PEOPLE ARE CANDY:

Had Enough Chips? Pretzels? Candy?

2011-10-30T23:11:00.001-07:00

When I ask "what is enough" and what is bothering us so much, what am I basing these questions on? Let's start with the most obvious aspect of life where people in general, and Americans specifically, are clearly struggling to get satisfied.

Food. Weight. As a country, the United States is struggling with huge (no pun intended... this isn't funny) weight issues. I've likened our culture's appearance to kernels of corn boiling in hot fat and in response, *POPPING* out of our previous boundaries.

Yep, we're fat. The government says two-thirds of Americans are overweight; one third or more are obese. And worst of all, our generation next is coming up chubby, too.

We're busy stuffing things in our mouths, looking for satisfaction. Looking for "enough." Looking to fill a hole inside of us that aches for "a little something-something." But instead of "a little," we eat everything in sight.

Come on. We've all tried to tame that one before. We have a few chips; we want a few more. Even the chip industry knows we can't let things alone. "You can't have just one" was the slogan of the nation's most popular chips for more than a decade. We're not alone in our overindulgence. The American Institute of Baking (AIB) reports snacks are a growth industry, "business insights projects that the savory snack industry will grow to $10 billion by 2012." We're nothing if not predictable.

But was there ever satisfaction in a few chips? But worse, has making it to the bottom of the bag ever inspired anything other than guilt? The salty (and now added sweet) additions to the carbohydrate load make them tasty. The carbohydrates themselves make you quickly crave more after you finish the first few.

So the big question is, when are you going to stop looking in the fridge for "enough"? And where can you look next?

What Ails Us?

2011-10-24T00:30:00.000-07:00

I've been giving a lot of thought to something lately. I've come up with an answer and I want to talk it through with you. First off, let's define the question.

When I ask "what ails us," what I'm really asking is what is ailing the U.S., our society, our country and us as individuals. What ails the U.S.?

I think it's the same question that's bothered me for a long time. When I say I'm formulating an answer, I don't mean to imply that I'm so insightful that I know everything about American culture. I am actually saying that I'm so very average and totally un-special that I'm bothered by the same things that are bothering the rest of the country. And I have mentioned the idea I have before on this blog.

I think it's a question of "enough."

I've told you before that someone asked me this question at lunch, years ago. A person who was wise beyond his years and looking at me clearly (and yet gently) enough to understand what he was seeing asked me, "What is enough for you, Marti? What is it going to take? What will be enough for you? And will you know it when you see it within your grasp?"

What a great question! I'm so glad it was put to me right then. I didn't have the answer at that time. I'm not sure I do now, although I know that many things I couldn't get enough of then are no longer troubling to me now.

So I want to start a dialogue here about our culture and the word "enough." Different aspects, subjects and theories. I want your thoughts, ideas and opinions, too. Consider it my own little research project. Topic: What is Enough?

An Artful (Broken) Heart

2011-10-12T20:37:00.001-07:00

I had my heart broken tonight. It wasn't by a person. It wasn't over a lost job. It was over this:
If you've ever loved and lost, then you know how I feel. This is an Emile Vernon oil painting that was at an auction. It's a particularly good one, because it doesn't just show the usual "pretty women" that he did so famously, but this painting seems to have an actual plot behind it: two bar maids whispering about a traveler with well-worn shoes. I bid briefly, but realized I had to walk away because I didn't have my life in order to provide the appropriate setting for this piece of art.

I'm going to remember this loss for a long time. There aren't a lot of things I truly covet and I'm sure there will be other paintings that I love in the future. But this one is a reminder that I need to work a little harder to focus my life and be able to provide a place for so much beauty.

Maybe this was what I needed to motivate me to move beyond my 40-45 weekly hours job, a job hunt, a website in development and a bunch of craft projects that so far aren't moving on Etsy.com, because as Scarlet O'Hara would have put it, "As God is my witness, I'll never be artless again." Or something like that.

Steve Jobs: 1955 – 2011

2011-10-06T00:06:00.000-07:00

The news that Steve Jobs died on October 5, 2011 lit up the cyber-sphere like very few things in recent history. Seriously, I've covered the deaths of former American presidents whose passing got less interest. I hope that is a testament to the way he lived.

I never interviewed Mr. Jobs. That should be clear upfront. Having covered politics and hurricanes for most of my adult life, there were always people far more prepared than me for questioning Apple's CEO. I can respect that. But like a lot of the Americans posting endlessly on Facebook.com and Twitter.com (which appeared to shut down for a time under the load) I greatly admired his passion.

Have you noticed that in every photograph of him posted around the web, he's engaged? He might not be exactly smiling, but he is there, in that moment, focused on whatever he's doing. That is a mark of true genius, in my mind.

Tonight, I saw it best explained in an article on Mashable.com, where the writer had interviewed him multiple times, over the years. If you want to read more about that, here's your chance. Because I want to move the conversation forward.

People seem very concerned that this country has lost a visionary. Yes, that's true. But we don't need to feel we've lost our vision. I think the best way to honor Steve Jobs is to do as he did: embrace the universe of possibilities every day.

I started my little website a year ago. It's in rebuild right now and I'm grateful for a couple of very talented web developers who have gone the distance with me in decision-making and design. These two Americans have made web development into an entirely different experience than what I went through 16 months ago, working with a New Delhi team that I came to refer to, both generally and specifically, as "Pirate." I hope in another six months, when I start to rethink, they'll come with me on the second journey. (A third? I'm hoping not because at that point, I'd like the site to need so many customizations that we have to take our friendship to the level of "just friends.")

I often tease my friends and coworkers that I'm going to "take over the world" with my darling little web project. I'm only halfway kidding and those that know me well with confirm that.
I don't expect to remake my industry. I don't expect to change the way people listen to music. Or shop for cars. Or feed their children.

What I'd like to do is enhance the way people understand the world and the opportunities that people in my industry are given... and take for themselves. I can only spend the amount of time (and money... ugh, the money!) on my little web project because I am passionate about it. I'm passionate about journalism and journalists and helping people re-ignite an industry and a group of workers that have taken some hard knocks in recent years. Otherwise, with my very limited television reporter's attention span, I would have wandered off long ago. But Steve Jobs, with the way he changed computer use and the way he pushed his limits, led the way.

I hope you're passionate, too, because if you haven't seen the news lately, time is limited. Eat dessert, love deeply, wear your favorite clothes and live your own life. Steve Jobs certainly did.

My Economic Solution

2011-09-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about the economy lately. Which puts me in the same boat, bin and bag check as 98.9% of the rest of Americans, right?

At first, I was somewhat depressed. You can get that way, looking at the numbers. But you shouldn't. Why not? I'm so glad you asked.

First off, you shouldn't be depressed because on your worst day (ruling out a death in your immediate family) living in this country, you are still better off than more than 95% of the rest of the world. Truly.

Still panicking? Why? Worried about India? So was I until I hired an Indian team to build my website. Did you know they have 174 "festival days" every year. Can you really get behind that type of work ethic in a modern economy? After a few months of working with them, I stopped seriously considering India as a competitor.

China is what really worries you, right? Have you looked at their numbers and size? Ok, they're huge. But consider this: the U.S. economy is roughly 2.5 times the size of theirs. They're huge, they're coming, but they've got a long way to go. We're experiencing the same level of panic that our grandparents did in worrying about "the Rooskies" in the 1940's and 50's. Inhale. Exhale.

There is enough for them to be successful, too. It's ok. We don't have to clobber them to still have life pretty good.

Now as it relates to the rest of the economy, I have this thought: a sizable amount of the problem with the economy is that we, as Americans, don't have faith in it. We can't afford more government, but cutting our spending will cause an implosion as the nation's (and world's) biggest employer cuts faster than our already overwhelmed employment programs could possibly absorb.

What can we afford? Most of us don't want to spend more. We're saving every penny we've got. Americans are desperately trying to unload debt. We're just having a freak-a-zoid meltdown moment in our national courage level. How do we turn that around?

We're going to have to get tough. And perhaps while we don't want to pay more taxes or spend more money, perhaps its time to do that.

On behalf of those of us who don't want to pay more taxes, how about if we take another positive action? Perhaps if we gave something to someone in need? Since most of us feel like a dollar taxed is a dollar lost to the machine, how about if we take a step forward in consumer confidence, go around the taxing-spending-welfare machine that this country has become and we summon up our courage and faith in the economy to spend something on behalf of our fellow man?

I don't like giving money to people with signs up and their hands out at freeway exits. First off, I'm usually alone in my car and it concerns me to open my purse and my window to a total stranger who looks very different from me and well, somewhat desperate and dirty. I have no idea if he'll spend it on something that he truly needs... or drink it. So I try to make sure that he drinks it. I offer bottled water. If the person is truly needy, he's very grateful for some fresh water. If he's not, then he better act like he is or the guy in the car behind me won't give him a dime.

But how about if each of us bought that person a t-shirt or jacket? We would spend a little more than a bottle of water, but offer something that person truly needs. And more important than an actual t-shirt or coat (in the bigger sense, obviously) we'd circulate the dollars. We'd boost the economy without wasting any money sending the dollars into the expensive to operate government machine, right?

I'm not saying go out and buy someone an expensive coat. Just what you can reasonably afford. What you can freely give. If it comes from Macy's, Walmart or Goodwill, I'm not the person to say. And if you truly can't afford it, then God bless you, keep the money to buy yourself a warm coat. I'm just saying, circulate the money. Skip the government and help your fellow human. And maybe we'll finally start to veer towards easing up on the level of agony we see on the streets.

I'm pretty sure this isn't anywhere close to "The Solution." But I don't see anyone else offering anything better at the moment. (Maybe later this week?) Of course, if you have a better or other solution, I think we're all open to it. Give it up now.

My Other Mother

2011-08-21T14:13:00.001-07:00

One of the kindest, dearest people in my life died this weekend. I've known she would go soon, but it still catches me with such a tight, hard knot of pain that I'm almost unable bear it.

This is Doris Roberson, mother of three, wife of the late Marvin Roberson. Marv died last year and left his beloved Doris to soldier on without him. She made it just 11 months.

She was a wonderful woman. I met her as a result of her daughter, my college best friend, Echo. Echo told me from the start to "call her Mom, everybody does." And sure enough, Doris became a second, sort of "Other Mother" to me.

She was, as many of her generation, a stay-at-home Mom. She had to be, because Marv worked as the trainer for the football team at Brigham Young University. Which means during football season, and often during the build-up to it, she was Mother, Father, Drill-Sergeant and trainer to the Roberson team. She brought her daughters up with a sense of decorum and her son up to respect ladies with such sensitivities.

But she was also very much her own person. She was a member of a book club that was better read than most people these days. When computers became popular, she was on them like white on rice. She loved life and as it progressed, she went with it.

She had a great laugh, a wonderful smile and a satisfying way of saying "oh, Marti." This photo shows how I see her in my mind: her eyes gleeful, with the lashes turned in "upside down smiles" that form because someone is an unusually happy soul.

She also had a calming sense of stillness that seems lacking in the current milieu. (She would love my using that word.) She cheered on my career, calmed my wildly beating heart when I thought it would break and whenever I was in town, would make time to go to lunch in order to ask what I thought about various events and turns in national and world politics. She had questions that showed a keen insight, particularly for someone taking life at her own pace in Provo, Utah.

I remember one day a few years ago when I came home after a long business trip. I had been reporting in New Orleans about a hurricane that I waited three days for, only to see it veer to the north around my location. It fizzled as a story for me. But as I arrived home, there was a phone message:

"Marti, this is.... well, this is Your Mom. Call me when you get a minute and tell me what you're up to."

I called her back that time and every time. I have no regrets about that. Except that there will be no more long phone calls. No more "call Mom for advice and long talks." No more "sit with Mom over a long lunch."

I mourn Doris Roberson. She was lovely. She was beloved. I am better for having known her and so deeply saddened at her loss. The only thing I find comforting is that she left such a great legacy of her heart and soul to her daughters. And I'm fortunate to have been counted as one of them.

The Moo, The Mouth and Me...

2011-08-19T10:49:00.000-07:00

So I've mentioned here before that I struggle with drinking water. There's a tussle going on between me and municipal water systems everywhere. I can't drink tap water treated by municipal systems. If I drink it, my mouth peels and I get an assortment of other symptoms. I've checked all the way from Los Angeles to Washington, DC, with the same results.

I don't like this. Having grown up on a farm where Mom and Dad raised a lot of the food we ate and encouraged vast amounts of self-sufficiency. But here I am, all grown-up and I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum. Not self-sufficient.Not in drinking water. Not in growing food or anything else that I know of, to be honest.

But the bottled water issue looms large. Because not only can I not drink tap water, I can't drink anything but DISTILLED tap water. Buying, paying for, dragging home and drinking distilled water has become the most annoying household chore I regularly take care of, but at least I thought I had the issue handled.

Except lately the inside of the mouth seems to be sensitive again. So maybe the tap water problem is a symptom, but not the problem?

I've decided to try drinking organic milk. Maybe the hormones and steroids used in milk and beef production are affecting me. So today I bought $20 worth of organic milk. For my twenty-spot, I didn't get as much milk as I wish, but I did buy enough for two weeks, so that I could give it a substantial try-out and get all the dairy production chemicals out of my system.

I don't like that it's come to this, but... well, if this little test of mine works, then I guess then I get to decide: organic milk or organic water?

Dear Congress...

2011-07-27T08:17:00.000-07:00

And by "Congress," I mean everyone elected to serve the public in the U.S. Capitol.

As this week drags on, please remember that we're not going to remember the "tit for tat" of this week if you screw it up. We won't remember who got what or said what or offered what in six months. It's our nature, as the American public, to be both forgiving and forgetful in relation to a lot of things.

If you mess up on this one, we're going to be blanket-full-on-whup-@$$ angry for a very long time. At you and him. But unless we see some agreement soon, it's mostly on you. I don't mean to say I know which proposal to do what is best. I see it's "rock and hard place." I've got the idea that a lot of compromising is in order. Neither side will end up with a clear win. None of us are going to be completely happy and heaven knows we're likely to be poorer. But if you don't do something, the downside will be huge, lasting and unforgivable.

I mean if you don't get this done (and preferably immediately) we're going to remember exactly where you sat while this happened. And you won't be sitting there in the future. Because we'll be reminded every time we go to the grocery store. We'll be reminded every time we make a mortgage payment... and that'll be the lucky ones. We'll remember every time we look at our children. We'll feel it all the more when we're the grandparents of the next poorer generation.

I suggest you get off the party line and get to it. Whatever that does or doesn't mean, it boils down to this: it's time to make a deal. It's time to find some common ground. I don't have the answer because I'm not in the discussions, but I know pettiness when I see it.

So get in that chamber and get to work. Please don't come out, don't come home and don't look for sympathy until your job is done.

