Day 30 (Part 3): Postcards

I have received the first of what I hope are many, many postcards. This one comes to me from Merujo of Church of the Big Sky who spent time in the mid-80s in the U.K. She sent this card of the sanctuary knocker at Durham Cathedral.


Thank you, Merujo!

Day 30 (Part 2): Looks Like We Made It

I did it. I managed to blog for 30 days straight (some days, more than once.) In the annals of accomplishments, though, I'm not sure this is one for the resume. Still, I think I learned a few things.

Day 1: I told myself I could do this, and I did. I was focused and consistent and stuck to it. I learned that thinking positive is a key step to overcoming challenges (Day 2.) I confirmed on Day 3, as have others, that IKEA truly, truly sucks. On Day 4, I declared my love for Trader Joe's and learned that Paris isn't just a city anymore. I finally realized on Day 5 that staying in D.C. for the wrong reasons is not a good reason to stay, although seeing Bollywood movies with my sister is one benefit of being here. By Day 6, I was the third most popular link on D.C. blogs for what I wrote on Day 3. Day 7 was a Monday and the night before mid-term elections, which meant telling folks to "get out the vote."

The next morning brought a new day to our bicameral Congress and I noted that Sanders and Lieberman are now the two most powerful men in the Senate. My friend, Dr. Lala, shared a classic Dilbert with me on Day 9 and I posted it as an homage to incompetence. On Day 10, in a fit of rambling, I wrote about baroque cathedrals in Vienna, Austria. The next day, I thanked my late, maternal grandfather for his service in the U.S. Army during World War II. Sunday (Day 12) dawned wet and drizzly which prompted looking up the correct spelling for onomatopoeia and asking folks to submit their favorite word that sounds like what it means. Very few people bit, which was disappointing, given how many verbally intelligent friends I have out there. Perhaps the pressure was too much. I also threw in a picture of Mary Tyler Moore's statue in downtown Minneapolis for my fellow blogger, Merujo. By Day 13, I realized I was addicted to Pirate's Booty and I entered a rehab program. I've relapsed multiple times and I still have a problem. (In fact, I'm eating a bag of Booty even as I compile this missive.) Evenutally, I watched Cars and have had an itch ever since to take a road trip to the desert Southwest.

By week three, I surmised that my grammar--despite this recent rash in writing--was going to pot, but my propensity for alliteration was and is alive and well. I also decided, thanks to a suggestion from my friend Rio Grande Valley Girl, that I need a scent. Day 16 found me frustrated by online newspapers that make you register to read, but I quickly got over that by reading an article about a proposal to find sponsors for the Golden Gate Bridge. Thanks to the dude over at Blank Top Chronicles, I learned that cell phones aren't stupid, but some of the people who use them are. By Day 18, I was struggling with whether to serve one dessert or two at my dinner party the next day (I went for two.) On Day 19--a Sunday--I read the funniest PostSecret ever. I woke up the next morning, inspired by a book I'm reading, to write about the lost art of letter writing only to end up writing about squirrels boinking outside my office window. The next day, I learned where Maria and the Captain honeymooned in Austria.

The start of week four signalled the opening of the holiday eating season and led me to name my turkey Guan-tom-a-no Bay Birdy, as well as to observe that Black Friday is a sad day. Day 23 being Thanksgiving, I offered prayers for peace and justice. The next day, despite a roaring, post-T-day migraine--I finally wrote about the lost art of letter writing and committed myself to writing more letters and postcards. Which, coincidentally, led to Day 25's missive on postcards, damn it! Day 26 was a rant against feral cats and a request for viable solutions. (Update on that: I've been in touch with the folks at DC SPCA and they've been very humane and helpful.) On Monday, I queried whether I should do a follow up to my thesis. The jury is still out on that. I lost my cell phone back on Day 21 and found it on Day 28. The same day, I added two additional entries--one about stupid people in Colorado and one about stupid branding. Yesterday, I declared myself Queen of Resume Writing, but only because I've helped three or four people with theirs in recent weeks.

And here we are at Day 30. All I can say is, "Whew!"

To all seven of my loyal readers, thank you for sticking with me and reading my postings about everything and nothing. For an easier index of posts, please see the entry below.

