blue girl

Ten Years Ago Tonight

Ten years ago tonight, The Skimmer and I were in New York City.  We had spent the day downtown, walking and walking and shopping and shopping.  In the early evening, we stopped in a restaurant in Soho, grabbed a couple seats at the bar and ordered drinks.  As we sat and talked, the news of Princess Diana's car crash came on the TV above the bar.

Everyone, including the bartenders, stopped to listen.  There weren't many details at that time, so everyone went back to talking, eating and drinking.  I remember thinking, without giving it a second thought, it'll be ok, nothing could happen to her.  She's Princess Diana.

The Skimmer and I sat and talked for an hour or so and then decided to hit the streets again.  We walked and talked.  Stopped in several clothing stores, a few book stores and then decided we were hungry.  We ducked into a cozy, little restaurant called Po.  It was so small, it only sat, maybe, three people.  The hostess was appalled that we would even think we could get a table without a reservation.  I remember thinking, it must be a hot new spot.  But, as I've written before, The Skimmer is pretty good at buttering up the hostess.  He worked his magic and we got seats at the bar.  We ordered a bottle of champagne.  Then we overheard someone sitting near us talking about who the chef was.  They talked liked he was someone.  The Skimmer knew who he was, I didn't.

After a few glasses of champagne, we noticed they had a cookbooks for sale behind the bar.  The Skimmer asked the bartender if we could buy one of the cookbooks and also wanted to know if the chef would autograph it.  The snooty bartender picked up a copy of the cookbook and took it back to the kitchen.  She came back up a few minutes later.  Mario Batali had signed the cookbook and she added it to our tab.  Even though I've always had my suspicions that he was actually back there.  I figured they had a stock of signed books in the back.

We finished our meal and our champagne and left the restaurant.  It was late in the evening at this point with only the headlights of taxis and a few street lamps to light our way.  We held hands and ran down the street and came upon a lingerie store.  The Skimmer wanted to go in.

"Forget it!"

"Why?!"

I ran into the front of the store and wrapped a bright red, feathered boa around my neck and did a little shimmy.

"Because I look ridiculous!"

We grabbed a cab and headed back uptown.  We were dropped off somewhere on Central Park South and I wanted to take a carriage ride.  We did, and rode through the quiet park -- clippity clop, clippity clop -- talking quietly and sitting silently with the beautifully lit buildings looming above. 

Heaven.  My heaven.

We walked back to our hotel on Central Park West.  An old hotel that was a great deal.  I remember finding the ad in the Sunday New York Times a few months before and calling to make reservations.

"I haven't been to New York in a few years!  We need a good room, please."

"Ok."

"High floor.  Central Park view.  Yay!  I can't wait."

"You got it!"

"You sure?  I mean, I'm really counting on a great view!"

"Yep!  No problem."

I remember thinking I had lucked out!  Not only did we book a pretty good deal, but the woman who took my reservation completely understood where I was coming from and knew what it meant to me.  Pretty much unheard of when talking to someone in NYC.  Normally, they couldn't care less.  I've always chalked it up to sincerity.  I wanted it so bad.

The Mayflower, long gone now, was shabby, to put it nicely.  Mismatched furniture, worn out shag carpeting.  But, the woman who took my reservation was true to her word.  We got a high floor, with a Central Park view.  And the room even had a gorgeous, large balcony, with an ornate black, beautiful old wrought iron railing.

We were flying high when we got back to our room.  We had had one of those special New York City nights.  Everything had been perfect.

I walked in the room and flipped on the TV.  They were reporting that Princess Diana had died in the car crash.  I couldn't believe it.  I was in shock.  I sobbed.  The Skimmer didn't know what to think.  He had never seen me cry.  He was not emotionally invested in Princess Diana like I was.  Why was I?  To this day, I still have no idea.  He sat in a chair near the bathroom, as I sat on the edge of the bed and cried.  He didn't say a word.

After awhile, I went out on the balcony and looked up to my right.  One of the buildings glistened with an advertisement for A&E. Beneath their logo in shining, bright white lights were the words "Princess Diana."

I stood out on the balcony for a long time.  And took the view in.

Playing Those Mind Games Together

...You got to let it, you got to let it go

Have a safe and fun holiday weekend, everyone!

The Customer Is Always Right

Found a new blog today via Jennifer of Saying Yes.  The blog is 37 days and I liked the ideas and the writing immediately.