Celebrating July 4, 2011

2011-07-02T06:06:00.000-07:00

I celebrated the Fourth of July a little early. Here's how I did it:

That's right; I cut up a credit card.

Nothing to get excited about. This was my "spare" American Express card. I still have another one. I closed this account because I don't need two and spreading credit around like that isn't healthy for my credit rating.

Do you want to know what American Express' response was? They immediately doubled the credit limit on the one I didn't close. Yeah. Helpful, aren't they?

Obviously I don't have "problem credit." I pay off my monthly credit card bills in full. I never carry a balance and I don't want to go down that road.

So I invite you to join me. What's in YOUR wallet? Maybe it should be a little less? And look what I found online:

Bold letters and small mirrors, tastefully decorated in discarded American extravagance.
Perfect for any home or office! Have a good weekend!

Cold Advice... for the Brave

2011-06-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

I have a bit of a cold... just now. It's a spring-time cold, common enough here in Washington, DC. It seems to pop up every time I take off the gloves on the Metro and start grabbing up every passing germ.

If you were around these parts two winters ago, you may remember my foray into odd "home cures" for head colds. I thought I should put out a comprehensive list of every one of these homeopathic efforts, their side effects and results, starting with the most recent effort. Just in case you need it.

By the way, the picture above reminds me of a coworker at one of the places I freelance. The company is moving this coming week, and everyone has to clear out their desk for the move. Today, she discovered a roll of T-P in the back of a drawer, or as some would call it "ghetto sneeze lockers," dating back to before the company bought tissues for cold and allergy sufferers.

Glass of tomato juice with a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. This was my mother's suggestion, via the neighbor's husband who lives down the way. (Yep, we're country folk!) The side effect was a little burn in the upper chest that wasn't nearly as bad as anticipated. The results seemed to be positive. The next morning, I no longer had a sore throat. Might have worked, too, if I hadn't missed out on sleep the next night. Relapsed. Drinking more. And why not? They say that the capsaicin in the peppers (the stuff that makes them fiery hot!) causes a metabolic rise and may help with digestion. I liked this thought well enough that I'm considering drinking it from now on. I've certainly had worse habits.

Five thousand milligrams of Vitamin C at first notice and 2 thousand an hour every hour thereafter for the first 24 hours. This cure came from a California friend who said that this level of Vitamin C, being ascorbic acid, would propose to "burn any germs out of the system." The side effects of this are widely believed to be a little case of stomach upset. My particular stomach holds up pretty well under this type of assault. I added this one to this week's head cold attack as I regularly do when I have a cold "just in case."

Onion tea, made by adding a thick slice of onion to an innocent and otherwise sweet smelling cup of tea. I got this one from Merle, an African American man who bumped me in the drugstore line in Southeast Washington two winters ago while I waited to pay for my Tami flu. He suggested I drink the tea, pull on the covers and "sweat it out." What did I have to lose? I went home, gave it a shot and voila! Next morning, I felt 95% better. Had another cup of the smelly stuff and went on my way. No side affects whatsoever.

The funny thing about this particular "cure," is that no matter how hard you try to get someone else to try this, they will avoid it at all costs. I mean they would rather suffer the pains of a nasty cold than drink a stinking cup of tea? And the tea smells worse than it tastes. It's actually pretty easy to drink, particularly if your nose is stuffed up and you can't smell.

Zicam, up the nose. Yes, yes, I know the government yanked the stuff of the market, but thank heavens I was already stocked up on the stuff because it knocks my colds out like nothing else ever has. You can take your zinc lozenges, but I want my zinc in my nose, where it does me good. What's that smell?

Chicken soup and orange juice in liberal doses. This is my "always effort" in making my world more hospitable during a cold. I boil a chicken, add chopped carrots, onions and celery. And then I make the result into something edible: chicken noodle soup, chicken and rice, chicken and gravy with mashed potatoes or chicken and dumplings are the top picks. I try to avoid more than one day of any particular "chicken and - - - -." I think the steam filling the apartment helps my throat and sinuses and since I'm usually a bit "carb-deprived" as a general rule, it adds a little extra energy to the recovery.

(The following cures that friends have suggested that I've never tried but you might like, if you're suffering)

Echinacea herbal tea (recent studies showed echinacea is not effective in fighting colds or influenza)

Shot of tequila (the Los Angeles contingent of friends suggesting a favorite cure, but for what??)

Jalapenos (huh?)

Whiskey and lemon, warmed and tossed down (DC friends, with a fresh spin on the booze angle)

Jalapeno peppers (Ah, apparently they are "chock full" of Vitamin C; however, by this point, so am I!)

Zinc! (Yes, that's a good idea. I think it was in the Zicam)

Vodka mixed with the tomato juice and cayenne (I'm thinking at this point that some sweet friends thought I was looking for drink recipes as opposed to head cold cures at this point, but they were determined to be helpful!)

So this is your list. Choose your poison in the future. And leave me word of any of your own home cures below, please? I'll be sitting here nursing my glass of very spicy tomato juice.

Will You Be Wanting Popsicles with Your Pizza?

2011-05-22T04:41:00.001-07:00

I have a very busy life. Just in case you didn't know that, it's true. Very busy.
I work weekends at a weird little government gig. I just started a second contractor position at another company. I have a website that is doing well enough that I need to have it redesigned and rebuilt in the next several months in order for it to continue to grow and expand. (Er, not to be confused with making money or covering its costs. NO to either on that question!) These three things alone poke big holes in my day, not to mention my bank account.

Yessirree, I'm busy for about 16 to 18 hours out of every day.

Oh, and I work out like a nutcase to make sure that I am healthy enough for all this insanity. Yes, I am busy.

But I also like financial health. My mother commented recently (in that dotty-random-outburst-at-a-party-given-by-their-daughter way that old ladies acquire in their seventies) that "Marti's cheap." I'll admit when she made that comment combined with one other, what I really wanted was to excuse myself for a check of her bathroom cabinet to see if she was off her meds. Or if I could borrow a few. Ugh.

Anyway, whether I am or am not cheap doesn't matter. I know a lot of people who are worried about money these days. And here's my tip for what YOU can do about it.

Do something extra. Do. Something. Extra. Why? To make money for yourself, of course! And not just for your life currently, which no doubt sucks every nickel out of your pocket, but for your future financial health. (If you're in debt, obviously, then use the money to pay down the debt first. I'm not in debt, therefore, I save.) And the best news is it doesn't have to be big.

For instance in the last year, I was contacted by an online group about writing for them. For several months toward the end of 2010 and in early 2011, I did their online writing. It only required a couple of hours per week. But in fact, I had so much of writing work that I couldn't do it all when combined at the time with my weekend job, website operation and making a full-time job of looking for a full-time job, right? Right. So I hired someone else to do a little of the writing. I passed one subject that I knew little about to a favorite friend who herself wanted to pick up some supplemental funds every month.

That work agreement ended a few months ago and in the newly restored "glut" of time, my mind cast about again for what else I could do to make money. I didn't have to look far. I went to auctions with a couple of guy friends and considered re-selling things I could buy there. I pondered putting up a website to do more online writing. (Still mulling that one over) Heck, I even considered taking a waitress job and pouring coffee at some breakfast diner. Perhaps. (That mental journey didn't go very far) I ruled that one out. Kind of fast, matter of fact.

What I came up with instead was expanding on a favorite hobby, adding some extra knowledge (that's called "value added") that I had gained years back, putting in a little financial outlay to buy supplies and getting busy on it. Altogether, that's hobby+added value knowledge+cash investment+sweat equity.

To that end, I now have a living room that is... unlivable at the moment. It's been a small, bearable bit of a downside as large amounts of fabric and quilt batting started piling up. Some weird smelly things are stashed in the front closet. And an etsy account awaits which already amuses me and I hope to start filling later this week.

I make this "extra" suggestion knowing that some of you will say "Oh, I'm already so busy doing such-and-such. I really can't take on anything new." I think you should reconsider. What I'm talking about isn't converting YOUR living room into a sewing workshop with a huge mess of fabrics, fluff and stuff strewn everywhere. (That seems to be my personal passion and only within the abilities of those of us that live alone.) But you can do something. You can find something. Skip any "collecting aluminum cans" ideas. You'll lose money on the price of gas, driving to and from the recycling center. You want something you can do along your life's regular circuit with a small bit of extra effort.

What will you get out of it? I expect to end up with is enough cash to cover my costs, my annual IRA donation and maybe buy a few popsicles this summer.

Personally, I like popsicles. Don't want popsicles? You might make a few extra mortgage payments. You could put some money in a fund to pay for a few extra textbooks for a favorite college student. You could take the hubs out for pizza once a month and probably afford to pay for a gym to work it off again. Whatever you want, including debt, IRA, popsicles or pizza after taxes.

I'm not saying you're not already working harder than ever, but you probably can squeak something else in, which might help you shake out better at the end of the year. And with a little extra moola, who knows what you could do, right? Maybe you'll only make enough dough for the pizza (or in my case popsicles), but we all prefer life with pizza and popsicles rather than without, right?

So what are your solutions to making a little extra money for the pizza/popsicles of your life?

(Disclaimer: all photos today were chosen with abject weirdness in mind and may or may not have actual relevance to the subject. But... I do like popsicles.)

Cake. C-A-K-E. CAKE!!!!

2011-05-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

It's my birthday again this coming week. I thought it was a good time for us to talk about The Cake.

I've been eating The Cake for a long time. I make it for my birthday every year, as I have since I was 16 and found the original recipe in one of the Salt Lake City newspapers. I try not to eat it in between. (Otherwise too many people find out about it and they whine. A lot. "When are you going to make us another cake, Marti." Bah. Whiners. Never.)

The Cake has changed since I was sixteen. The recipe has evolved. It's de-evolved. And then re-evolved and "gone foodie." And even then, it varies greatly.

There's "The Picnic Cake" which is pretty similar to "The Church Party cake." (Cool Whip. Ugh. "I'll just have a sliver. I brought this for you, anyway, right?" Right.)

There's a "Marti Doesn't know the Oven Cake" version. (See the darkly browned sides and bottom? Yeah. No!)

Also a "My Friend's Kids Are Diving In Cake" version. (There's something wonderfully "Dr. Seuss" about this particular shot, don't you think?)

There is "Dinner with College BFF and Hubs Who Are Also Foodies Cake" and as well as a "Dinner with People Who Will Eat ANYTHING" (my grade school pals in March) version.

It was spectacular watching them eat The Cake because, well, it was just so darned great to see them all again. I love a good "Happily Ever After," so having a whole room of them was swell. Just swell.

There is "Houseguests Feel The Love Cake," as modeled here by Greg. Still in his jammies. He was leaving the next day. Very little of this cake ever goes to waist. Er, waste. Freudian.

This was the "Best Family I Ever Shacked Up With Cake" version (long story involving short-term housing) which was very well received. Great lighting, eh? As if their household had some sort of inner light.

This was one of my favorites: "The Cake with Beloved College Roommate" who, after figuring out what leaving me alone in her kitchen on my birthday would mean, regularly left me alone in her kitchen on my birthday. Suh-weet!

When I started to write this post, I thought I would fit some metaphor of life into this blog. But as I got into writing it, turned out it I just like posting pictures of The Cake. Other than that, the subject of my birth is about as deep as, well, The Cake, but without the whipped cream and berries.

HELP! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

2011-05-01T14:15:00.001-07:00

I have a bit of conundrum right now and I thought I should get your advice. I'm in a sort of "Chinese Finger Trap" in my world, and struggling to get out.

A few posts back, I mentioned I was given a "second chance," and felt deeply touched by the generosity of it.

Here's where it landed me: I've become involved in a professional project where I am expected to produce something (which I very much want to produce), but so far, am unable to offer the expected results.
I should state upfront that the people who gave me this chance have been continually patient and helpful and supportive. Every question has been answered with a generosity of spirit that I've rarely seen. These people are kindness itself to me.

Part of the conundrum is that the more patient they are with my efforts, the more determined I become to succeed and the harder I try. But so far, success eludes me. Seriously, I've not been so frustrated with something in a very long time.

It's a bit like this:

I feel caught in a vise from which I desperately want to escape into the ease of reporting I've previously enjoyed. But instead, I struggle, study and practice for hours, and am trying harder than I have tried, or ever had to try, in the course of my career. And yet... I sort of stink at it.

In a "Chinese Finger Trap," the answer is to relax and let go. But so far, I've found myself unable to do that and the harder I try, whether to study or work harder or even to "let go," the more strained and painful my product seems to become. Which is not helpful.

I've often been told that one of the best parts of my work in journalism was that I made it look effortless. I've always inwardly laughed because my "effortless delivery" came from studying the material to internalize it. And then would I relax. I could relax and effortlessly talk about what I knew because I had done the due diligence and I did know it.

This latest isn't coming easily. It isn't coming with study. It hasn't arrived after hours of struggling. And not only am I frustrated, but so are those who have been so generous with their own time and efforts to help me. So...

Suggestions?

Alongside All that Fur...

2011-04-22T04:54:00.000-07:00

The visit to Utah went well. The fur coats kept arriving, removed from the hallway in front of my apartment by an obliging neighbor until I could return home to open the boxes and air out the furs. Many of them need copious amounts of air.

They are interesting furs. Some are exactly as described: thick, luxurious and pretty in a "formerly alive" sort of way. Not something I want to sit around and "pet," but they're attractive. One felt damp; it traveled from the UK, so perhaps it came by that naturally. One is yellow; not white, as advertised. Most are more than 20 years old (with one about 70, I believe... my mother was four when that fur came to be) and all are intriguing.

Now they've been joined by... a wedding dress. And not just any wedding dress, but... well, you take a look. Here it is:

If it were featured in a catalog, this is one possible description:

"This vintage candlelight white bridal gown is hand-made of yards and yards of the finest silk duppioni fabric with a fitted bodice and features a round neckline, mutton sleeves gathered to a fitted lower sleeve, set off by lace embroidered with seed pearls at the wrist. The view from the back sets off the bride's tiny waist with a full, multi-tiered bustle bedecked with handmade (from the same silk fabric) roses."

To put it more succinctly, it's ugly, out of style and even when it was in style, it just wouldn't do. It's also a size 6 (4?), so this description applies in more ways than one.

What's it doing in my closet? When I told "Mum" about the fur coats (which are reproducing in that closet and now number 11) she said she had a wedding dress to donate to my various projects. So I returned from Utah with a wedding dress, but no husband.

Mother tries so hard, but alas, that "Abra-ca-dabrah!" thing doesn't work. (Whew!)

But the dress has had a side effect. Just looking at it makes me happy, once again, that I am single.

(Editor's note: this dress was made by my mother, at the express and explicit direction of a bride who wore it, alas, to her "FIRST" wedding. Which says it all, don't you agree?)