UPDATE: Today, I received my first postcard as a result of my Day 25 blog entry.

Day 30: The DC Rush Hour NaBloPoMo Index

As my final entry for NaBloPoMo, here's an index of this month's blogs, for your recall pleasure.

Day 1: I Can Do This. Really, I Can

Day 2: Trying to Think Positive

Day 3: Why IKEA Sucks

Day 4: I Love Trader Joe's
Day 4: Paris; It's Not Just a City Anymore

Day 5: PostSecret
Day 5: Coochie Coochie Coo

Day 6: Third Most Popular Outgoing Link

Day 7: Get Out the Vote

Day 8: Independents

Day 9: To Incompetence

Day 10: It It Ain't Baroque, Don't Fix It

Day 11: Veteran's Day

Day 12: Onomatopoeia
Day 12: Statues

Day 13: Hi, My Name is Janet...

Day 14: Cars

Day 15: Grammar Going to Pot
Day 15: I Need a Scent

Day 16: Please Register
Day 16: The Golden Gate Bridge. Brought to You By...

Day 17: On My Worst Enemy

Day 18: Dessert

Day 19: Note to My Siblings

Day 20: We Interrupt This Program...

Day 21: The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of *Bleep*

Day 22: Name That Tom
Day 22: How Sad is This

Day 23: Prayers of Peace

Day 24: Lost Art

Day 25: Here's Your Damn Postcard!

Day 26: Smelly Cat, Meet Your Cousins, the Crappy Cats

Day 27: Tell Eve About Serpent

Day 28: FOUND
Day 28: Peace: It's No Longer P.C.
Day 28: You're Kidding, Right?!

Day 29: Resume Queen

Day 30: The DC Rush Hour NaBloPoMo Index
Day 30: Looks Like We Made It
Day 30: Postcards

Day 29: Résumé Queen

Still unemployed.

But.... I'm becoming the Résumé Queen.

A few nights ago, a friend (I won't say who, on the off chance her web usage is being tracked at her workplace) who is looking for a new job, came over and I helped her with her "I'm Wonderful! Hire Me!" document. In the midst of working together, my friend, Rio Grande Valley Girl, called and asked for similar assistance.

I just finished helping my dad with his résumé.

And, I'm revising mine.

I wonder if I should do this for a living and forget finding a 9-to-5, in-an-office-with-benefits job?

Nah.

It's enjoyable, but I think I really need to get something more permanent and stable.

Still, if you have a résumé you want to beef up or if you have a résumé sample you think is the absolute BOMB, please share.

Here are two formats I use.

The first is very traditional. (Both résumés have been redacted as a privacy measure.)










The second is a bit edgier and interesting.











Of course, if I keep this up, I may have to develop a fee structure...

(Please note: I'm trying to figure out how to embed an Adobe PDF file into this blog entry so you can actually see all of the pages of the résumés. The second one is a great format that includes a list of selected accomplishments, then a list of the person's professional experience. As soon as I can get this figured out, I'll fix this posting.)

Day 28 (Part 3): You're Kidding, Right?!

Apparently there's a new airline in town. It's called MaxJet. Here's its logo.


Is it just me or does it look like MaxJet hired the same marketing/ branding/advertising team to brand their airline that brands feminine hygiene products for consumer products manufacturers?

If so, fire them!

Your logo makes you look like an ad for flying tampons.

Day 28 (Part 2): Peace: It's No Longer P.C.

Have you heard the story about the couple in Colorado who hung a wreath on their home fashioned as a peace symbol? If not, read here. Seems folks in their neighborhood thought it was anti-Bush/anti-Iraq. As a result, the homeowners' association was going to fine the offenders $25/day until they took it down. Fortunately, someone will all their holiday bulbs burning brightly thought better of that and dropped the request and the fine.

Nevertheless, WTF?!

Hm. Let's see. Peace. That thing we all hope for in our lives. That thing the Bush Administration promised the Iraqi people via its preemptive war. That thing we celebrate at this time of year.

Oh, yes, and speaking of this time of year... That other little non-P.C. thing that happens in December. Christmas. Right. Let's see. Celebration of the birth of Christ who is often referred to as the Prince of Peace. Hm. Yeah. Interesting.