One of Patti's posts began...

Sometimes, people irritate me.

This week has been one of those weeks.

Me, too.   Mine, too.

Patti's post is about knowing you're right, being attached to the idea that you're right, wanting other people to acknowledge when you're right.  And how all of this business about how important it is to be right can really wear you down.

It reminded me of a wish I had yesterday after a phone conversation with a client.  She's the type of person who doesn't seem to understand that I don't have answers to everything.  She emailed me a tiff file to use in a project we are working on and I could not open it.  Every time I'd try, a window would pop up saying that the file was corrupt.  I tried every trick in the book to get it to open, (being the computer scientist I am, you know I know every trick in the book) because I knew what I was in for if I had to call this woman to get a new file.  Nothing worked.  I had to make the call.

"Hi L.  You know that file you emailed over?  It's corrupt, won't open.  Could you stuff it and re-email it?"

"Why is it corrupt?"

"I'm not sure.  Sometimes files become corrupt just by emailing them.  Stuffing them seems to protect them.  Can you stuff it and send it again?"

"But I can open it."

"Oh.  Ok.  That's good!  But, I can't.  So, we need to go to plan B."

"I have a PC.  Try to open it on your PC."

"We don't have PCs.  We work on MACs....

Judgmental silence.  You mean you never spent a ton of money on a PC just to have hanging around in case a file I send over might only open on one?

...Plus, a tiff file is a tiff file.  I should be able to open and place it no matter if I'm working on a PC or a Mac."

"Well, I can open it."

The conversation went on this way for another 10 minutes until she finally decided, with a heavy sigh, that all she could really do, because I was making her life impossible, was stuff the file and re-email it to me.  I was ready to explode, but thanked her a couple of times and hung up. 

She re-emailed the stuffed file.   And it opened.

A few minutes later I was on the phone with another client.  She was having technical difficulty too.

She said, "You know what's weird?  When I print the pdf you sent, the type moves and gets cut off."

"That is weird!"

"I know!  It looks good on the screen, though.  So, I don't get it."

"I don't get it either.  Have the other ones done that?"

"Nope.  Just the last one you sent. Maybe it's a PC/MAC thing."

"Maybe.  I don't know.  Maybe something weird happened when we made the pdf."

"It's probably our stupid printer."

"Who knows.  Want me to resend it?"

"Nah.  I can see it on the screen, that's all I really need."

"Ok, great.  Let me know if there are any changes."

"You got it!  Talk to you later."

A normal person!  A normal, lovely person who just goes with the flow and doesn't expect me to figure out why Steve Jobs and Bill Gates don't hold daily meetings to make sure my clients and I can exchange files more efficiently!

Which brings me back to my wish.  After I hung up from talking to my normal client, I started thinking about blogs and how I wished almost every person I have to deal with day in and day out communicated only through a blog. They would be free to write till their heart's content about whatever popped into their heads.   And I'd have my choice whether or not to read what they had to say.

I know that I would visit Normal Client's blog, like it, comment frequently, even put her on my blogroll.  Actually, I have a lot of clients, that if they had their own blogs, they'd be known as Inky Wretches.  But, there are a few who'd get no linky love at all.  The ones with headlines to their posts like...

"I Don't Understand Why My $150 Desktop Printer Won't Print Metallic Inks"

"I Want Someone to Design My Brochure in Excel and Nobody Will.  Why Are They So Dumb?"

"I've Been Trying for Years, But I Still Can't Double Click and Open Up this eps File."

I'd be tempted to leave comments on posts like these, but from past experience, I know they wouldn't listen to what I'd have to say.  They'd know better.  And so would I.  I'd simply click away.

Patti of 37 Ways includes in her post...

Mark Kleiman has said, “There is no more destructive force in human affairs—not greed, not hatred—than the desire to have been right. Non-attachment to possessions is trivial when compared with non-attachment to opinions.”

Great thought.  I need to put this woman I've been dealing with in perspective and get over it.  It's been a waste of time and wrong of me to spend so much time seething over it.

Live and Learn

I have made my reading plans for the holiday weekend.  I ordered a book that will arrive by Friday.  Since I will be a golf widow most of the weekend, I figured I'll have a lot of time on my hands to learn a little more about myself and those around me.