8 Fur Coats... or Why My Folks Are Waiting at the Airport

2011-04-06T20:10:00.001-07:00

People who ask "when did you last visited your parents" often get the Stink Eye from me. I don't like their inquisitive tone as I am a person who has long believed in asking but not answering personal questions. It's the nature of my profession and I follow that tradition religiously.

And I remind them that people who don't have steady income streams are wise in not spending small bits of discretionary income on elective long distance trips.

"Bad choices and lack of discipline are the things that have put this country where it is," I say loftily, "which is painted into a corner."

My parents understand my fiscal theories. Who do you think taught me the dratted frugality that has kept me out of trouble for all these months?

So while I've had a lot of time on my hands in the last couple of years, I haven't spent much of it in airports. Or Western states.

But last week, I got news that means I will soon have MORE discretionary funds and LESS discretionary time. In fact, I'll work a lot of 7 day weeks. Sounds about right. It never rains, but it pours.

And after digesting this news for a bit, I suddenly thought "Ah, well, perhaps I'll use this time to go visit the folks."

Except that somewhere between here and there, I bought 8 fur coats. (Maybe 9 by 24 hours from now, but that one won't figure in)

It sounds like a bad movie title, doesn't it? "Eight Fur Coats." I bet I could write that movie's plot and script in an airport over the next weekend. And it'd fit right in with the rest of my life. But let me explain.

I had this idea for something I wanted to make. Have you noticed that I don't do things in small ways? Perhaps you don't recall the year I decided to import and sell pet iguanas as Christmas gifts out of my second bedroom in Omaha? The time I went to an auction and came home with jewelry so substantial that I was forced into a sit-down with an insurance agent? (yawn) Or even a couple of years ago when I bought "a few cigar boxes" at a yard sale and then went back for the rest of them the next day? (Yes, I do have 223 cigar boxes in a storage locker in Los Angeles. Why do you ask?)

The point is, when I get an idea that I want to toy with, I go long. I go large. I go admittedly... overboard. I don't do "small."

Now I had this idea and needed some fur. I looked on ebay.com.

There's a certain charm to the photo above, don't you agree? The pose alone was worth the price. It was my first purchase: a 1940's muskrat cape. The price was incredibly low (70 years old... ya think?) and it reminded me of an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies with someone named "Rudy Vallee" who wore a muskrat coat, in keeping with the college boy fashion of the era. Shoot, the auction itself was entertaining than most other things. Of course I bought it!

Then I bought this long-haired mahogany mink. Isn't that the prettiest thing you've seen in awhile? It's coming all the way from the UK and is the coat for which I paid the highest price.

I think it as the way the light hit it from the side. I had this image of myself, floating down a long staircase, bathed in candlelight.

Ha! No I didn't. I don't intend to wear any of these. And if you're environmentally sensitive, please know that no minks (which are nasty mean-tempered rodents, by the way) were killed in the making of my craft project. These rodents are LONG DEAD. I'm buying a lot of used fur, so you may feel free to view this as my own personal "recycling project."

(If that doesn't make you feel better, keep in mind, I grew up on a farm. They're all rodents to me, including the bunnies I cuddled, raised and ate as a child. That's right. I'm not vegan.)

To be honest, in many of these cases, I consider that I'm doing the world a favor, dissecting some of the most unattractive coats imaginable. Seriously, this is an UG-LEE coat.

Anyway, I bought. And bought. And bought. Until I felt quite certain I could have a lot of fun with my project. A lot of variety to keep my interest going. Variety is the spice of life, right? Altogether, I've spent about $330, including insurance and shipping.

It's been fun. Only one problem. About the time I got over the rush of "new job!" and realized I was going to be seriously busy for the first time in a long time, I realized I should go visit the folks next week. Except that I have eight fur coats rolling in my door, most expect to arrive next week.

I also don't want the neighbors to suspect anything.

So far, all they've seen coming and going are things in Goodwill bags and large packages of tofu and salad from Costco. The poverty period has been interesting but I haven't been rolling in the dough. Or furs. Until now.

And now I'm going to be rolling in fur. (I'm considering a "cash and furs scene" like the one in "Indecent Proposal" for my movie script. Yes?)

So please, give it some thought. I could use a suggestion or three. What to do about a week of fur coat deliveries in absentia?

A New Day at The New York Times

2011-03-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

24 hours and counting.

On Monday afternoon at 2pm EST, The New York Times website will institute a paywall. They explained it all in a recent "Letter to Readers." They will start requiring readers to pay for their product. And journalists everywhere will breathe quietly, listening to hear the response.

For about ten years now, The New York Times and a lot of other news outlets that used to make a living by selling subscription service have been giving their work away for free. They tried to attract site traffic and utilize it. They tried to get by putting up advertisements. They've done small ads on the side. They've done huge pop-ups that scroll down to fill the page. They've put up video commercials before multi-media presentations. Somewhere in here, the bottom fell out of the classified section. It was killed by craigslist.org.

The paper also had huge cut-backs. They let a lot of incredibly talented people go. They hired writers and reporters who professionally were at what should have still been the learning part of their careers instead of being hard-headed scrappers at the peak of their careers. I give those newbies a lot of credit. The quality didn't drop off as consistently as say, The Washington Post, which is an embarrassing shadow of what it used to be. But the losses are noted. And they were emblematic of a situation in newsrooms everywhere. Some newspapers didn't survive.

So March 28 begins a new era. When you think about whether to begin paying for your news, keep in mind that you paid for it until a few years ago. Your parents paid for it. And in this case, you get what you pay for.

I remember about 18 months ago, saying to a news executive "What I don't get is... since it's obvious the newspapers and Associated Press can't make it without charging, why don't they put up the paywall and stop giving it away for free?"

He said, "It's too late, Marti. They've already jumped off the cliff." (Sidenote: non-creative thinkers excel in management except when creative solutions and strategies are needed. Exception: journalism.)

At the time, I shook my head and said "Just because you jump off the cliff doesn't mean you can't go to the hospital."

Congratulations NYTimes.com. I'll come to your blood drive.

Best Gift... Ever

2011-03-18T08:24:00.000-07:00

I just got what is possibly the best give one person can give another: a second chance.

Think about it. It's sometimes hard to get a first chance. To get a second? Really? Boggles the mind in today's culture, doesn't it?

I can't really explain much more about the chance I was given. It's a matter of discretion to the giver. I'm not embarrassed that I needed a second chance. (Probably ought to be, but I've been in media too long. I have little shame left.) To be honest, I was absolutely stunned at what I was given. I'm getting a second chance from someone who is a relative stranger. I'm stunned by the kindness and, considering that I'm hoping to form an ongoing professional relationship with this person, it speaks loads to me about how desirable involvement with such a person would be in my life.

I've always thought the best gifts were homemade, but sometimes, they can leave you speechless.

Where Will You Find What's Next?

2011-03-12T13:25:00.000-08:00

"The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind; the answer is blowing in the wind."

Ever tried to catch that wind? Ha! Now you're getting it!

A friend emailed earlier this week and asked if we could talk on the phone and toss some ideas around. When she called, she said she had seen a news item on a network's evening newscast. The newscast was discussing a dearth of a specific type of products that she and her husband produced. She immediately saw an opportunity for their company and wanted to brainstorm with me how she and her husband could answer that need.

This is one of my friends whose intelligence, beauty (inside and out) and charm have never been doubted. By anyone. Ever. So it's always flattering that she wants my ideas. This time, she asked what my experience with that group was? Had I been in their stores lately? I said being a Washingtonian, I tried to avoid such places at all costs, but it turned out that wasn't really what she wanted. She just needed a little "goosing" to get to the meat of the matter. I said if it was me, I would start at the top and go straight at it: "Google" the person in the news report. Find some company contact information. Call the main office (of the huge national group) and ask for the person and talk to them.

She said "Just like that?" Absolutely.

Here's the good part. The next day, she emailed back to say, "Ok, I've got the number for the person. I'm going to get up and try to contact them tomorrow."

And the day after that, her email said, "I called the person and you know, we hit it off. I'm going to put together a proposal and send it to her."

No one in the history of this woman's universe has ever failed to "hit it off" with her, so why wouldn't she succeed? No reason at all. Except that right now, some of us are too tired, worn down, scared, exhausted, freaked out, lazy, distracted, over-stimulated, over-indulged and all out done over to try.

As a people, we're watching the stock market, Charlie Sheen, earthquakes in Japan, the Chinese economy and the unrest in the Mideast a little too closely. It wears on a soul, doesn't it? (Listen, if that much mental terrorizing doesn't wear on you, then you don't understand the import of events at hand.) But it's time to put them aside. Particularly Sheen. Put him FAR aside.

The good news is, putting in a little elbow grease and one thin dime's worth of technological effort (although maybe she has free nationwide long distance?) can pay dividends. My friend may have found a whole new market for her husband's products. They would never have found that if she hadn't caught a glimpse of something as she walked through the living room picking up her kids' toys. There wouldn't be a chance if she hadn't motivated herself into finding that contact information and making those calls.

The same goes for all of us: we never know what we can do unless we try. A lot of time can be wasted wringing hands and worrying the what-if's or we can get started, go forward and find out.

There is nothing as satisfying as putting a hand up in the air and asking a question that gets the ball rolling. I would know. I ask a lot of questions. As Martha Stewart would say, "It's a Good Thing."

By the same token, there's nothing as powerfully seducing as getting a positive response. In general, emotionally healthy people want to say yes. They long to hear about a great idea, incredible new product (iPad 2? You don't say!) or a new way of doing things. But they can't hear about it if we sit on our hands.

The worst thing that can happen is someone says "No." But even then, that's information. Something is learned. Sometimes information that helps tweak the idea-product-way of doing something into another thing even better.

Which opens the door to The Best Thing; when they say yes and a whole new horizon opens up.

But until you ask, the answer and you, my friend, are just blowing in the wind.

"Gee, Thanks!" (But definitely NO THANKS!)

2011-03-10T09:21:00.000-08:00

I was talking with a friend this week about his chances of getting re-employed after being sort of unceremoniously dumped from a high profile position a few months back. He told me, "At my age, some friends are telling me that it's time to find something else do to do."

I realize the helpful intentions of someone like that, but they aren't really a friend, are they? "Helpful folks" like that are the ones that are leading smaller lives because they didn't dig in and fight for what they wanted in their own lives. They "settled" for something less and now are busily preaching the gospel of piddly lives. I can't tell you how many times I've heard similar helpful wanna-be advisers and had to simply keep my head together long enough to move past them. No one else knows what's going on in your life, your business, your head and your world.

This particular friend is very high profile (I'm always so darned flattered to be a friend of is because it's fun to hang out and listen to his mind click) and capable of many more productive years. If he "settles for less" now, what does say about the mindset of Americans? Should all of us be settling for less? And what will that mean for our country, our future, our economy, our expectations and our way of life?

I suggested that he thank those friends for their thoughtful considerations and then quietly shut the door in their sweet faces. Then go to the back room of the house (since they might linger outside listening and talking amongst themselves... since they clearly have nothing better to do all day) and shout loudly, "IT'S NOT OVER UNTIL I SAY IT'S OVER."

Feel free to do this yourself. On a regular basis.

There's no shame in being "a too little busy" dealing with a crisis to listen to well-intentioned but unasked for advice from friends. And anyone who runs down your aspirations and motivations isn't really helping, are they?

"IT'S NOT OVER UNTIL I SAY IT'S OVER."

Feel free to say this to yourself. Starting now.

Getting Started

2011-03-08T07:10:00.000-08:00

The most difficult part of any project is getting started. It can often seem like you're taking on the world, like a boulder the size of a house is before you, like there's a meatball the size of your head waiting on the dinner plate in front of you with only a fork beside it.

But the reality is somewhat different. You have to step out of your house (and your comfort zone) to get started. The boulder may be a useful piece of the puzzle. And meatballs are often fork-tender, so what's the point of a knife.

Change is good. Starting something new is easy because you don't have to worry about repeating yourself. There is no "rut" to get out of because you haven't been that way before and, if you're fortunate, you won't go this way again.

So put on the new shoes, get a few blisters but get on your way. Otherwise, you'd just sitting around in the muck waiting for someone to come by and dust you off.

Now I Lay Me Down to (Not) Sleep...

2011-03-07T09:57:00.000-08:00

As I was laying in bed last night, not sleeping once again, I came up with a new game for myself. You're all about to be gamed. Thank you, as ever, for providing my entertainment. I actually hope you'll enjoy this one, too.

I've putzed along with this blog for the last 7-8 months because I've been busy in website development. But I've missed it a lot.

In saying that, I'm not saying I'm missing the previous discussions about media, politics, news events and such. They were interesting at the time, but then faded. Much as I think they do in general. But I do miss People providing my daily candy.

I used to joke to my coworkers that I didn't "need them. I can do news with or without cameras, video, audiences or ratings. I can blast away all on my own."

Those who know me will attest this is true.

The truth is, I greatly prefer to have People as my daily candy, but I can also generate the daily sweetness all on my onliest. And I'm going to start.

So I'm going to try a daily run of positive writing. I've always suggested that people need to be allowed to try a range of things, good and bad, and work out their bugs while working. Therefore, I'm not going to worry about length, quality (well, that's not true. I think bloggers who aren't polite enough to use a spellcheck are the worst kind of lazy, don't you?) or photographs.

I'll try but some of these posts won't lend themselves to pictures.

I generally think we get enough scary stuff about the economy, world situation, refugees streaming out of countries that we know we'll never get them to return to in their lifetimes so they'll start demanding stuff in other people's countries to be provided by all other countries, poverty, hunger, famine, dirt, Charle Sheen rants, insect infestations, disease, obvious examples of mental illness masquerading as "winning," poor sportsmanship and gumball shortages elsewhere.

But for me? I need an exercise in finding something positive daily.

Please feel free to come along for the ride, if you wish. I think I'll sleep a lot better.

The Fat Cat's Tale

2011-02-22T08:00:00.001-08:00

I just saw a news promo about a fat cat.

No, literally, a CAT that is FAT. Otto the cat weighs three times what a normal cat would weigh or "500 pounds in human weight." Poor thing couldn't get up on his paws and was being helped to crawl along on some indoor turf. The news story (to be presented on the evening news) was about "What is being done to Save Otto."

Unless Otto has opposable thumbs (making him an evolutionary wonder), he has been badly abused by an owner. Clearly, he didn't get to that size by living off the land, catching and eating mice to grow that girth. Sorta makes me wonder what kind of person would overfeed a beloved pet that way.

I've always heard that cats have an innate signal inside of their head that stops them when they have eaten enough. Have cats now evolved to the point where they don't know they've eaten "enough" and stop? How did they become so much like people?

Yesterday, ThePioneerWoman.com's Ree Drummond announced that she isn't going to post daily on her blog anymore. Yes, she'll post recipes. And photography. And homeschooling stuff, along with her contributors. But in general, after more than four years of posting all her innermost feelings, thoughts, daily mental swervings and such, she's divulged enough. And well, she's got four kids that she loves more than blogging and wants to get back to paying attention to them.