Okay, Jesus aside and that Christmas thing aside, we're still talking about peace here. What's anti-Iraq about that? If anyone would know something about wanting peace, it would definitely be the folks in Iraq.

Somewhere in Colorado, someone needs their butt kicked up around their ears with a sharp boot.

Peace!

Day 28: FOUND

Lost: One Motorola Razr3 Cell Phone

Last Seen: Tuesday on my person at the Wheaton Public Library

Necessary Evil: Yes

Necessarily Missed: No

Yes, I misplaced my cell phone earlier this week. I even called my carrier to see if, perhaps, through the wonders of modern technology, their high tech equipment could talk to my high tech gadget and maybe pinpoint its general location. (I prefaced my question to the carrier by saying, "I'm about to ask stupid question number 542...." Fortunately, the folks at my carrier seem to be gracious, professional people, because my CSR said, "There are no stupid questions, blah, blah, blah...)

I didn't miss my cell phone, per se. My biggest concern was that it might be in the hands of someone to whom it did not belong. Still, I didn't miss it as a needed and dear item in my life.

I like not always being available and "in touch." I'm one of those people who tries really, really, really hard never to use my cell phone in stores, restaurants (fast food or full service), on the bus/train, or in public places in general. I also try even harder not to use my cell phone while I'm driving. (Please note that I said, I try. I didn't say I never. That would be lying. And anyone who tells you they don't use their cell phone in those places or while driving is a hypocrite. We all do it, people. Admit it.)

But even when I do use it in public, I'm aware that I'm in public and I'm hyper aware that there are others around me--total strangers--who can hear all of my side of the conversation. And while it's certainly hardly their business (except that I've made it their business by using my phone in public), they can't help overhearing, which means I've put them in a position where they're compelled to hear my every word, whether they want to or not. Knowing that, I feel like I'm being rude and I do my best to get off the phone as quickly as possible or to find a place with a bit more privacy.

And that's the thing I don't like about cell phones. We're forced to listen to or overhear the most inane conversations. Conversations that should have been had between couples before they parted ways in the morning. Conversations that might be sensitive in nature and shouldn't be in the public domain. Conversations between friends that make watching paint dry seem infinitely more intriguing. Conversations about absolutely nothing.

There's the other rub with cell phones. We're so connected and in touch that we expend all of our deeper, quieter thoughts and insights in moments of vomitous talking. Must. Talk. All. The. Time.

I miss the quiet that once was the cellular-less world. I miss seeing couples walking down the street hand-in-hand, talking to each other. Now, they both have a phone to their ear and they barely notice each other. I miss going to places that were traditionally sacrosanct, like restaurants and parks and the beach, and enjoying the quietness and intimacy that were characteristic of such get-aways.

I've enjoyed the tranquility of the last few days without my cell phone.

Unfortunately, I found the damn thing yesterday, when I started to do my laundry. There it was. Lying on the floor in the closet with the washer and dryer. Its battery exhausted. Its flashy screen dead. I plugged it into a charger and it came back to life. And last night, it rang again in all its robustness.

I promptly turned it off.

Day 27: Tell Eve About Serpent

I mentioned the other day that my grad school advisor was in town last week for the American Academy of Religion conference. Talking with Don has led me to wonder if I shouldn't do a follow up on my master's thesis.

Six years ago, I wrote and self-published "Tell Eve About Serpent!": A Qualitative Study of the Effects of Temple Participation in the Lives of Young Mormons. (A copy of my thesis can be found in the stacks and the archives of the Flora Lamson Hewlett Library at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California, call number BX8651 .K56 2000.)

The abstract reads as follows:

This thesis is a qualitative study of the effects of temple participation in the lives of young adult Mormons between the ages of 21 and 35 living in the San Francisco-Bay Area. Through interviews with 13 men and women, this study explores these individuals' experiences--including thoughts, feelings, and insights--about participating in temple worship. This study also discusses the role preparation played in each participants' initial endowment experience. A brief history of temples as sacred structures beginning with the Enuma elish flood/creation myth through the Mormon restoration of temple building in the present day, is given.