The book is Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me): Why We Justify Foolish Beliefs, Bad Decisions, and Hurtful Acts by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson.  Saw it this morning over at Susie Bright's Journal and knew right away it was one of my have to have its.

From a reviewer at Amazon:

To err is human, to rationalize even more so. Now, thanks to this brilliant book, we can finally see how and why even the best meaning people may justify terrible behavior. Mistakes Were Made will not turn us into angels, but it is hard to think of a better -- or more readable -- guide to the mind's most devilish tricks.

In her post, Susie interviews one of the authors of the book about cognitive dissonance and how Larry Craig is affected by it.

We're all affected by it, though.

I still think about the time I sat in a room full of Republican friends that I knew had had affairs -- bashing Bill Clinton because of Monica Lewinsky.

I'm sure The Skimmer wonders about it because of how I can come home from spending a few hours at the mall with bags and bags of things I've bought.

"But, everything was on sale!  I saved 50%!"

"There's no savings column in the checkbook!"

I've heard that comeback for almost 18 years now.

Let me repeat.  Fifty.  Percent.

I remember walking into a family get together two years ago on Christmas Eve and my brother-in-law asking me, "Am I allowed to say Merry Christmas to you?  I know how you feel about Christmas!"

I just thought, What is he talking about.  We were all getting ready to go to church together.  And on top of that, you think it's a barren wasteland under my Christmas tree every year?  (See my second point above.)

So, I can't wait to get my book and start learning more about why we do that things we do.  But, I am a tad worried.

Back on January 1st of this year, I made a resolution to finish every book I start.  And I've made good on that promise.

Eleven times.

Out of about 4,212.

Not my fault!  I'm busy and don't have a lot of time.  And some of the books were hard to read.  The type was too small -- the leading was too tight!  And I think The Skimmer may have cleaned up the living room one day and put some of my books somewhere and now I can't find them.  I would never do that to him.  Ever.

I'm in the middle of several books right now and nowhere near the middle of one.  Not my fault!  Dan Leo's fault!  How can I resist wanting to read a writer who has written this...

Unfortunately we carry inside us that little organ which we call the heart, which is subject to certain maladies in the course of which it is infinitely impressionable as regards everything that concerns the life of a certain person, so that a lie — that most harmless of things, in the midst of which we live so unconcernedly, whether the lie be told by ourselves or by others — coming from that person, causes that little heart, which we ought to be able to have surgically removed, intolerable spasms.

Why do I continue to do this over and over?  Buy a book, read it for awhile, set it down and pick up another?  I know one reason. 

Because I buy books when I am brainwashed by atmosphere.  I'll be browsing a quaint, little cobwebbed bookstore in Greenwich Village and the romantic in me takes over.  I pick up a book and read a little about it...

Turning to the flip side of the '20s' flapper image, Dumenil looks at the darker side of the decade forming the "central motifs that have shaped the modern American temper."

And suddenly I am burning with a fiery passion to learn all there is to know about these central motifs. 

And I have convinced myself I will.

Go ahead.  Give me a pop quiz about any central motif you can think of.  I'd fail.  I think I got to page 122.

Sometimes my romantic notions do result in my completing a book though.  The last time I was in New York, I bought E.B. White's Here Is New York. 

Early on Sunday morning, while The Skimmer and blue kid were still sleeping, I grabbed my new book, (Yes, I already have two copies at home.  But, this one was 10% off.  Ten.  Percent.) left the hotel, stopped and bought some coffee, crossed the street and walked into Central Park.  While the early morning sun streamed through the large oak tree above me, I sat on a park bench, drank my coffee and read my new book, while a man beneath a bridge nearby played beautiful music on his clarinet.

And I finished the book there and then.

All I need to be able to finish a book is dappled sunshine in Central Park.  The sound of slow jazz carried on the wind.

I may not have Central Park this weekend, but I'll have plenty of coffee and hopefully, a little bit of dappled sun.  And I intend to finish my new book because I have a fiery passion to learn more about why we do the things we do.

And if I don't learn why by page 122?

I know me!

I'll keep on trying to learn.  I've got a discount card and Barnes and Noble.

"The common man thinks this game's a lousy racket, and he's right."

UPDATED BELOW...AGAIN!

When Susie Bright read about Republican Senator Larry Craig of Idaho, she couldn't take it anymore.  And she's fed up with the Democrats, too.