It was the healthiest thing I've seen in a very long time. Ree Drummond has had enough.

I'm still looking for "enough." Thought I found a bit of something a few years back, but he was definitely not going to be enough. In fact, looking back, it seemed like was too much. Wrong stuff altogether.

I turn to the Internet almost daily in a search for "some," but I'm pretty sure "enough" won't be found on Facebook or LinkedIn.com either. It certainly won't be found in 120 character bursts on twitter.com. I do find a great amount of distraction there, particularly just lately. What a wonderful thing to be able to watch the creation of freedom in Africa and the Middle East as it unfolds, right?

I think lots of Americans are feeling the same thing. We're wondering what will be enough for us? Abroad, they seem to be happy just to be free, relieved of dictators and despots in those other countries. But we've had that for a long time and we're no longer satisfied. So what is enough? Where will we find enough? When we do find it, can we afford it? Can we eat it and use it to fill that gnawing ache that wakes us in the middle of the night to wonder whether we'll ever be satisfied? Thought about from that angle, it explains a lot, doesn't it?

I'm sure I don't know. I think a little more "People are Candy" might help fill my void. So we shall see. I do know I like people a great deal more than food and can't ever seem to get enough of you all.

Egypt Bows in Prayer

2011-02-01T11:10:00.001-08:00

Did you see this one? I was tossing through the NYTimes.com's photo spread on Egypt as a break from my other chores and I saw this:

This is Tahrir Square in Cairo as the crowd bowed for prayer on Tuesday. I was impressed because of the uniformity of their faith. You don't see any dissent or unbelievers. Everyone is down on the ground. Everyone.

And also, this photo reminds me of the time period prior to when the USSR fell and became the various new countries that it is now. Specifically, it brought to mind a song by Sting, in which he said "I hope the Russians love their children, too."

It's hard for us to relate to Muslims sometimes. It's hard for Americans to understand why they are so angry. Why some small segments are take such hostile actions, adopt harsh positions and generally act destructively.

But in this picture, you can see so much evidence of their sincere humility before their God. Isn't that what many in this country aspire to? Shouldn't we be happy that they love God, hold their children close and want a better life for them, too?

This is only one picture of the events in Egypt that are offered on the Internet right now. If you find more and better, please share them.

Mubarak or ElBaradei

2011-01-30T20:40:00.000-08:00

Isn't it fascinating to see people dressed like characters from a biblical "period movie" holding cell phone cameras over their swathed heads, taking pictures to send to us on the other side of the world? They've brought it all the way from Egypt to our doorstep using their pocket gadgets. You can almost smell the burning building in the New York Times photo below.

I'm glad they are demonstrating, mostly peacefully, and demanding their rights. I hope they survive to enjoy them.

But I would point out one somewhat painful thing that I find concerning.

For the last several days, one of the commonly heard chants in Egypt has been a demand to know which side the United States is on? Which side is the Obama administration, the U.S. State Department, the big back pocket going to back: Hosni Mubarak or the reformers led by Nobel Peace Laureate, former U.N. official Mohamed ElBaradei?

I was gladdened to hear U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton and Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-KY) on this weekend's Sunday talk shows, answering questions about that very issue: which side does the United States take. Their answer? It's up to the Egyptian people. It's for the people of Egypt to decide for themselves.

I love that answer. It was a huge relief to hear it and to hear both sides sticking to it. Like glue. Here's my other question. Since when are you asking us to take sides? That is a region of the world strongly influenced by a religion (which is their right, too) that has produced some extremely painful events in the last ten years. They are always suggesting that the United States should not intrude on such things. So it surprised me to see them demanding that we pick a side now.

In another 8 months, we'll mark the ten year anniversary of one of the most difficult moments in our nation's history, the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States. It would be great if Egypt was able to mark that date with free and democratic elections and decide for themselves without concern over what the United States is doing.

We wish you well, whatever choice you and your countrymen and women make.

Tucson's Humiliation

2011-01-12T22:41:00.000-08:00

I've been watching the events play out in Tucson along with the rest of the country. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ) being shot, along with more than a dozen other people, has shocked and horrified all of us. It reminds me of other painful times for the United States.

It reminds me of the school shootings in Columbine, CO., when I would get up early to watch the news before going to work, and cry my eyes out with sadness that children were shooting each other. I'm generally considered to be a person accustomed to going to tragedies, but that one really bothered me.

And it reminds me of something I read about Dallas, Texas after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated there. I read that the city felt embarrassed at its part in the death of a U.S. President. They were humiliated at being at the center of the action that so deeply wounded our country.

I see what's going on in Tucson and I think "how embarrassing for Tucson." Arizona has always been one of my favorite states to watch, politically, because they just "call it like they see it." They do what they want, when they want and the way they want, from the border issues to polygamists to how they set their clocks and carry guns. They do what's best for Arizona, whether it works for the rest of the country or not. Call 'em names but don't call 'em late to the party. They get it... they just don't care. You have to sort of respect that type of independence.

For some reason, that thinking of their prominent streak of independence that seems to make me sadder for them now. They collected a little part of the blame in this because of those gun laws and unusual immigration tactics.

To be sure, they have some interesting laws in that Western state, but I grew up in a place with trucks and gun racks and men and women who believed in those individual rights. I don't blame guns; I don't blame politics. I blame someone who was not in his right mind. Maybe he can't be blamed because he's incapable of being responsible. What I do know is that it's wrong to try to use rational thinking to interpret a crazy man's actions.

But I feel for Arizona and Arizonans and, well, all of us right now. We are better than this. And I hope Tucson remembers that in coming days. They didn't deserve this either.

Photo courtesy of NBC Photographer Brian Humphreys who has been busting his tail for NBC Nightly News all week.

"Just Out of College at My First Job" --Again!

2010-12-27T08:15:00.000-08:00

No, I didn't go back to college and start my life over. But building a website is an education in itself, and launching it is a lot like starting a new career. (Are you ready? I'm about to go public identifying my site.)

Here's what I've learned in the first three months of having NewsGaggle.com go live:

What I thought the website was may not be what it is. It's not "it is what it is." My website is... what other people make of it. At least in part. Otherwise, it won't succeed.

By that, I mean that the users will determine what is important in the website, what value brings them to the site, and if I am wise, the direction it takes off and how it will evolve.

I thought I was starting a great, interesting website for the public to see "behind the scenes" photos and read comments from working news media. I think it will become that, but first, it's going to have to build its foundation constituency. It's got to attract membership from the news media.

NewsGaggle.com is an unusual concept in that it was built with two constituencies and two missions. The first and most important mission is as a registry of working news people. The site allows those of us who work covering the news a place to register and organize our social media for current and prospective employers, as well as the public.

It also helps showcase our work, both written and behind the camera, and in doing so, demonstrate news judgment and personalities. It's a bit fun, too.

The secondary mission of the site is to share "behind the scenes" stories and photographs that are fascinating. Those same photos that you, here on "People Are Candy" enjoyed when I covered Michael Jackson's death and told you how obvious it was that the guy in the blue shirt in the photo below is a faker.

Whew! What. A. Poser.

If you had seen what I saw on the Facebook.com pages of friends during various national and local stories, you'd know how fascinating my industry is. Except you don't know all my friends. So NewsGaggle.com offers them a platform to share those pictures and stories and benefit from it.

So it's got that going on.

Launch with an "in it for the long-haul" view was another big lesson for me as a new website owner operator. It can take years to become an "overnight success." If you think you'll get rich quick, you're almost certain to be disappointed. (Ok, maybe Facebook. Jeff Zuckerberg, if you are reading this, the evolution, constant changing and use-analysis driven changes and growth at FB are impressive and wildly educational!)

Take stock at three months and expect to change. Changes before that are going to jump the gun, so meantime, interact and engage with your membership. They can have great suggestions, if you can accept the fact that your site isn't perfect and learn from what they say. Open the shutters on your ideas. Let those "winds of change" blow through.

Learn to laugh at Google Adsense. It's the easiest and best thing to go with from the start. But don't take it seriously. The analytics are decent and reviewing the system, you will learn much about where to put your ads and what will drive the money, but you probably won't earn a lot.

In fact, I may frame my first check. Uhhh, whenever it arrives.

Lots to learn with a website. So please check out NewsGaggle.com and then come back here and tell me what else I need to know. The Suggestion Box is just below.

The Tale of Two Credit Cards

2010-11-30T13:45:00.000-08:00

This is a tale of two American Express cards.

This first is a Delta Airlines Mileage card.

I've had one of these cards for more than ten years. I've gotten a couple of free flights on it, but generally, for the last couple of years, it has been nothing but excess wallet weight. I stopped using it because it was hard to find a Delta flight I wanted and I don't care for "mileage" cards, but I didn't get rid of it because it was three-quarters of the way to the next flight.

So I carried it around.

This next card is a Costco American Express card. This card was a freebie which Costco pressed on me, and to be honest, I accepted. It seemed convenient to get out one card for entry to the membership warehouse store and then use it to pay. The Costco Executive Membership already cost me $100 per year, but the card itself bragged of "no charge."

When I lived in Los Angeles, the "Executive Membership" was a great thing to have because I could get into the Costco an hour early "before the riff-raff." And the Executive Membership paid me back in cash for the money I spent there.

Cash? Really? Well, it paid me in Costco dollars (to be spent only in Costco) and there were a few years where I actually got some sizable kickback checks because I was doing some catering on the side.

So I used it. And used it. And used it. And today, I was thinking about that.

Today, the most recent bill arrived and as with so many things right now, I started to think about the real cost of this card. The bill told me how much money I was getting back. The card pays back only when I spend at Costco or buy gas. But since the Executive Membership Account would pay me that anyway, that's not a real benefit, is it?

If I used the Delta card, I get the Costco bucks AND the miles accrued toward a Delta flight.

I figure it will take me about the same amount of time to get that next Delta flight (and figure out where I want to go) by using that card as it will to figure out which American Express card I should REALLY be using.

I'm sharing this with you so that if you have a "free" Costco American Express card with your executive account, you can wake up, cancel the Costco card which is actually stopping you from using another card which might give you benefits. Or keep it (which could potentially damage your credit rating, by the way), but start using another free American Express card and thereby double your benefits from using your credit cards.

Oh. Unless you don't pay them off every month. In which case, ain't nothing going to save you. Questions? Suggestions for better (cash back, NOT FLIGHTS) fee-free American Express cards are also welcome here.

Update: Website

2010-10-20T21:41:00.000-07:00

Did you ever have a light bulb moment in your life? Something that you thought "this is a great idea and I think I can get behind this 100%!"

It's being required to give that 100% that will kill you because as it turns out, pulling off your light bulb moment and bringing it to reality will require 110% of everything that you are or ever have been or ever will be. You gotta put it all on the table.

Last March, I had a light bulb moment. I had an idea for a website.

Oh, yeah, I've had ideas before. Who hasn't, right? I've had ideas for books. I've started writing. I considered starting a barbecue shack. I collected recipes. (I'm practically vegetarian. This was not perhaps the most well thought out idea I've had.) I considered starting going into PR.

In each of these cases, I would start off down the trail. I would go off with the best of intentions. My closest most beloved relatives might try to suggest that I lacked follow-through. But I just couldn't make myself throw the whole pizza pie into the air. I couldn't really commit to any of those ideas. Ultimately, those ideas would fizzle.

This one didn't fizzle. This one survived through a failed working relationship and two failed attempts to hire different companies to help with the project. Finally, I settled into a working relationship that has been successful.

Well, "successful." That's a relative term, right? Do you ever watch the NBC sitcom, "Outsourced"? Yeah, it's a bit like that. A lot like that.

Except instead of characters named Pashta and Manmeet, I couldn't pronounce my site development company's name, so I simply refer to them collectively as The Pirates.

It's been an interesting ride. It's been a great project to work on. It's sucked up my life. Completely engrossed every part of my mind and all the hours of my day. Exhausted me. Did not exhaust my finances. (MOM: I am NOT broke. Do NOT send money.) And it has been challenging. But the time zone difference from the East Coast of the United States to New Delhi, India was only the start of the obstacles. (I quickly learned to sleep in small batches.) It taught me a lot about people and what might be called "India deadline time." Ha! I've also learned how far I can push someone (To be honest, most of my coworkers would say I already knew the answer to that), how to motivate and when to back up, be supportive and accept that "the best a person can do" probably truly is the best a person can do.

In short, I've had a ball. I might be minus a few strands of hair, but I've got a great website to show for it all the sleepless nights, angst and yes, frustration. I'm excited about it. I really hope you will like it, too. It actually had part of its birth here in this blog... in your comments and excitement. I'm not going to post it publicly here yet because it is still populating. (That's web-developer speak for "it's not very well-known among its target demographic" so far. It's still very early.)

But I will post all the details here when it's ready for you and I think you'll really like it.

Remember when you would get excited about my blog updates from behind the scenes at big stories? This is an entire website for that type of photographs and posts. The site launched two weeks ago. It's adding people on a daily basis with more expected in the next week or two.

So that's where I've been. It was never my dream to "own (my) own business," but a website isn't so much. It's a news website. It'll actually help other people. And it actually did require 110%.

I think that might be why I liked it. It was so challenging and demanding and engrossing. Plus involved journalism and current events. Everything I like. I think you will like it, too. I'll let you know when it's completely ready.

Btw, if any of you are on facebook, please ask and I'll direct you to the Facebook Fan page for the site. And the Twitter page. And t-shirt sales. Okay, I'm kidding about that last, but it made you think, right?

Update: Website

2010-09-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

I've neglected you, haven't I? Badly. Repeatedly. And generally without apology.

Ahhhhhhh, but if you'd been where I've been and seen what I've seen, you'd know the future is....

That's bunk. I've been off working on getting a website launched. It's now days away. If you're on my facebook.com page, you know that I complain constantly about pirates (my nickname for the Indian website development team I hired), whine about lack of sleep and generally post at all hours.

You might have seen my friends list disappear. A link to another friend's fanpage go away. And the general ramble of someone who goes to bed at 1am after working with web developers, wakes up at 3am to check email and occasionally answer a few questions, then gets up at 6:30am to start working with them intensively until they log off for a full night's sleep at 1pm EST/11pm New Delhi time.

It's been interesting. I've learned how to motivate people from half a world away. (Cracking whips only works when dollar signs are attached.) I've learned how hard small business owners have to work. I've discovered untapped resources for teaching old dogs (myself) new tricks. And I've found out exactly how resourceful I can be.

I'm having a great time. The site will launch in just a few days now. I'm not sure how frequently I will make it back here after that. It's hard to spend 16-20 hours a day on computer and then write a fun, uplifting blog on people. Plus, I'm finding myself a bit of a shut-in. (That will change as soon as I decide what type of small portable device (compared to the 10 pound laptop and 15 pound backpack I currently use) would be best for me.