The chapters were as follows:

Chapter One: Order Out of Chaos
A historical and sociological overview of temples, their origin and meaning, and their reemergence in modern Mormonism.

Chapter Two: Definitions
Definition of extraordinary worship as it relates to corporate versus individual worship, theological stratifications, and constructs of worthy versus unworthy.

Chapter Three: Methodology
Explanation of the use of qualitative methodology in this study.

Chapter Four: "Tell Eve About Serpent!"
Findings and results from participant interviews and literature reviews, including difference in effects of temple participation for men versus women.

Chapter Five: Limitations, Contributions, and Recommendations
Brief explanation of limitations in the study, contributions to the body of scholarly literature in Mormon studies, and recommendations for future studies.

Epilogue
Author's observations on the process of undertaking this study.

Bibliography
Exhaustive list of sources read and/or cited in this study.

Appendices
Nine appendices, including temples in operation, under construction, and/or announced as of July 1999; Mormon hierarchical line of authority; interview permissions and protocol; etc.

Biography

It's been six years now since I filed and published my master's thesis and at least eight years since I interviewed my research subjects. A lot can change in that time and I'm wondering whether a follow up would be useful or of interest? For instance, when I interviewed my subjects, eight were single (never married), one was divorced, and four were married. None of the 13 had children. Almost all were enrolled in college and several were working.

Now, I believe all of my subjects are married and at least half of them have two or more children. All have graduated from college and most are working.

Given the passage of time and changes in marital and/or familial status, it stands to reason that perspectives about and experiences with the temple are vastly different than they were when these folks first participated in my study. Undoubtedly, the effect of temple participation in their lives is also vastly different. Or, at least, so I would surmise. In fact, a follow up study may show that very little has changed in terms of the effects.

The time and effort needed to do a follow up would require many, many hours and no small expense, but I would be especially interested to see what their perceptions are now versus eight years ago. I wonder if Perry Cunningham and his crew at the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City would also be interested?

I also wonder if, given my original findings (i.e. that men have a textbook experience but women come away with more questions than answers), I shouldn't simply focus on women's experiences and assume that men's experiences have remained classic, text book experiences?

On a different subject, I'm starting to develop an interest in religion and the environment/ecology. I'm thinking I might do some exploratory research on the environment in Mormon theology, history, and sociology. The writings of Terry Tempest Williams would serve as a starting point.

So much to ponder...

Day 26: Smelly Cat, Meet Your Cousins, the Crappy Cats

Feral, unneutered, countless cats roam my neighborhood. Some cats are all black with a patch of white. Some cats are white with a patch of black. Some cats are gray. All of these cats are inbred and continually breeding. And I'm about to call the ASPCA. Because I have had enough. And why have I had enough, you may ask?

Because these cats come into my yard and CRAP.

And I'm sick and tired of cat crap in my yard.

Earlier this past summer, I bought powdered coyote piss and sprinkled that on the lawn.It was sort of effective. It burned up my lawn. Being almost straight urea, it would. Still, I could see the crap more clearly, as there was hardly any lawn growth to hide it under. Having recovered my lawn after some watering and a few generous late summer/early fall rain storms, I'm still at a loss for how to get these cats to stop crapping in my yard.

I'm open to solutions.

All solutions are welcome, with the exception of:
a) buying a big, slobbery dog
b) buying and using a firearm
c) poisoning them.

(The last is absolutely off the table, so don't even think about suggesting it. I'm looking for humane ways to keep these cats off my property. Barring something humane, I'll call the ASPCA. Although, maybe I'll borrow my parents' small, slobbery dachshund and let him piddle all over the yard. Maybe that'll work...)

Day 25: Here's Your Damn Postcard!

Yesterday, I wrote about the lost art of letter writing and the lack of excitement in one's mailbox these days. Now, it's all just catalogs and bills and, as we'd say in Austria, "Werbung" (junk mail.)

When I worked for the American Forest & Paper Association, all official correspondence was required to be on paper. For a long time, we tried to convince our boss, who happened to be the Vice President of the Paper Policy Group, to abandon her paper day planner for a Palm Pilot. She refused, saying it would look bad to members. They were all using Blackberrys and Palm Pilots and such, but she felt she couldn't. As far as I know, she's still using a paper day planner.

