to see much of the actual city, but the whole area, including Belmont, is all about music. It reminded me of the book "Eat, Love, Pray" which my book group recently read. She talks about how every city (or location, I suppose) has a word, and if you don't live that word, you will never fit in. She and a friend came up with this while in Rome, and apparently, Rome's word is 'sex.' That's odd because when I was there, I would have sworn its word was 'church,' but that's another blog entirely. Anyway, if Nashville has a word, it is definitely 'music.' I heard a relatively new group in concert, and while I wouldn't call myself a country or bluegrass fan, somehow it worked for me. They're the SteelDrivers. I'm having trouble with the Web site: http://www.steeldrivers.net/, but they're on iTunes and they're going to be on the Conan O'Brien show in mid-July. "Drinking Dark Whiskey" and "East Kentucky Home" are my front-runner songs right now.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Raisins and Other Things My Client's Dog Shouldn't Eat
Don't you just hate it when you almost kill other people's pets? There I was, munching on an oatmeal raisin cookie at my client/friend's house, when Ben, her black standard poodle, came nuzzling up to me. It was clear that Ben has a sweet tooth. He persisted, so I broke off a small piece and dropped it to the floor. I was bound to accidentally drop some anyway. Rule #1, it's always good to ask first. (The owner, not the dog.) Lynette (Ben's owner) looked alarmed -- "Did you give him a raisin?" Me -- "No." Then, re-thinking the cookie -- "Um, maybe?" "Dogs can't have raisins!" she said. Uh-oh. The upshot is that Ben is either clever or he detests raisins because he ate the cookie and left the offending raisin. But that led us to discuss whether raisin toxicity is an urban legend or truly a danger to dogs.
And that's why I love the Internet. Here's a great site:
http://www.peteducation.com/article.cfm?cls=2&cat=1661&articleid=1030
It has 28 different foods that dogs shouldn't eat, many of which your own dog has probably eaten. They range from the obvious -- alcoholic beverages which may cause "intoxication, coma and death" to the exotic -- persimmon seeds which may cause "bowel obstruction." Sure enough, grapes and raisins are listed, but the dog has to ingest more than an ounce per 2.2 pounds of body weight to do any damage. Some of the better no-no's include:
And that's why I love the Internet. Here's a great site:
http://www.peteducation.com/article.cfm?cls=2&cat=1661&articleid=1030
It has 28 different foods that dogs shouldn't eat, many of which your own dog has probably eaten. They range from the obvious -- alcoholic beverages which may cause "intoxication, coma and death" to the exotic -- persimmon seeds which may cause "bowel obstruction." Sure enough, grapes and raisins are listed, but the dog has to ingest more than an ounce per 2.2 pounds of body weight to do any damage. Some of the better no-no's include:
- Cat food (you know the cat made the copywriter list this)
- Large amounts of liver (does anyone want to eat that???)
- Moldy or spoiled food or garbage (you know the raccoons made the copywriter list that)
- String (why this is listed under food is beyond me but I suspect the cat again)
And that leads me to Rule #2. Before you get a pet, check this list for your favorite foods. Because if you like to smoke tobacco while munching on yeast dough, you may want to re-think the decision to get a Lab.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Blah Blah Blog
As I enter the world of blogging from a first-hand perspective, I am finding the first post to be daunting. Shouldn't the inaugural words for a blog be something significant, something substantial? Or should I just comment on the chicken and couscous I'm eating for lunch? Maybe I shouldn't even be posting before I've created my "profile." Who knows? I guess there are few rules in blog-land which is what makes it so popular.
Admittedly, I'm still on the fence about blogging. As a professional writer I feel that I should write more. I have no problem writing fast and furiously when I'm on a project, but I have little motivation to write in a journal. I have stopped and started so many journals I've lost count. But I always feel like I should write more often on things not related to work. I'm not sure why -- after all, should surgeons perform at-home procedures? Do circus clowns need to drive undersized vehicles to and from work? Something about being a writer brings on a pressure to always write. And to always write well. But blogs. Well, blogs are a whole different kind of animal. They're fun, they're casual. No big deal. Heck, I don't even have to write anything... I can just put in a link to my favorite YouTube video. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.
But why start a blog now? Well, maybe work will slow down in the summer, and I always find writing to be like exercise. If you get a good dose each day, it's a lot easier to keep going.
Admittedly, I'm still on the fence about blogging. As a professional writer I feel that I should write more. I have no problem writing fast and furiously when I'm on a project, but I have little motivation to write in a journal. I have stopped and started so many journals I've lost count. But I always feel like I should write more often on things not related to work. I'm not sure why -- after all, should surgeons perform at-home procedures? Do circus clowns need to drive undersized vehicles to and from work? Something about being a writer brings on a pressure to always write. And to always write well. But blogs. Well, blogs are a whole different kind of animal. They're fun, they're casual. No big deal. Heck, I don't even have to write anything... I can just put in a link to my favorite YouTube video. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.
But why start a blog now? Well, maybe work will slow down in the summer, and I always find writing to be like exercise. If you get a good dose each day, it's a lot easier to keep going.
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