I hope you'll check out my website... which is found here. (Don't bother to click it until it turns bold and a color. I can't send you there until it launches. But I do promise, it will be interesting.)

So until I can clear more time to get back here with more to say, remember, everyone you meet has the potential because People Are Candy.

Update: International Friendship and Understanding

2010-07-22T07:47:00.000-07:00

A little update on the post below.

As you can see, my blog is routinely getting more and more interest overseas. In fact, frequently, I get more comments from people in Asia than I do from my American friends. How can that be?

When I see these comments, sometimes, they don't view correctly on the poor, tired laptop that I am using currently. I click on the sender's name and I don't really see what's going on with them.

In our Age of Internet communications, I have found that lots of people like to "follow" people on twitter.com as a way of getting attention for their own twitter account. If I make the mistake of clicking on that, too often I get an unwanted eyeful of some cyber-Lolita, hawking her wares very openly. So I've been a little reluctant to allow the unknowns of Asia to post comments on my blog.

That is until yesterday.

I was at work at Voice of America and sitting across from the Asian Bureau Chief. Diane Gao is from China originally, very educated, intelligent and oddly patient with the deskmate that likes to tease her incessantly. (Why do I do that? Do I have a death-wish? Many at VOA seem to, but I work there only part-time, and appear to be a happier person than my fellow government workers; so the question remains unanswered. And life goes on... teasingly.)

Diane speaks and reads fluent Chinese. So when two Chinese comments arrived within a minute of each other last night, I mentioned it to her. Abundantly patient and curious woman that she is, she walked around to my side of the cubicle to review the comments and I got an eye-opening lesson in international goodwill.

The comments, it would seem, are aimed at boosting my site response. They are trying to help me boost the income of my blog. There's no porn-y blogsite to trail back to; just goodwill towards all.

(I had translated them using the "Google Translator," but Diane informed me those translations have been utterly, completely wrong. Which makes perfect sense, considering that the google translations were utter nonsense.)

I was a little surprised. Even the names are innocuous. It's all so very "hello Kitty!" isn't it? So if you see a few more written responses in some beautifully feathery Asian-style script around here in the future, you'll understand.

So here's to improved communication among the peoples of the world. I really have to blog more frequently. The People of the World, MY PEOPLE, are waiting.

Ongoing Battle: Red Piano versus Guilt

2010-07-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

"Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeng!"

"Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeng."

Does anybody really like the sound of a phone ringing these days? My cell phone rang Wednesday with one of two good friends catching me, mid-step, at the gym.

"Hello?"

"Hey, want to go to the auction with us? We're heading there right now."

"Um, I'm at the gym right now. Isn't it a mite early?"

"Yeah, auction doesn't start until 6pm."

"Oh, I could make it closer to then."

Five hours later, I started bidding on this:

An hour later, I walked out with it. It is titled "Mamuut Red" by George Khubua, who is a Georgian (as in former Soviet Republic of Georgia) artist. It's painted in oil on canvas.

When I got it home, I discovered a little stash of guilt, tucked behind the frame.

Not gilt. Not geldt. Not anything of value, just guilt. Why? At $60, it's hardly likely to crash the budget.

I feel guilty because I have worked to maintain a household that I can walk away from on a moment's notice. I have endeavored not to fill the holes in my life with "stuff" that will never be satisfying. I've curried the notion that I had no commitments and remained foot-loose and fancy free.

Some of you may know that currently, I don't have a bed where I live. There is also no couch. I haven't had the sense to buy a set of flatware, glasses that match, more than three dinner plates or a can-opener that isn't second-hand.

Yet two nights ago, I bought this painting.

I do like an uncontrollable smile, though, at least once a day. Don't you? Don't we all like a little visual on happiness?

This little red piano makes me smile. I wish I hadn't been sucked in by it, because it is what it is which is something I'm responsible for. I think if I could stop feeling guilty, I might smile more.

Moving Day

2010-06-27T20:36:00.000-07:00

I'm moving this week. It started with just a few things that I took over Saturday when I went to pick up the keys. And enroute, I called a friend.

"I'm moving! I'm moving! I'm moving! I'm moving!"

I sounded like the audio version of a 6 year old on a pogo stick, bouncing up and down with excitement. Who gets excited about moving? Nobody. Certainly not me. I've never been this excited to be physically carrying my things out of one residence and into another. Normally, like most peoople, I dread moving.

What makes this time different? Well, one reason is an painfully negative, current living situation. The friends that already know about it have heard enough and the ones that haven't heard don't need to, right? Right.

Another reason is that almost all of my belongings are still in a luxurious temperature controlled storage locker in Los Angeles. I haven't acquired a lot of household goods on this coast and the things I do have with me are either very necessary or very inexpensively acquired. It's an odd thing, buying something that is so ugly you know you'll be glad to take it to Goodwill one day in your fantasy future. But that's what I've done.

I asked my mother for the ugliest, tackiest holiday decorations she could send at Christmas. (She showed an absolute flair for that, by the way! Thanks Mom!) A beloved niece handmade my miniature Christmas stocking sticked with a personal message. And I've picked up anything else I needed at thrift stores and out of the way places. It's been sort of fun.

I think once you've been through the whole mess of being able to buy whatever you really wanted and then having to carefully box, stack and store those things thousands of miles away, you don't need to feel sad that they're gone. I don't need anything more because my stuff is just somewhere else at the moment.

If you have heard part of that Carrie Underwood song out in the last couple of months, called "Temporary Home," then maybe you understand a little of how I feel:

"This is my temporary home.
It's not where I belong.
Windows and rooms that I'm passin' through.
This is just a stop on the way to where I'm going.
I'm not afraid because I know this is my temporary home."

I'm not sure how long I'll stay in the Washington area. It might be just a stop. It might be The Stop. But I do know this: Monday night, I am moving.

And today, three different friends all volunteered to drop everything and help me move. So for a temporary home, this is feeling pretty good right now.

People Candy: Gordon

2010-06-15T14:34:00.001-07:00

As you may have noticed, my life is sometimes a bit like a soap opera.

So it can't surprise you that I consider most of the people that I meet to be very interesting characters. In fact, people-watching is one of my dearest joys in life. It's how we end up here at People Are Candy with such a plethora of delights!

This is Gordon. He's 6-7.

Which is to say, he tells me he's 67 and I'm guessing he's 6'7" in height as well. I'm not quite sure what to make of that perfectly round goose-egg looking thing on the upper portion of his forehead. It was, uhhhhh, actually more pronounced in person.

Here's how I came in contact with Gordon: I was in Dupont Circle, having a spot of pizza with a relative who was about to leave the Washington area when I caught a glimpse of Gordon, all 6'7" of him, walking by out in front of the restaurant.

"Wow, look at that man! He's totally an eyeful! Isn't he just wonderful!?"

My cousin is actually accustomed to my great delight in people who are out of the ordinary, so she turned around to see who was walking down the street.

In addition to that sleeveless campshirt, Gordon was wearing khaki shorts and a brownish "nude" colored sock on his right lower leg that made me contemplate whether it was "orthopedic" (support hose?) or an ultra-cool fake lower leg. He had a bit of a "gait" going on.

It was all so delicious. I decided I liked him immediately... for a part in the next John Waters' film set in my mind's neighborhood.

But too quickly, Gordon lurched off and I lost hope of further relishing his presence.

After dinner, the cousin and I wandered over to Second Story Books (directly across the street from my favorite pizza place ever) and when I walked into there store, Gordon was behind the counter! And when I asked if I might take a few snaps for us, to my utter delight, he graciously agreed. (And before you ask, YES, he does have a left arm. He's just tucked it behind his back.)

This is when you know someone is The Good Stuff. He said yes. He knows he's a character in someone's "yet to be written book" and is so wonderfully comfortable in his skin. He has a bit of a gentle way about him. It was possible to like him immensely, so I did. How could I not?

Gordon told me he's lived in Washington for all his 67 years. He doesn't own Second Story, but he's been working there for a very long time.

I may need to go back and buy a book. If you go into Second Story Books in Dupont Circle, be especially nice to Gordon. He'll likely be a famous movie star some day.

My Someday Neighbor

2010-06-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

This is my new friend. Her name is Rachael. I'm thinking about moving back to Los Angeles to be her neighbor.

I should explain to you that I've been at a global conference on women's sexual and reproductive health called "Women Deliver" all week. In pursuit of this fascinating topic, I've interviewed a couple dozen people each day and although I have greatly liked many of them, I am pretty sure Rachael is my favorite.

Which is very unusual for me. Because the smiling, sweet, funny woman that you see there is in fact, an actress and director. Her full name is Rachael Leigh Cook.

You can see why she's famous, right? Great smile and bright, engaging eyes? Yes, yes. But I've interviewed a couple hundred celebrities in my life. I've generally thought most of them were a bit more of a pain than the interview warranted. And I'm pretty sure they thought exactly the same of me.

I didn't feel that way about Rachael. She was my third and final celebrity interview of the day.

The first actress was, as my British producer gently pronounced, "a bit of an ice queen." (This is a prime example of the British people's "gift for understatement.") I'm leaving her name out because this isn't a celebrity tell-all blog. It's People Are Candy and I'm thinking the first interview was a Zotz.

The second was Ali Larter, one of the stars of the hit show "Heroes" on NBC. She attended the conference with her mother, which was very sweet. She was very accomodating to us and at the same time, showed a good amount of concern for her mother's comfort and feelings, too. All in all, a solid "butterscotch" experience.

Rachael was with her assigned public relations "friends." We were scheduled for an interview an hour later, but then one of her companions trotted up and offered to bring her a bit earlier than previously agreed. My rule is "Always Accept What Is Offered" and so we immediately started to throw up lights to better photograph her.

A moment later, here came Rachael Leigh Cook, catching us with our proverbial pants... er, lights down. But she was agreeably nibbling on her boxed lunch, so she walked a short distance away where she seated herself on the stairs and finish her lunch.

We finished the lighting set up and I walked down to retrieve her. I hate to drag someone off mid-chew, (and it's hard to be demanding of someone who is already being extra accomodating) so I stood by chatting with her and the other two women as they mostly finished their meals.

As a lot of you probably know, some days I have "it;" some days I don't.

And by "it," I refer to my innate ability to be so utterly offensive in under ten seconds that everyone within a two mile radius gags on their veggie wrap and pasta salad.

This particularly day, I apparently left "it" at home. As I stood there and talked with these women, Rachael Leigh Cook turned out to be the nicest, funnest person I've met in awhile.

I liked her so much that I said, "If you and I lived on the same street, I believe we'd be great friends."

Not to worry; I have no intention of hustling off to LA to be someone's weirdo stalker-ratzi-fan-neighbor. (There's a wide-open "if" tucked in there.) I've still got stuff to do here.

Yet the conversation rambled along. We discussed my concern for American women's health and weight issues. She offered a theory that it's caused by hidden anxieties. I suggested it was caused by hidden sugars. And we laughed and chuckled over my angst-filled meeting of Arianna Huffington the day before. (Ms. Huffington was so stunning in person, that I tried to give her a compliment but instead, wound up with my foot so painfully far in my mouth that I'm pretty sure I was letting off toenail polish on the other end.) I'd been trying to talk myself out of my horror ever since, so meeting Rachael Leigh was both a relief and a delight.

And then it was something more.

I was about to begin her interview when I saw a few stray hairs. I pulled out a comb and asked if she minded if I gave her just a little... touch up? She has beautiful brown hair, but it's very humid here in Washington, so I smoothed it a tiny bit. Not so much, really, right? Right.

Here's where I knew we'd be the very best of neighbors and to me, she became and always will be "Rachael from The Block:"

When the camera turned on me for "reversals," she knelt down, retrieved the comb back out of my purse and started doing the same to my hair. Touching me up. Well, I never!!

I've interviewed a lot of people. I've had a lot of fun meeting them all. (Even the first celebrity of the day, admittedly a bit of a pill, was interesting.) But I found Rachael Leigh Cook to be one of the most genuine, open people I've met in awhile.

So forgive me, but I may buy that house and live in that flower-filled neighborhood in my mind for sometime to come.

And if People Are Candy, Rachael Leigh Cook seems like she might just be an (almond) Joy.

Of Church Fairs, Wild Hairs, Car Repairs and... Barbecue

2010-06-06T14:10:00.000-07:00

I went to get my hair cut and my car worked on yesterday, and I came away with a good bit more.

My hair appointment was about 90 minutes north of Washington, DC in Towson, Maryland. (Towson is not a great mecca of hair styling, but the closest one of those, near as I can tell, is in Los Angeles. Suffer with me here.) (And, no, you aren't entitled to a look. It's just hair.)
After the hair appointment, I drove to the mechanic's house. He lives with his mother. That's actually one of my favorite things about him. He's the son of a friend who I like to beg into doing my mechanical stuff. He's willing to do it, and I pay him a nominal fee for his particular grease-monkeying.

This particular day, he finished the mechanics and tossed in removing a screw that I had stripped. As it turns out, I'm quite good at stripping screws. He expressed his admiration. I expressed my cash. Everybody's happy.

Except on the way in, I had seen this little arrangement off of a wayside church.

Having grown up in a small town, I can't resist a gathering of gentle folk at a small country church. Toss in barbecue and I'm a goner.
I asked the mechanic. Sure enough, he was game. After the car repairs, off we went.

Here he is, with his plate, waiting on me to get my barbecue sandwich so we could find a table to dine. He looks pretty reasonably happy, doesn't he? You can tell it's not a date with that stack of onions! (And he's recently engaged. Congratulations, Grant and Taylor!)

This next picture is the server.

I forgot her name, but I won't forget that grin. Or her generosity. That's MY plate. You think maybe the mechanic and I should have swapped plates? My gracious, what a little chitty-chat will do for the person wielding the barbecue tongs! All I did was ask for a taste of each, and pretty quick, I had a plate full of both!

Along the way to the seating area, we dawdled along the rummage sale. Some homemade goods, some far away stuff and lots of the usual suspects.

This Santa Claus figure caught my eye. He looks like he's trying to hook a ride, doesn't he? But he did not come home with me.

And then I caught sight of this little game:

He's trying... really trying to... Oh! There it goes!

The inflatable alligator lands on top of the barbecue stand. I'm not sure what the game was here exactly, but it seemed to be irresistable.

Maybe you had to be there. You wish you had been, don't you?

I love a little country gathering, with families wandering throughout the entire scene. And me and the mechanic, enjoying the barbecue and the air out there.

All in all, I got a good deal more than just the great deal on automotive work and hairstyling.

Rolling Thunder on Memorial Day Weekend

2010-05-30T18:12:00.000-07:00

This was the scene today outside the office where I work weekends:

I sort of dig it, don't you? My coworkers weren't any too happy about an estimated 400,000 motorcycle enthusiasts, albeit veterans descending on our fair city.