We were also never allowed to call that annoying batch of mail--advertisements, circulars, catalogs, et. al.--junk mail. It was direct mail. In an industry that is struggling to survive in the U.S. as more and more paper is manufactured in China and Asia under disreputable and harmful harvesting and production practices, the use of paper and respect for that media, is paramount. The amount of paper consumption within the association itself is staggering and yet appropriate. (That's not to say the AF&PA is environmentally irresponsible. The association also heads up one of the largest campaigns in the U.S. for increasing paper recycling and a respectable number of their members are leaders in sustainable forest practices both here and abroad.)

Moving in a different direction, I have a friend who lives out in The States who remains a faithful letter writer and envelope stuffer. At least once a month, I receive an envelope stuffed with newspaper clippings she has cut from the Washington Post. Articles about things she thinks would be of interest to me: Dachshund Races at the Prince William Fairgrounds; Korean dining in Rockville; a special travel section on Point Reyes, California; a short special interest piece about Ben's Chili Bowl; information about the Cherry Blossom Festival. Never mind that I may have already read them weeks before in the online version. Here they come, thoughtfully tucked into an envelope with a handwritten note. She use to include glitter and confetti, but then I complained about that and she stopped.

This same friend travels and loves sending and receiving postcards. Years ago, when I lived in California and would take weekend jaunts up and down the coast, she'd say, "Send me a postcard." I was pretty sporadic about it until one night she called me, just gushing about the latest postcard I'd sent her from a recent trip to Mendocino and Fort Bragg. As we were on the phone, she couldn't see the confusion and dismay on my face. Not wanting to confess any sort of negligence, I said, "Well, you're so welcome" as I racked my brain trying to remember which card I'd sent her. Finally she said, "You dope! You didn't send me a postcard!"

I was mortified, but we laughed about it. Gasping for air between giggles, I declared, "That's it! You want postcards? You're going to get postcards! Next time I travel, I'm sending you a postcard and this is what I'm going to write on it: 'Dear Amy, Here's your damn postcard. Love, Janet.'" To this day, I send her postcards when I travel and that's what I write on them. And when I go to her house, there they are--hanging on the fridge.

So, here's my goal: to send out more postcards and letters to friends. Yesterday, Merujo at Church of the Big Sky commented on my blog that she was getting into that more and more and it thrilled me.

If you'd like to send a postcard or letter this way, email me and I'll give you the address.

If you want one back, be sure to include your address and I'll send one in return.

Day 24: Lost Art

A letter. For me. That was something of an event. The crisp-cornered envelope, puffed up with its thickly folded contents, was addressed in a hand that must have given the postman a certain amount of trouble.... [T]he style of the writing was old-fashioned, with its heavily embellished capitals and curly flourishes....

It gave me a queer feeling. Yesterday or the day before, while I had been going about my business, quietly and in private, some[one]...had gone to the trouble of marking my name onto this envelope. Who was it who had had his mind's eye on me while I had not suspected a thing?

The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield, Atria Books, New York, 2006.


Long ago, before there was e-mail and instant messaging and Skype, there was letter writing.

Back in the 1980s, I was a prolific letter writer. There wasn't a week that would go by where I wasn't writing to or receiving a letter from a friend or relative or some acquaintance. When I lived in Austria, coming home from a day of tracting and meeting with church members was the best time of the day. My roommates and I would open our mailboxes in anticipation of letters from home. Since we were only allowed two phone calls a year--at Christmas and on Mother's Day--letters were like manna from heaven.

Letters were how you built relationships with those you loved or were in love with. Letter writing was an opportunity to pour out your heart--its joys and sorrows, dreams and disappointments, news good and bad. It was a way to meet and become intimate with first strangers, then acquaintances, then friends, then dear friends over the course of months and years. (I even wrote to the Queen of England once, and received a reply! We still remain perfect strangers, having never moved beyond that first letter, but I wasn't looking for that, at that time.)

For years, I wrote consistently to an acquaintance in England, a cousin in Southern California, a friend in Florida, members of my church in Austria, even my sister when she lived in Hong Kong. We shared our deepest thoughts and feelings with each other, the day-to-day of living, the moments of wonder, the changes and progressions of our lives.