I can't take it anymore. I could spend seven days a week on this blog reporting what new dirt bag has shown his ass on the public square. But I'm fed up. Worse, I'm exhausted with the elected "liberals" and self-proclaimed "feminists" and Democrats who share offices with these pathological liars— and just bury their heads in the tearoom bowl.

There's not one prominent legislator in this country who's stood up against sex phobia, who's led a campaign to take victimless sex laws off the books, or to protect citizens' privacy. Not one. Are Hillary, Obama, or Edwards going to say one word about this hypocrisy? No.

How many repulsive liars does it take before the mainstream media, the voters, and what's left of political leadership say, "Mind Your Own Fucking Business?"

Apparently, Puritan America has infinite tolerance.

As long as they condemn their "inferiors," elitists can do whatever their budget affords. Democracy is just not as thrilling as witch-hunting.

The religious conservative voters, rather than doubt the wisdom of their biblical values, will continue to believe that they need to find one pure man to lead them. They'd rather believe in sin than sanity. Some of them even think this plague of gay GOP locusts is a "Democrat conspiracy."

I predict record highs of apathy in 2008. The common man thinks this game's a lousy racket, and he's right.

Read her entire post here.

UPDATE:

There's lots of discussion over at Shakesville stemming from Jeff Fecke's post.

Craig probably was cruising for anonymous sex -- I mean, none of us are buying the "wide stance" defense. But so what if he was?

Now, we can all generally agree that a restroom is not an ideal place for people to be having sex. But the fact is that all Craig is really guilty of is signaling quietly that he was interested in engaging in sexual activity. Why in God's name is that a crime?

If anyone -- male or female or intersex, straight or gay or bisexual -- comes up to me tomorrow and offers to have anonymous sex with me, I won't be offended. Oh, I'll almost certainly turn them down regardless; I generally am not a fan of anonymous sex. And if you're male, your odds are significantly lower. Nothing personal, I'm just a fan of an XX genotype.

But I won't be offended by it. Nonplussed? Possibly. Flattered? Probably. Offended? Why? I don't have to have sex just because it's offered.

And therein lies the rub. Had Larry Craig propositioned me in a Humphrey Terminal bathroom, I would probably have missed the sign. Had I somehow caught it, I would have politely turned him down. Had somebody suggested what he just did was lewd, I would have laughed, because you shouldn't get arrested just for asking someone on a date, even if that date involves sex.

Look, if Craig had been arrested for public nudity or having sex in a bathroom stall, I could understand this better. If he'd been arrested for soliciting a prostitute, I'd be all in favor of him getting nailed. But as near as I can tell, he's guilty of subtly asking another adult to have consensual sex. I won't weep for Craig -- he's helped build the bizarre system that has now destroyed his political future. But I won't gloat over this, either, because the ultimate message of this arrest is that the desire to engage in sexual activities with someone of the same sex is in and of itself offensive, and lewd, and criminal. And that's a rather sobering and disturbing thought.

According to Roll Call, Sgt. Dave Karsnia, the plainclothes officer said:

“I could see Craig look through the crack in the door from his position. Craig would look down at his hands, ‘fidget’ with his fingers, and then look through the crack into my stall again. Craig would repeat this cycle for about two minutes,” the report states.

Then Karsnia goes on to explain how Craig entered the bathroom stall to his left and started the morse code act by tapping his foot.

If someone entered a bathroom stall next to the one I was in and started tapping their feet and I knew what it was supposed to mean, I'd probably not have a problem giving a little morse code back.

One tap:  Maybe!

Two taps:  Bring it on!

Total tap dancing:  Get the hell away from me!

The tapping of the foot morse code part of the story doesn't seem offensive to me.  Fits right in line with what Jeff said..."you shouldn't get arrested just for asking someone on a date, even if that date involves sex."

But, according to the officer, Craig stood and stared into his bathroom stall off and on for two minutes!

I consider that lewd and offensive.  And scary.  And disgusting.  And since I probably wouldn't have the courage to open the bathroom door and punch the person right in the face, I'm pretty sure I'd stay in the stall, get out my cell phone and call 911.

***

Dan (the man) Leo left a link in the comment thread below.  Read it now!  It's great.

Summer Blockbuster!

Now showing at every theater across the nation and around the world. It's the summer's hottest "must see."