"Noisy, and they will be here until at least 6pm, riding around the National Mall, gunning their engines and making noise," said one of my charming colleagues.

But me? I found it sort of sweet: American motorcycle clubs (that quintessentially American group) honoring those who served in the United States Armed Forces.

I almost felt as thought I wasn't serving them and their memories right to go out and stand along the sidewalk and cheer these bikers on. Seemed like the American thing to do.

By the way, I haven't forgotten about this little blog, nor its stated purpose to enjoy every day people along my way.

I am a little absent because I'm working on the launch of a new website. I can't tell you more about it other than it's the dream of a great career. I'm very excited about it and hope it will be something you'll enjoy as well.

Soon, I'll let you know when it's ready and where to look.

Dinner Included...

2010-05-16T15:55:00.001-07:00

A fish eyeball.

It was not my intention to dine on fish parts when I went out, but that's how it ended up.

Here's how that happened.

I went to hangout with a friend who's been asking to get together with me for awhile. We went down to the Old Post Office in Washington, DC. We were hoping to go up in the elevator and catch the view. The weather's been just about perfect for the last couple of days. But unfortunately, we arrived just as the last load of elevator-view-watchers for the day was emptying out. No trip to the top for us.

So we walked around for a bit. Did a lot of people watching. And then he said he wanted to go get some dinner. He wanted to try Greek food. I'm generally pretty adventurous, right? (Barnacle-like mollusks peeled off bay rocks and directly into open mouth on Molokai, chicken feet in Hong Kong, fried frog in Cambodia, smoked goat, quail eggs and innumerable attempts at both Rocky Mountain oysters and dog.. ring any bells?) Except that Greek isn't adventurous; it's merely great food. Oh well.

I ordered the fish. The fish turned out to be bass, sauteed in 0live oil and served on a platter. When it arrived, the waiter asked if I wanted him to debone it. I declined. I said I could handle that. And I did just fine.

It was excellent fish and nicely done. Crispy on the outside, moist and flavorful on the inside. I ate and ate and ate.

And then I turned the carcass over. A weird little quarter-inch white ball rolled to the side.

The fish's fried eyeball! I batted at it with my fork. ("Don't let a little respect for the dead stop you from playing with your food, Marti.") The eyeball itself seemed sort of dense. Maybe even solid as it rolled up and down the plate to my very great amusement.

"Look!" I said to my date, with joyful glee, "The fish's eyeball." (Fish eyeballs are always surefire fun. I've grossed out many a dining companion before by merely sticking a fork in! For those of you who arrived here from google, yes, they are also considered an Asian delicacy.)

"I dare you to eat that! I'll give you five bucks if you do!" my friend offered.

Okay, I am not this poor. But I've heard that fish eyeballs are an excellent source of Omega fatty acids and this one seemed fresh. It seemed firm. It did not seem mushy, gooey, squidgy or otherwise likely to explode in one's mouth. Eating it seemed sorta... doable.

So what do you think happened next? Before I could stop myself, that eyeball was balanced on my fork. I tossed it into my mouth and washed it down with a big gulp from my water glass.
It was done! Gone! Down the hatch!

"Five bucks, Sir. Give it up!" That's right, money AND the bragging rights for a very long time. The end.

PS: That's the fish's head on the end of the knife. Next adventure: amateur taxidermy?

In Touch With Your Inner Child??

2010-05-14T17:03:00.001-07:00

I was coming home from Downtown DC, one afternoon this week. I was deep in thought as I left the Metro and crossed the street toward my car.

I was contemplating the afternoon meeting at a law office, my latest job application, the new website that a friend and I are building together, whether I should get my hair cut, how the Universe was formed and....

...what kind of deep-seated emotional need and insecurity would motivate a woman suck her thumb after the age of four? I didn't stop her to ask, so I guess we'll just never know.

Nothing Compares 2 WHO?

2010-04-24T05:08:00.000-07:00

One of the many amazing things about the Internet is how it is bringing together the world.

For instance, in the last month, I've swapped a couple of notes with Sinead O'Connor.

You remember her, right? She had several hits in the 1990's, including my personal favorite "Nothing Compares 2 U," which was a cover of a Prince song. Ahhhhhh! To this day, I love that song!

She had an interesting look about her. She often shaved her head down to mere fuzz, wore little or no makeup and yet somehow her eyes seemed very expressive and soulful as she sang.

It was all so perfect until she ripped a picture of the Pope in half on Saturday Night Live at the conclusion of her song. It didn't bother me, but it annoyed millions of Catholics and yes, I did wonder what the devil was up with that?

So when I saw recently that she had written a column for the Washington Post on the topic, I was interested to read it. You might find it insightful, too.

In reviewing her article, it seemed she explained in detail the historic setting and relationship of the Irish and the Catholic Church, the handing over of Irish children to trusted priets and all other details of why the Irish people are so particularly angry at the current Pope for his response to their anguish over child sexual abuse by pedophile priests.

I actually thought the Irish mother made the case extremely well. And I emailed her a note:

I read your op-ed piece in the Washington Post today. I thought it offered a lot of insight to the American people. Thank you for presenting it. I hope you don't get too many ugly, angry emails.

Imagine my surprise when she responded back:

Thanks Marti... Have had a hundred or so e mails but only one hateful... Which I wrote back nicely to... So... All's well. Thanks for writing. Sinead x

I've fired off missives at NYTimes.com writers, too. It's not too hard to do. They leave an email address. And if I'm moved by the writing, my fingers do the walking, er, talking in this case. Yet the kindness of a reply still surprises and pleases.

Remember the blogs and emails from Jan Karon & Co? Pure pleasure!

It is a small world, afterall.

Then there's the case of the blog comments. I'm starting to get them from Asia. For instance, this comment on the last entry:

真正的愛心，是照顧好自己的這顆心。

If you speak Chinese, great. (No need to check. I never approved the "comment." This is a PG-rated blog.) If you don't, here's what Google Translator offered:

True love, is take care of your heart is.

True enough, but when you click on the picture of the sender.... YIKES! That's not LOVE! It's something else and is that even legal in China?

Good and bad in the whole "small world" concept, I guess.

But you might wish to try this yourself: get chummy on email with someone on a far continent. Might do us all a world of good!

Life Is Like a Box of Raisinets...

2010-04-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, a man has got to be A Man.

A man makes his own decisions, runs his own races, battles his own demons and kills his own petunias. Or something like that.
This is about priorities. Which is more important:

Smoking the cigar all the way to the very last little bit?
Or not starting your $55,000 foreign-made convertible on fire?

Whew! I'm glad I don't face choices like this.

Volcano vs. World

2010-04-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

I am sorry for all the financial losses to airlines, personal inconveniences to travelers and general annoyance of the volcano in Iceland.

Can I also express my gratitude that the root of such a problem is simply Mother Nature doing her thing and not something infinitely darker? I know that doesn't comfort those stuck on The Continent and airline investors.

But shouldn't it?

Ahhh, Spring!

2010-04-17T17:47:00.000-07:00

Get the kids out of the room. I'm going to swear.

It is Springtime in Washington. Naturally, you've seen some pictures. And now, you're about to see mine.

I actually took that photo myself. The sky is blue; the flowers are pink; everything is in proper focus and framing. You're shocked, aren't you? The famous cherry blossoms of Washington are so stunning that even my poor photography skills cannot dim their beauty.

It's lovely, isn't it? Flowers and flowering trees are on every corner...

...and in front of even the most humble rowhouse. This is what it looked like for the first week of April. But then there's this other angle...

This is the windshield of my car. Do you see all that crud covering the windshield? That's one day's worth of POLLEN.

(Right here, I want you to know, I have NO known allergies, but if you pour rocks in my eyes, yes, it will bug.)

So what is this next shot, you might ask?

That is the front hood of my small BLACK car. Well, somewhere under all that pale green gunk, right? You can see where the nasty little pollen-carrying meteors struck down and the residual muck left behind. Do you know anyone whose eyeballs can withstand an onslaught of this level of pollen, stamen, floral debris flying by on every breeze? I think not.

I hate to gripe, but our city's streets are not "paved with gold." They are clogged with pollen, seeds, and assorted other green and eyeball-gravel-inducing agonies. Little microscopic things that nature intended to grab onto things; born to attach by use of hooks, burrs and the equivalent of organic Velcro, carried on breezes to sanctuary in any passing human's ocular or nasal orifices.

My eyes turn red, just looking at the six kinds of organic clutter in that gutter. The sad thing is, our city's most nicest residents end up playing in these streets.

This is Jordan and her brother Henry; that's their very generous mother standing by to allow me to photograph them. They were on a bit of an inner city nature hike. 4-year old Jordan has just discovered the wonder of STICKS. (Forgive the photo; Jordan is quite beautiful and Henry is a man after my own heart. In other words, he has a pulse and is wonderfully polite and charming.)

There is no escaping this annual air-borne misery because every homeowner in the area wants to have something, no matter how small, flowering in their front yard.

All of which leads me to one inescapable conclusion and agonizing statement:

Darn you, Costco!

Bagels, Mary and Candy

2010-04-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

I didn't notice Mary right off. I was walking towards Bethesda Bagels with a former colleague that I hadn't seen in years. We had met for a "catchup" over a quick drink.

Mary, however, was not to be missed. She's a bit insistent, matter of fact. But... in a good way.

In this picture, she's sitting right outside the store. You can see if her you look close, sitting as the woman with the blonde crew-cut hair passes by.

That's her, behind the "Jackie O" sunglasses and green hand knit beret. She's quite an eyeful, once you stop to look. I might not have spotted her at first glance, but once brought to my attention, it was impossible to miss the generosity of spirit.

And of bagels.

When I lived in Bethesda several years back, I would often stop and grab a dozen bagels on the way home after work. This past Friday night, as we walked back to my car, I thought it would be nice to see if they had any good flavors, but when I got there... the door was locked.

The sign on the door said "8am to 5pm." It was 4:59:30pm on a Friday evening and the employees inside were determined to be on time. I could see them through the locked door where they were helping their last customer. At one point, they came over and checked the door to make sure I was locked out! Cruelly determined buggers!

I was still at the door with my old friend, hoping they'd let me in to buy a dozen, when Mary spoke up.

"You just missed 'em."

Er, yes. Thanks for that. I must admit I have no great love of people who point out the obvious, so this was not particularly appreciated commentary.

"They just locked the door before you walked up."

Again with the painfully obvious? Arrrgghhhh!!

But then I looked over at her, sitting there on the bench in front of the bagelry. She was pure fun. Just a picture to look at. Sitting there with an elfish grin and a mouth happily full of bagel. How could I not like what she brings to the Candy Party?

You can't tell (because even with a point-and-click, I am hopeless!) but she has thick, dark, wavy brunette hair and wears lipstick that could best be described as deep cherry. And she was busily gnawing away at the bagel in her hand.

"What kind of bagel is that?" I asked. (You can't tell of course, because I'm so bad with the camera.) It looked the color of pumpernickel, but what was that stuff sticking to the outside of it?

Those of you who have hung with me know that I have an very odd curiosity about other people's food. I'm downright nosy. Constantly. And yes, I'm sure that is as annoying as it sounds to those around me. I just can't help myself. I always ask.

The bagel in her hand (as bad as that picture is, it was the best of the FOUR that I took of the bagel she was eating) smelled slightly sweet and looked a little damp. It looked like it had been freshly baked and sealed in the plastic bag. For a little. Too. Long.

Mary didn't seem to mind my asking, though. In fact, she seemed excited to tell me.

"It's a French toast bagel. I got a dozen of them for $2.59 on special, because they were closing. Here! Take one!" She offered me the bag to choose my bagel.

I'm curious about other people's food, but I draw the line at taking it from them. Nobody likes a mooch. So while I'm curious enough that I have to ask, I'm not dropping hints. You know that about me, right? I don't want to mooch someone else's food.

But Mary was insistent. In the nicest way possible, she made it clear that she truly wanted to share the experience (maybe because I did ask again if it actually tasted like the breakfast item?) of this particular bagel.

She said I should take a bite. And before I knew it, I had torn off a piece, offered my dear friend a bite and when she declined, stuffed half of that somewhat rubbery chunk in my mouth and commenced chewing. Ahhhh! It was a bagel after my own heart!

It was quite good: sticky, slightly sweet as it dipped in Mrs. Butterworth's or Log Cabin or something even better... and so bagel-chewy-wonderful! A very satisfying bagel experience that my friends in the West will never truly understand. An East Coast bagel can be a revelation and this one surely was!

A second later, Mary insisted that she give me a bagel for my own. It's a sharing thing, isn't it? The communal breaking of bread defines us as humans and in a twinkling, turns someone who was a perfect stranger minutes before suddenly into...

People Candy: French Toast Flavored!

Mary never told me her last name. She seemed a bit concerned that she'd end up in Time Magazine. I said no, just my own little corner of cyber Happy Town.

China Leads the World in...... Entrepreneurship?

2010-03-19T16:46:00.000-07:00

I was scootel-ing along the Internet when I saw a factoid that caught my eye.

And burned.

China is THE most entrepreneurial place on Earth.
What? Whatever happened to American know-how, the Puritan work ethic, determination to be the best and plain, old-fashioned hard work?
Sadly, I actually think we all know. But there are facts to back it up.

According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), China’s self-employment rate is an astounding 51.2%.

The U.S. rate? 7.2%.

Ouch. Not bad for a communist country that, until recent years, didn't allow capitalism. It's odd, isn't it? Watching the decline of American Capitalism, hastened (can we really blame the Chinese for our failures? Really?) by.... Communist Capitalists. (Read the article. There are more fearful numbers about what some used to call "the sleeping giant." Guess what? They're awake and eating our lunch.)

Wasn't it just a few decades back that Americans had ownership of the word entrepreneurship? We had a lock on it for decades. It was part of our strength. Whether it was inventing a new widget (before "widget" meant software) for the latest gizmo or selling great Aunt Gertie's pickled okra through the mail, it seemed like American ingenuity always triumphed.

That was then. This is now. So maybe you could spend just a few minutes today, figuring out if there's something you might want to do differently? Maybe you should.

I heard a great piece of advice awhile back from a speaker who had fought in World War II. He said, "Turn off the radio in the car... and think."

You remember World War II, right? That was the one where we came home after and built our reputation in the modern world. It took awhile for me to comprehend what great advice that was and how truly great it was to be alone with my brain cells for a few minutes in my car. You might try it yourself (maybe you already do?) sometime soon.

Turn off the car radio. Think.

The Tale of Two Senators

2010-03-15T20:06:00.001-07:00

I sometimes post about events and people to give you the texture of my life as a member of the media, so here is another of those offerings. I have deleted names to protect the innocent, er, the Senators involved. But these are true-life stories from the last several weeks.

Life in Washington: a place where you run into U.S. Senators and Representatives in warehouse stores and street corners.