And then, one day, it seems, the letter writing stopped. It's not like it trickled out and finally ceased. It just flat out stopped. Some of it, I suppose, could be attributed to life becoming busy and people no longer having time.

My friend from England got married, moved to the States, and had three or four kids. I've since lost track of where she's landed and I can't remember her married name, only her name as I knew her: Gillian Firth of Manchester, England, who had a sister named Alison.

My second cousin, Kimberly Clarke, got married and had several kids, too. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband, Ken. I hear about her through occasional updates from my mother's cousin.

Terry Gillam, last I heard, is still down in Florida, struggling against the demon of depression and hard relationships. Last time I heard from her was in the 1990s in a card I received while I was living in California.

The folks I met and lived among in Austria have long since moved out of my address book. The Stahls. The Voduseks. The Anreiters. Even the Plattners, though I get occasional e-mails from Helmut or Christine with the latest news about their daughters.

My sister has long since returned from living in Hong Kong. I see her every two weeks or so as she lives only 20 miles away.

And through all of that, I moved on with life and became busy with college, then grad school, then work and being an adult.

Now, it's all e-mail. And while I have several friends I correspond with via this medium, it's simply not the same.

There's just something about a letter. The feel of the paper. The characteristics of the handwriting. The knowledge that actually sitting down and writing takes time and thought. The care and love that is conveyed in folding the pages, tucking them into an envelope, and putting a stamp on it. The sending and receiving.

We've lost much with the decline and extinction of letter writing. We've lost a connection with ourselves and each other, I think. With letters, we never worried about tone or misinterpreted what was said. We believed that the person who wrote to us genuinely cared and we accepted their offering in the spirit of generosity with which it was given. There were no ulterior motives or underlying tones or concerns about how our words might come across.

Letters were a record, a chronology of life and its march in our days and weeks and months. Letters measured the meaningfulness of our living. They were timeless and priceless.

In today's instantaneous, immediate gratification, need-to-know now, open forum world, letters are an oasis, a respite, a gift. They force us, when we are fortunate enough to receive one, to slow down and enjoy a more contemplative moment. They are the difference between making your own tea and buying it at Starbucks. They are quiet and warm and familiar.

I miss letters. I miss writing them and receiving them. And while e-mail is great and Skype is a wonder of modern technology, neither is as exciting or as heartwarming as a letter.

Day 23: Prayers of Peace

On Thanksgiving, my hope and prayer is for justice and peace in our world and in our nation.

From the Episcopal Book of Common Prayers, this traditional collect:

Lord God Almighty, thou who hast made all peoples of the earth for thy glory, to serve thee in freedom and peace: Grant to the people of our country a zeal for justice and the strength of forbearance, that we may use our liberty in accordance with thy gracious will...

We beseech thee, in every heart the true love of peace, and guide with thy wisdom those who take counsel for the nations of the earth, that in tranquillity thy dominion may increase till the earth is filled with the knowledge of thy love...

Make us ever thankful for thy loving providence; and grant that we, remembering the account that we must one day give, may be faithful stewards to thy bounty...

Comfort and relieve those who are sick, and give thy power of healing to those who minister to their needs, that those for whom our prayers are offered may be strengthened in their weakness and have confidence in thy loving care...

Bless, we beseech thee, all who, following in the footsteps of Your Son, give themselves to the service of others; that with wisdom, patience, and courage, they may minister in his name to the suffering, the friendless, and the needy...

Grant us grace fearlessly to contend against evil and to make no peace with oppression; and, that we may reverently use our freedom, help us to employ it in the maintenance of justice in our communities and among the nations, to the glory of thy holy Name...

AMEN.

Day 22: Name That Tom

Only 14 hours til turkey day and the official commencement of the greatest American pasttime: eating to even greater excess than we already do.

Dr. Lala of the Scary Feminists from Hell, shared her secret turkey making recipe with us. I'm not allowed to divulge it or I'll end up shunned from the community. I can tell you, though, that she says the most important step in the turkey ritual is naming the bird. (She doesn't say why, exactly, so we're all just going on faith on this one.)

So far, Adriana over at What I Made for Dinner has named hers Taffy a la her ubercute son, Jasper.