And as an extra bonus for all you Wild Angels' fans out there. For a small fee, Res and I will gladly email you a jpg of our autographs. But, only for a limited time! You must act now!

Send check or money order -- or cash, cash is always acceptable -- in the amount of $50 as soon as humanly possible. In return, you will receive, via email, original, authentic, one-of-a-kind jpgs of our autographs!

But wait! There's more!

For an additional $10 (that would be $60 total) we will print out the jpgs and mail them to you. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope when mailing your payment if you want that option.

Hurry! Limited time only! And if you don't hurry? Remember...

Our credo is violence!

...thanks to Dan Leo for the image. He gets a 10% discount if he wants a jpg.

Gorgeous

Beauty shot.

Here's the one you see from the back in the shot above.

Little Swindler

On Thursday, Blue Kid had been out with his friends all afternoon.  I heard a car pull into the driveway and the front door open.

He came running up the stairs.  "Mom?  Mom!  Mom?  Mom!"

"What?  Geez!"

"Can I go to dinner with my friends?"

"Um, ok.  Who with?"

"Dan, Griffin and Jordan."

"Ok.  Where?"

"The burger place on the square."

"Ok, do you need money?"

"Yeah!  I have to hurry, they're waiting in the car."

He ran into his bedroom to change shirts and I rummaged through my purse.

"I only have $3.00."

"That's good enough!"

"No it's not.  Hold on.  Let me find dad's wallet."

I ran downstairs, found The Skimmer's wallet and as I opened it, a thought occurred to me.  Blue Kid's got his own money!  He keeps it in a money clip in his top dresser drawer.

He was still upstairs getting ready.  I put The Skimmer's wallet back on the counter and walked to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up.

"Hey!  What am I doing?  You have your own money!"

"I know!  But, I'd rather use yours!"

I Am So Committed To Live Blogging Mad Men...

The crowd roars, "HOW COMMITTED ARE YOU?!"

Well, let me tell you.  I am so committed to participating in the comment section of the Mad Men Live Blogging Extravaganza at newcritics ... here's what I do.

I don't have cable TV in my office where my laptop is.  And I don't have Internet access down in the living room where I watch Mad Men.

So, I watch the show.  The second they break for commercial, I race upstairs like a mad woman to comment.  Problem is, other commenters have already said what I was going to say!  Not one who strives to be unoriginal, I normally decide not to say what I had in mind.  And then I get a brilliant idea!  And say something dumb.  And then immediately regret it.  Then, I start reading all the comments, forgetting the show has probably already come back on.

Lightbulb goes off!  The show's on!

I run back downstairs. 

Of course, I've missed five to ten minutes of it.  I have no idea what's going on, but I sit there watching, thinking of comment fodder.  I'm cracking myself up!  Thinking of so many funny comments!

Commercial break.

Run!

Read!

Shoot! 

Someone's already said what I was going to say.  Only better, usually.

I become disappointed. 

Sad. 

Despondent. 

Ready to hurl myself out the window!  Just like the women who are married to those creeps and the women who work with those creeps on Mad Men should do at their first opportunity.  I take that back.  They should hurl the Mad Men out the window!  All of them.  I don't think there's a keeper in the bunch.

So, that's my routine.

Watch some of it. 

Crack myself up.

Run!

Read!

Say something dumb!

Regret it!

Lightbulb moment!

Run back downstairs!

Watch!

You get the picture.  It's a load of fun!

Won't you join us tonight?  Tonight's Mad Men Live Blogging Extravaganza is being hosted by the lovely and independent, confident, man-hurling M.A. Peel.

Think about it!  You can call me dumb in the comment thread!  (Except for you, Billy Pilgrim.  If you do that, you will be banned.  For life!)

Mad Men Live Blogging at newcritics.  Hurl yourself on over at 10 PM Eastern, 9 Central.

Shoot. I've Always Wanted to Freak Out Old Ladies on the Street

You Are 35% Strange!

You are a bit strange, though still more normal than strange. You definitely have some quirks, don't get me wrong. But you aren't exactly freaking out old ladies on the street. It's okay though, you've got a healthy mixture of strangeness and normality.

How Strange Are You?
Quizzes for MySpace

Oh well.  Maybe someday!

h/t to Melissa, who is 73% strange and probably does freak little old ladies out! Maybe, probably not. She's too sweet for that.