I went to a Washington Metro-area warehouse store on Friday afternoon. As I was walking towards the finish line (where those oh-yes-so-lengthy lines awaited) I saw a familiar face. It was someone I've talked to before: a U.S. Senator who represents a state where a television station is located that I represented in the past. (That doesn't narrow it down, does it? Which media group includes TV stations in the Senator's state: Hearst, Conus or ABC News?)

Back to the Senator. This sighting was sort of like catching Superman out, shopping for new tights. Except that it was a U.S. Senator, buying paper towels and potato chips. In bulk.

This particular Senator is known for being very good natured and open. I interviewed the Senator several times in the past, so I said hello. The Senator was true to form: friendly, easy-going and open. No, those 4 gallons of milk in the cart weren't slowing the Member at all. (I don't remember much about the Senator's purchases because Warehouse Club Cart Snooping is the Washington equivalent of dumpster diving in Los Angeles. And I'm. NOT.)

We discussed the current fracas in Washington because only a few minutes before, I had written the previous blog noting how very dependent on public opinion many votes are. The Senator agreed and in fact, commented on the overwhelming prospect of understanding everything involved in the literary masterpiece of legislative work known as "Health Care Reform." (There are two: the Senate version and the House version. Enjoy!)

The Senator faces a tough race right now, and didn't want to be mentioned further... which is why you're getting only that "Senators do shop in warehouse clubs" so far in this blog, but very little more. I only influence races by reporting facts. In this case, it might be easy, but no. No.

We talked for another minute or two in line. I mentioned that a few weeks before, an old friend arrived in Washington with her (relatively) newly-elected Congressional Member husband. She and I went out for drinks and then drove over to Capitol Hill to pick up her newly-minted-Member in my (tiny but American-made) Ford Focus.

I've often thought that Congress is one of the least exclusive clubs in Washington. It's a huge, smelly, sprawling (mostly male) club of argumentative knuckle-crackers who all want their own way. It just is.

So here was this Member, on the phone when he got in my car, but trying to be nice. He folded his (rather tall) frame into the front seat (wifey happily climbed in the back seat and perched on the presidential library souvenir pillow) where he politely stuck out his hand, and did his best to greet me while finishing up the last details of his day job, working for The People.

When he got off the phone a few minutes later, he re-introduced himself and stuck out his hand again. I sorta... liked him. He seemed, I don't know, genuine? (I didn't like it when the Senior Senator from my home state hugged me on the White House lawn a few years back, but this seemed like the right maneuver.)

And then I drove them to their quarters. In my Ford Focus.

Why am I telling you all this? Just to remind you, while you're watching all the squabbling over health care reform that these are people who go to Sam's Club before weekends with teenage sons. These are people who ride without complaint in their wife's friend's messy little economy car with stains on the upholstery from too many cross-country drives. But mostly, to remind you that... these are people.

I feel a "People are Candy" coming on. See you back here at midweek.

We, THE VOTERS, Choose...

2010-03-12T10:07:00.000-08:00

I know I said I was going to stick to "people candy," and I meant it. I mean it. But I've been so caught up watching what was going on in the Nation's Capital just lately that I thought I'd explain what has diverted my attention.

The health care debate.

Not in the traditional sense. It's very hard to focus on the health care debate in totem because that piece of legislation is so huge and sprawling that unless you have every second of every day to devote your full attention to it, you miss a lot of it.

I don't have that luxury of brain-drain.

But I am finding some odd similarities between what is going on and another issue in our not-too-distant past.

I want you to think back about a dozen years to the Clinton-Lewinsky investigation and what went on during that time.

As a lot of you know, I don't have a huge amount of political party affiliation in my soul. I just don't. I also have utterly no sense of athletic competition. You could take me out on a tennis court and beat me to death with a tennis ball before I'd ever figure out why I should chase after and swing for it. I don't feel the need to cling to either political party, either. Genetic deficiency on both counts, no doubt.

But during and after the coverage of the Clinton-Lewinsky investigation, I got a good number of angry questions from RED-faced friends, all wanting to know why the media had let Mr. Clinton "slip through our fingers" unimpeached. They generally blamed the media for the failure to prosecute Mr. Clinton for what they perceived his crimes were. (Please don't write to tell me what you perceive his crimes were. I covered that mess for months. It's over. Let's move on.)

I tried to tell them that it wasn't the media's fault that Congress didn't act; it was their own fault. It was the decision of the American public indicated through poll after poll that President Bill Clinton would not be prosecuted because they were tired of the ongoing struggle in Congress. Members of Congress read those polls, along with other surveyed statements, real or implied that the Business of The People needed attending to and that if members of Congress voted President Clinton out, then voters would push them out in the next election.

A very few of my RED-faced acquaintances believed me. Others did not and decided from then on that I was either just another liberal member of the East Coast media elite or stunningly naive. Or both. I've accepted my position in their thinking. (As I said, "it's over. Let's move on.")

Now I am noticing that history may be repeating itself.

Some of my friends are now BLUE in the face from holding their breath for passage of health care reform. Health care reform may or may not pass, but it does seem to be remarkably slow in going through the motions on Capitol Hill.

And it seems possible, according to some media accounts, that Members are starting to figure out that if they vote for and pass the current health care reform legislation, they may find themselves operating outside the Beltway after the next elections.

As for me, it all combines to make me feel a bit GREEN... around the gills.

Distractions: Skimming the Country

2010-02-15T13:25:00.001-08:00

Can you define a geographic region by its milk consumption? I like this cow. I spotted him on a heritage breed dairy farm website and thought he was cute. Growing up on a farm, I always liked cows and calves.

Of course, I never had to milk them.

Washington, DC, as you may know, is still locked in snow. Focus on the cute baby cow, please! No need for pictures of the dreaded white. Keep your eyes on the cow! Yes, my car is still surrounded by drifted snow that is 30 inches deep, exactly as it has been for the past ten days.

And that was before it started. Again. Today.

So I ducked out of the house for a few more supplies. ("Stocking up" covered the first two weeks, but fresh bread and a couple of other things made the trip necessary.) Once inside the grocery store, I got a little surprise. The shelf for skim milk was empty. "All gone." I got to wondering, can you tell what area of the country you are in by the milk they're drinking?

In my home state of Utah, they like Vitamin D milk. Lots of kids there. Vitamin D for extra healthy bones and no need to skim the fat for growing, active children.

In Tennessee, they liked chocolate milk. Lots of sugar. Heavy chocolate. Heavy sugar. Heavy cream. Glug-glug-pudge.

To be completely honest, I believe what Southerners really want would be deep fried milk with "lil pat" of butter on the side. (Look at the look on this one's little face. Is he perhaps one named "Veal Chop?")

In Southern California, I remember seeing a TV commercial that showed a crowd of people excitedly running into the grocery store.

The big draw? A new brand of soy milk.

The funny thing was, it actually seemed completely plausible. It is accurate.

And here in Washington, where we hear about every study, survey, research project, prediction, projection or changes in fur on the back of water-bound rodents that eat only odd numbered insects flying at night could be somehow wildly extrapolated to mean something in terms of human health, we drink skim.

Can happiness be derived from milk without any fat? It's like life without luxury, isn't it? Sorta says something about us, don't you agree?

As for me? I wanted the skim, but seeing none, I forced myself to buy 2% and walked home feeling udderly flush!

(Venturing into pseudo-psychology and pop culture today. People Candy resumes as soon as everyday life regains normalcy in Washington. "This, too, shall pass!" Thank heavens.)

Snowmageddon: Why Shut Down?

2010-02-09T21:07:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that I should explain a few things about the huge amount of snow that we have here in Washington, DC right now.

Yes, it really is two feet deep everywhere. And yes, we're getting another 8-20 inches tonight. We're trying to be polite about it, because that's our nature, but mostly we're sick of shovels and shoveling.

Most of the country thinks that the city of Washington and Washingtonians themselves don't really handle snow very well. I mean, hey, the federal government has been effectively shut down since last Friday (they didn't tell you, but every federal worker who had the option stayed home last Friday), and formally closed since Monday. It won't likely reopen for business this week.

Here's why that's such a good idea:

When the snow moved in, there were a lot of plows standing by and trucks full of chemicals, salt and sand waiting to push the snow aside and treat whatever was left on the roads.

I showed you this picture last week; trucks and plows lined up and waiting. But for some reason, they aren't doing the job the same as they do in other cities.

Where I am from, in the West, they seem to understand snow removal. When there is a heavy snow, the interstates are immediately plowed and the snow is completely pushed off the highway.

Completely. Safely. Off.
But when the plows cover the highways here, for some reason, the snow isn't completely removed. Instead, it gets pushed around and piled up. Layers get compacted and built up on the interstate system that is the heart of transportation in this very population-dense area.

The snow forms ice in layers. It thaws and refreezes, but since it's never properly disposed of, the ice on our interstate becomes thicker in some places and thinner in others. It is extremely uneven. It's hard to imagine unless you've seen it, but the net effect is that something like a ski mogul that builds up in one place while a dip forms in another. Only the mogul is made out of ice and your life depends on it.

As a driver proceeds into the city (where the interstate curves at the Pentagon is where I've seen it the worst) that icy mogul can be anywhere between 3 inches and several feet thick. Your car vaults up one mogul and comes crashing down a few yards later. No telling which way the car will go because it will land on more ice and be immediately headed for the next mogul.

Now, imagine trying to drive into a city during rush hour along a normally smooth highway that suddenly resembles a giant slalom with deep dips that you've never seen before, all made of ice, alongside of everyone else who is also trying to go to work.

In short, it's the most terrifying rollercoaster ride you've ever been on.

So yes, we are somewhat a city of snow-sissies, but after you've had one frightening ride on our snow-mogul-infested interstate after a big storm, you might just stay home, too.

Try not to judge us too harshly. We're dreading Monday morning for a different reason than you.

(And yes, we do have a great train system here in Washington, but right now, the Metro is limited to "in city" service where the tracks are all below ground and unaffected by the snow. It's currently running at about 1/4 of the usual number of trains with shorter hours.)

How I Spent My Snowed-In Weekend

2010-02-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Winter bliss!!

I'm a little embarrassed that I haven't posted my snow pictures, and to be honest, the pictures above and below are not mine. Oh well. Can't exactly brag about my photography skills anyway. (I was always on the other side of the camera, I b'lieve.)

I spent Friday night through Sunday afternoon working at a government agency. I may not be staff. I may not be highly paid. But it turns out that what I am is "essential personnel."

I think in my particular case, the promotion to "essential" came immediately after government managers learned that I lived less than half a mile from a MetroRail station that was two stops from their doors.

So I got a weekend sleepover with bad food, a cramped couch and coworkers possessed of weary, wonky and somewhat bleak outlooks. It was not the best, but to be honest, there were others who suffered far worse than my fate.

If you are looking for someone who is suffering under the 20+ inches of snow, this ain't her blog. I'm not particularly fond of snow, but my roof hasn't collapsed, my power isn't out and I haven't even tried to dig out the back steps.

In the absence of anything better, I've sort of adopted this attitude:

Yes, it has all been great fun, but nobody else seems to share my feeling. This is probably a "once-in-a-lifetime" weather event, but apparently while they're in it, not a lot of people are enjoying the ride.

By the way, my car isn't in this picture, but it does look a lot like these.
I was thinking that tomorrow, I might make a snow angel on my Ford Focus' roof, except I think three feet of snow angel plus a live human on top just might be the straw that broke the camel's back. Or caved in the car.

As for the forecast, we're expected to get another 8 to 20 inches in the next 48 hours, depending on who you listen to. I may yet spend another night (or three) on some government manager's spare couch.

So I have my pillow, an apple, a stash of Costco's finest Belgian Chocolates and the promise that "this, too, shall pass."

Unlike the truck below.

Because that, my friends, is a snow plow in Wheaton, Maryland on Sunday. It might still be there.

And it's stuck.

Snow Cabin Fever? Not. Yet.

2010-02-06T11:11:00.000-08:00

There's a big storm hovering over the Mid-Atlantic states. You may have heard about it. It includes Washington, DC where I live. We've been sorta cowering in our orthopedic shoes (It's town full of wonks and you thought Louboutins?) for the past 4 or 5 days. Let me show you a little of what that looks like.

A very little... at least to start.

This is the view as I was driving by at 2pm Friday on the 14th Street bridge. This particular bridge is the main entrance into the city's downtown, and if you've ever come for a visit, it's is very likely that this how you got into the city.

See the trucks? You're thinking "Marti, didn't we just get you to stop texting and driving?" Well, yes, but I was actually sitting in traffic. Nothing freaks out Washingtonians like snow, and nothing is more synonymous with "freak out" here more than stalled traffic. I was going nowhere fast.

More trucks. You might think they actually were preparing for the snow. You could almost get the idea they knew how to handle a weather event. But, as we all know, you'd be wrong.

On the way in to the city, please notice our beautiful memorials and monuments. This is the Jefferson Memorial.

That snow a-top the roof? That's from the last go-round of winter a week or so ago. That spot doesn't get much sun. But doesn't it sorta say something about what we're headed for?

This is a poor, dead soldier, body left in the street to fall to dust. Gave his all for me and my fellow travelers. Reminds me of some people I know.

I got a little worried and went into the office a couple of hours after taking these pictures on Friday afternoon. The snow was piled rather deep by the time I got up for work at 6 o'clock this morning. It's not expected to stop until 8 or 9pm tonight.

So I'm making the most of it. I've picked up a few extra shifts in the next couple of days. A friend has loaned me four of the latest Blockbuster Rentals and his mini-DVD player.

And of course, I've got everything I need for a heckuva a snowman. Snow sculptures. Snowforts. Snow angels. Snow ice cream. Snowy picture postcards. Snowballs. Snow boulders. And probably even for an excessively annoying life as a snow-bound shut-in.

I'll post those pictures in a bit.

People Candy: Making the Most of Your Flight

2010-02-02T13:50:00.000-08:00

This is Brenda Dymock. She's a flight attendant.

I won't say what airline, but it's not one of the newbies. No "Jet Blue" or "Midways Air" for her. She's an original.

She's been flying for more than 20 years. I met her on a flight in 2009 and this picture has been floating around my hard-drive ever since, making me smile every time I bumped into it.
And now here it is for you.

What, you say you haven't seen a uniform like that in quite some time? I told you, Brenda is an original.

Brenda began flying in the old days, when the job was still called "stewardess" and flying was glamorous, exciting and relatively safe. We'd never heard of "al Qaeda" and the only people trying to get into the cockpits were the occasional hijackers who even more occasionally, jumped out with their loot and were never heard from again.

Looking back, those folks seem sort of tame.