Mary Ellen and her Michael, over in the Rio Grande Valley, have named theirs Lorena Gobblitt. I think they were also toying with Moniker Lewinsky.

I don't know what the rest of the Scary Fems are naming their birds, but as for me and my house, it's a dead heat between:

1. TomKat Suribird
2. Delay, Tom, Delay!
3. Guan-tom-a-no Bay Birdy
4. Mount Tomalpias
5. Thomasina Goebblestein

Taking all votes now!

Day 22: (Part 2) How Sad is This

I'm sure it's like this in other parts of the country, too, but how sad is it that there is boot camp for dealing with customers on Black Friday (the busiest retail day in the U.S. on the day after Thanksgiving)?

Check out this article from the Washington Post.

All I can say is:

PEOPLE! Get a life. And get your priorities straight.

Day 21: The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of *Bleep*

I was still trying to decide what to write about today, when my sister sent me the following:



Seems there's a town in Austria called Fucking (pronounced fooking, like booking, looking, cooking....)

Here's where it's situated on the map in the Alpine wonderland of Austria:



And here's the article from I-don't-know-what-newspaper about a series of thefts by British tourists who keep absconding with the town's signs:

(Click on the image for a larger view.)

I was dubious about this, but then I checked the urban myth buster, Snopes, and they confirmed that, yes, Virginia, there is a Fucking, Austria! http://www.snopes.com/photos/signs/austria.asp

More than having their signs stolen though, the real insult is in the article. The headlines says, "Germans not amused."

Germans!?!?

Austrians aren't Germans. They only speak German. Nothing irks an Austrian more than to be called a German. That's like saying the Irish are English or that West Virginians are Virginians (which is partially true, but is more insulting to ethnic Virginians than it is to West Virginians.)

Sheesh. Germans? Not even. As for Fucking, Austria, well... that's another thing all together now, isn't it?

Day 20: We Interrupt This Program...

I got up this morning, inspired to write about the lost art of letter writing. Turned on my computer, flexed my fingers, put on my contemplative face, dug down for my deepest thoughts, took a long, soulful breath, and then... I looked out the window.

Fall is in its middle age. The brisk winds that precede winter, like honor guards precede high school bands in home town parades, have long blown through and stripped the trees of their fiery, vibrant foliage. Outside, the line between sunrise and gray sky paints a leading edge that is harsh, then melts as the morning sun tips over the horizon.

And on the limbs of the tree outside my office window are two squirrels. Getting it on.

At this stage, I could go in so many directions. I could take the Marty Stouffer's Wild America approach (except that this is Urban America.)

"In the waning days of fall, the North American Grey Squirrel can be seen frolicking in its urban habitat in search of nuts and delectable bits of food that will store well over the long, cold winter. Before hibernating in their residential tree condo, they will prepare for next year's offspring by mating...."

Or, we could go National Geographic here.

"The grey squirrel, a descendant of Australchipamunkeus, has evolved over millions of years to develop the means to breed while clinging to tree limbs from heights of more than 50 feet. Unlike their early ancestors, who crept erect out of the primordial goo, today's modern squirrel is a rodent equipped to deal with the harshest conditions while remaining a beloved, comical sprite...."

Or, we could do Reader's Digest.

"The squirrel: its grayness blending into the onset of winter's gray is the ideal friend to urban and suburban dwellers alike. As winter creeps into shades of gray and brown and muck, the squirrel scampers about as a beacon that spring will again arrive with renewal and hope." (Condensed from The Squirrel: Its Grayness and Ours, by Ross Geller, Ph.D.)...

Seriously, though, folks. I know some people are totally wigged out by squirrels and think of them as nothing more than "urban rats" or "rodents with bushy tails." But I find them adorable.

Watching these two get frisky is more fun that you'd think.

They're dancing, engaging in gentle, but outspoken fisticuffs. He, saying, "I want you, mon chere. I will have you. You will be the mother of my babies. Come to me, mi amor..." She, saying, "You horny bastard! Stand back. You'll get yours when I feel good and ready. Watch it, or I might get a headache..."

They circle and dive around the limbs. He, trying to catch her. She, trying to outrun him. He's in hot pursuit, she's in a cold run.

This scene has been playing out over and over again for the last thirty minutes...

Eventually, he grabs her and, since this is a family-friendly website, we'll now queue the pretty music and you can use your vivid, starved imaginations for a few minutes.

Oh, wait. Yep. I think he's scored. She's leaving in a huff with occasional stops to groom herself. He's... wait... yep, he just leaned back in the crook of the limb and lit a cigarette.

Day 19: Note to My Siblings

Janeen and Phillip,

Check out today's PostSecrets (the link is over on the right under, what else, "Links.") See if you can figure out which PostSecret made me laugh out loud. I didn't send it in, but we certainly have room in our family to do so!

Love,

Janet

P.S. If you can figure out which one it is, send me an email.


UPDATE: 11/29/06 Here's the PostSecret that absolutely made me guffaw. Unless you're my siblings, I think this is a "you had to be there" thing.



Second runner up was a PostSecret that said, "I drive like a shithead!" So true, so true, so true.

Day 18: Dessert

Tomorrow, I'm having friends over for dinner.My grad school advisor, Don Compier, is in town for the American Academy of Religion conference. He's bringing a couple of his friends and I've invited a few friends. All told, there will be nine of us (possibly 10), but I digress.... I'm making beef stroganoff (seemed like a good thing to make on a cold, fall afternoon.) The conundrum, however, is dessert.

I have a Cheesecake Factory Original cheesecake in my fridge. I was going to make a raspberry-pinot noir reduction to go over it. My friend Rio Grande Valley Girl once said of my reduction, "This is better than sex." That's option 1.

Then I started thinking perhaps I'd make oatmeal cake instead. It's a recipe my mother made when I was a kid (and still makes) that is so incredibly yummy.

It involves oatmeal, coconut, walnuts and a topping made with lots of butter, brown sugar, more coconut and more walnuts. (I'm salivating just thinking about it.) When I make it, I usually "go European" and serve it with a dollop of fresh whipped cream on the side. That's option 2.

Decisions, decisions....

I can't decide....

Maybe I'll just make two desserts and give people options....

Day 17: On My Worst Enemy

I wouldn't wish the job of taxi dispatcher on my worst enemy. But this guy writes so beautifully about it, it almost makes you want to run out and apply, just for an outlet to vent your disbelief at morons and idiots. Honestly, you can't make this stuff up.

Read on, MacDuff, read on.

Day 16 (Part 2): The Golden Gate Bridge. Brought to You By...

In my ongoing quest to stay abreast of news, the San Francisco Chronicle online edition (which does NOT require a user name and password, thank you very much) is running a story about the City's most venerable landmark, the Golden Gate Bridge.

Seems the Bridge district's board of directors is hiring a consultant to seek corporate sponsors for the Bridge to help offset the district's $87 million deficit.

This is a bad idea.

I mean, it's bad enough that stadiums are no longer named after people or places, but after corporations. It's bad enough that major sporting events (golf, NASCAR, football, the Olympics, et. al.) are already overrun by corporate logos and branding. But sponsoring the world's most famous bridge?! Granted, there will be no plastering of sponsoring corporations' names on the Bridge itself. But still, the idea is abhorrent.

The Golden Gate rolls trippingly off the tongue. The Tide Golden Gate Bridge doesn't. Nor does Pacific Bell Golden Gate Bridge or Wells-Fargo Golden Gate Bridge or Oracle Golden Gate Bridge.

On top of that, what corporation would want to link their name to the world's most popular suicide destination? The PR folks will rue the day they have to take that first call for comment about how the company feels about Ms. Smith or Mr. Jones who just took a dive off of "Insert Corporate Name" Golden Gate Bridge.

And once you find a sponsor for the Golden Gate, then every landmark will want one. Soon there will be a corporate sponsor for the Grand Canyon, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Washington Monument.... ("The Washington Monument! Brought to you by Trojan Brand Condoms: Pleasure you want. Protection you trust.") The precedence is just too frightening to contemplate.

Read the full article here.

P.S. Please note that my tongue is mostly embedded in my cheek. On the one hand, I think it's a horrible idea. On the other hand, if it saves commuters from increased bridge tolls, then maybe it's not a bad idea...