Flying was an adventure in those days. If you saw the movie, "Catch Me If You Can" with Leonardo di Caprio and Tom Hanks, it was during the period when "stewardesses" were the smartest of career gals (at a time when the word "gals" was still PC because PC hadn't been invented yet). They were the ones who flew in, enjoyed the best that any city had to offer and then flew out again. (By the way, if you aren't already stunned by that photo, click on it for a closer look. In person, it's as if a giant red bird was walking the aisles of the flight. You can't miss Brenda coming.)

Brenda joined that set and has been amongst them ever since. She told me that this particular uniform is one of the company's many choices, but very few of the current flight attendants deign to wear it. They opt for something a little more modern. And a lot less distinctive.

But not Brenda. Like I said, she's an original.

Support Your Local Candy Drive!

2010-01-12T08:08:00.000-08:00

Today, I thought we'd go on a field trip. You remember those, right? Where you take a piece of paper home to get it signed, load into a smelly, cramped bus with your specially packed (moldy) sack lunch, sit with all your grimy little friends and on arrival, ruminate in place for another half an hour while the teachers figure out that yes, indeed, in order to enjoy the Zoo, you have to actually get out and walk around in the Zoo.

We'll skip all that. We're grown-ups and we're in charge.

Instead, I thought we'd take a little trip down Memory Lane with Vita-Mix. Okay, not really, but when you hear the name Vita-Mix, don't you think of this:

Ha! Thought so. It's a happy memory, isn't it? One of the most beloved comediennes of all time, Lucille Ball in one of her most famous comic sketches: VitaMeataVegimen.

Why do I bring this up? Because today, we're going to do something nice for someone. We're going to be supportive friends and now click on a link on the website for Vita-Mix.

Be a good sport and do it now.

Do you see that video? It belongs to this woman:

This is Brooke MacLay, who if you've been hanging around here for a bit, you may already know from her blog. Together, we had a quite little literary adventure with Jan Karon awhile back. It thrilled our aspiring wanna-be writer-hearts on both sides of the Mississippi. (That Jan Karon connection just keeps giving. And giving. And giving!)

You may not know it, but I've done a lot of things in my television career. However, I do not dress up in costumes and adopt fanciful character acting, as Brooke does frequently for her blog. And I haven't let people into my private life the way she has. I admire that, er, while not wishing for the level and number of stalkers that would encourage.
I think we ought to be supportive here. It'll only take you a few seconds to sign up. I would hope by now you've gotten an email address for "sign-ups and other Internet business" that you can easily use. (Otherwise, get ready for an onslaught of SPAM with an aftertaste of "Vita.")
Seriously, can you turn this face down?

And as Brooke herself would say, if'n I let her talk on my blog...

"Be a dear. Click over, sign up, sign in and click on the FIFTH STAR. Smooches!"

(FYI: Voting is simple. Go the page. See the row of rating "stars?" Click on the fifth one. You're done. Thanks!)

People Are Candy: Ann Samuel

2010-01-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

I'm learning. We're all learning, right? I'm learning and today... this was my teacher.

This is Ann Samuel. She's originally from Georgia. I like her face, don't you? It shows that she's really lived. She won't leave empty-handed. And she's not leaving anytime soon. At least I hope not. She seems to have a lot to teach some of us, including me.

Reporters, in case you didn't know it, are feistier some days than others. We pretty much like a little squabbling most of the time, but some days, we are spoiling for a fight. Er, professionally speaking, of course. Oh well.

I went out early Thursday afternoon to pick up my mail and buy some supplies. I was loading those supplies into my car at the pickup curb at an Alexandria, Virginia grocery store. (Grocery stores in VA often don't allow you to cart your groceries to your car, so instead they have drive-up areas where you pickup your groceries.)

Suddenly, I heard an elderly male voice, loudly telling me not to use that "yellow curb zone, because it's for handicapped people."

I immediately looked down to check for a wheelchair access ramp. It was forty feet away. And again, I was in the grocery pickup area. I said "Sir, this is the grocery pickup area. It's not an area for handicapped people."

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" He continued. "This is a handicapped area. You should not be here!"

Let me just state for the record, if he had been right, I would have been ashamed of myself. But he wasn't. Still, it brings a certain level of color to my face to be accused of violating the few privileges accorded to a certain segment of the population when I am not. NOT.

"Sir, it's not a handicapped area. There is no handicapped access curb. This is a grocery pickup area."

He started in on me again and I began to realize that perhaps there was another handicap in the process of making itself known.

And then I heard this gentle voice say, "Honey, don't let anyone ruin your day."

The previously mentioned geezer wasn't about to ruin my day, but this sweet little thing was about to make my day.

Ann is 89 years old. She was married for most of those years until three years ago. Her husband died that February, just months short of their 61st anniversary in April. She tells me she leads a "blessed life," because although she uses a cane, she can get out and do for herself. I'm guessing she's not the only one whose life was blessed today.

Take another, closer look at that face. And let me point out, you don't get smile lines like those unless you actually smile. A lot.

She let me hug her before I got in the car. I say "let" because I was wearing a big down jacket and looked like a berry-flavored Sta-Puf Marshmallow monster. But she didn't flinch a bit. And I just liked her. Don't you?

That's sweet, old-fashioned homemade honey taffy, is what that is.

Sit a spell and savor it.

People Are Candy: Church-Ladies Are Us!

2010-01-03T19:30:00.001-08:00

To start off the year, I thought we'd go with something simple. Pure people candy, discernable on sight. Here it is:

I'm hoping the People Are Candy of this is immediately accessible to all. It's a picture that I took last winter, outside the church I attend in Alexandria, Virginia. As I was leaving after the meetings, I saw the couple standing outside, posing for pictures and I couldn't resist. I stopped to stealthily snap one just for you.

I have, uh, changed a few things about the photo. To "protect the innocent," I've switched in my face as well as a photoshopped headshop of Brad Pitt. He's in the public domain and the actual people in this photo are not.

At first glance, it's a darned fun photo, isn't it? But I want you to think about it.

The woman who actually owns this dress, I'm guessing, is loved. She's very, very loved. She's loved by the wonderful beloved friend who made this dress for her.

Because someone has to make this dress for you. It doesn't just happen. This is not a dress that you can buy "off the rack." Someone has to love you, know your height and sizes and have faith that they know your taste. They have to care deeply enough to go out to the store, pick out the materials, choose the colors, buy the stuff, cut it out, sew the whole shebang together and generally, do the work to make this "dream outfit" become reality.

And then you have to love them enough to wear it. It's a leap of faith on both sides.

And don't Brad and I look thrilled to be out together?

2010 NY Resolution: PDAing at the Wheel

2009-12-26T19:13:00.000-08:00

It started in 2009, but it ends here and now. I am resolving that from January 1, 2010 forward, I will no longer text or worse while driving.

That's right: I've been doing things worse than texting with my Personal Digital Assistant (PDA) while behind the wheel. (I don't know about you, but I always figured if I ever needed to confess anything about PDA behind the wheel, it wouldn't involve any sort of battery operated gadget or concerns about car chargers. I'm kinda disappointed in myself.)

On January 3, 2009, I left Los Angeles for a cross country drive I needed to make. The picture at the right shows me when I stopped for lunch on the second day. I think I was in Tucumcari, New Mexico that day. I rarely stopped for lunch. I rarely stopped for anything.

But my problem started when I was only a few miles down the road. I began to suffer separation anxiety. I was worried about being disconnected from the Internet for the roughly 2700 miles of driving ahead.

So I pulled out my PDA and typed "AOL" into the search line. A few seconds later, I saw google.com offering "aol, America Online," and I clicked on that. I logged into my email box and felt the rush! Mmmmm! Hello Lover!

I guess you could say I'm an email-addict. I suffer withdrawal symptoms if I don't check email at least once per hour of my day. You know what that's like, right? Wondering if the business email I sent before leaving the house bounced back? Did the product inquiry I made get answered? Has the friend who got a medical test the day before received the results? And of course, how many different Canadian Pharmacies are standing by right now to fill my Viagra order. (Ha! Just checking to see if you're awake!)

Considering that I have five email boxes (counting only the ones I regularly check) and two, er, three social network profiles, I am dangerously devoted to my PDA.

There is no doubt about how disastrous my nasty habit could be, if allowed to continue. Experts are already saying that texting while driving is actually more dangerous than drunk driving. Numerous states have laws against it. More are making laws. It's bad. I'm bad. Or I was.

Add in the fact that I didn't just text and it's true: I was an actual menace. In 2009, I logged on the Internet to surf while making three cross country trips, and usually at high speeds. And every time, I would promise one of my loved ones, "I'll quit. No more emails at 85 mph. I promise!"

Except most of the time, I was surfing before I reached the far edge of the little town where they live.

But this will be the year that I stop it. I'm going cold turkey. No more surfing or texting when I am behind the wheel.
I would advise you to do the same. Of course, you probably didn't ever hear the siren call of the Internet on your Treo at 80 mph in Kentucky, did you?

Nor did it speak to you as you drove... and drove... and drove... across the Texas Panhandle.

And it certainly never whispered in your ear outside of Nashville, "Oh, just log on for a moment. It'll only take a few seconds. And then you'll feel so much better. You'll be relaxed and able to drive another couple of hours."
I mean it. This is where the going gets tough and the tough get going; where the web link gets cut comple. . .

Sent from my AT&T Wireless Treo as I tra-la-lah'd home from Fawn Grove, PA after a wonderful Christmas with a friend and her family.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-22T20:34:00.000-08:00

It's all sort of hemming and hawing from here until Christmas, isn't it?

So while we're waiting, I thought I'd show you my collection of lovely holiday light pictures. WHO KNEW I could produce such wonders with the little point-and-click gadget that I keep in my purse? Certainly not me! Imagine my surprise!

But I do love to drive around during the weeks leading up to Christmas for a look at holiday lights. These are a few of the snaps I took prior to the big snowstorm that hit Washington last weekend.

They look a little bare, in that context, don't they? But I find myself charmed by the simplicity of some of these light displays. I like the honest, simple honor of the holiday.

The people who put up this display also dance in rainstorms, I like to believe. A demonstration of childlike joy in holiday lighting! These lights seem a genuine celebration to my eyes. But this next one makes me wonder.

Can you explain this one to me? Do Boss Hawg and his Missus actually live inside?

Or exactly what do these little critters signify? Love of all things bacon, perhaps? A sausage fetish? I have a friend in California whose last name is Lamb; she puts lighted sheep figures on their front lawn at Christmas. Maybe it really is the Hoggs, Hawgs or maybe bikers (people who ride 'Hogs') living inside?

I liked this picture again, because of the intensity and the simplicity of feeling. They only put up one strand, but it was nicely done, wrapped around in the branches of a small, unusual tree in the front yard.

This next one reminds me of my past life in Southern California. You can see it from half a block away. You know why it reminds me of Los Angeles?

Because in Southern California, I lived in Glendale, just above Hollywood and Burbank. Glendale, in case you aren't aware, is the capital of Armenian-America; and Armenians (in my experience) often like to position a different holiday decoration about every two feet on their front lawns. This display is enough to make me wonder if the people inside are Turkish or Russian Armenians?

They didn't stop at lawns. No, not them! Ahhhhhhhh, feel the nostalgia sweeping over me! Shall we drive on?

This was a nice little, honest display, don't you think? In many Washington homes, the holiday tree is lit just inside the front window. You can't see it in my pictures, but... I know it's there.

And finally, my favorite picture. This house is half a block away from my apartment. I like it best because of the kind of lights that are on the tree: red and green and retro. They are the larger bulbs, about 3/4 of an inch, just like the ones my Dad used to wrap around the tree when I was very small.

He'd put up the lights, plug them in and stand back for a look. After a few adjustments, he'd give the go-ahead, Mom would bring out the boxes of holiday ornaments and a couple of packages of extremely environmentally unsound tinsel and we'd be amused for hours.

And every few nights thereafter until Christmas, we'd gather there at the end of the day to sit with the lights out and sometimes, sing carols.

I guess that's what it all boils down to for most of us: a simple reminder of holidays past, family far away and emotions we thought were packed away that suddenly come to the surface at the sight of a simple strand of lights. At least, I hope you're having that experience again this year.

Merry Christmas!

A White Washington Christmas...

2009-12-19T19:09:00.000-08:00

As anyone who knows me can tell you, I don't like snow. So imagine my surprise when I had to go move the car today and found myself playing in the white stuff on the way back. These are some pictures I took... until the snow did something bad to the camera. It almost seemed that...

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas...
Snow really does cover a multitude of the sins that Washingtonians heap upon their historic city. The snow started falling early Saturday and covered right over all the grey prospects, bleak attitudes and dark worries that we all seem to have this year very nicely. Very nicely, indeed!

Just like the ones I used to know.
So very much snow. This is the next street that runs perpendicular to the one where I live. That's my little black car, buried under a foot of snow on the right. I dug it out. I can't underestimate the value of good leather mittens, particularly now that I've returned to the east coast and multiple seasons. *Sigh.

Where the tree tops glisten...
It's true that if you smile and fake it, you might start to feel it. In this weather, you might also get chappy lips! This weekend, walking around in the snow, it didn't feel so cold. I started to run and play a little. Someone passing by said, "You better watch it! Get that childlike enthusiasm under control this instant!" And I had to admit to myself, I was having fun.

And children listen...
There were lots of kids out with their parents. The neighborhood where I live, is very "up and coming," with a mix of races and ages that I find appealing. However, the camera went down. So if you'd like to see pictures of children in snow, check here, as the Washington Post's current crop of photography recruits seem to prefer children and dogs. (Someone call and remind them that CREATIVITY is actually what WashPo subscribers prefer.)

To hear sleighbells in the snow.
No bells where I live. I woke to a remarkable silence both Saturday and Sunday. Snow inspires quiet and it's a cherished benefit.

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas...

This man is shoveling the walk in front of his neighbor's sidewalk. Now that is holiday spirit!
With every Christmas card I write.
You wanted to see this picture, didn't you? I didn't take the Capitol picture. I didn't get this far from home and besides, the camera died. It's little holiday gifty for you (and me!) from the cyber-world.

May your days be merry and bright...

It is beautiful, isn't it? It is so beautiful and yes, I was standing in the middle of the street. But so was everyone else. Otherwise, you were clomping around in 15-20 inch deep snow. Everywhere.

And may all your Christmases be white.

Wow, look at that! It almost looks like I'm singing. Aren't you relieved to know I'm NOT!

"Santa-Baby..."

2009-12-13T14:56:00.000-08:00

"Santa-Baby, slip a sable under the tree for me!"

Ah! But which Santa to ask? Walking along the sidewalk in downtown Washington, DC, this was the sight coming our direction:

I was with two of my cousins (having a wholesome, family-style celebration in the city) when we were visited by these four personages.

Naturally, I stopped them for a chat. Wouldn't you?

It turns out they came down from Pennsylvania (the Harrisburg area, I believe) for Santa-Con, which is short for Santa Convention. The Santa Convention is a roving party which arrives in major cities bringing the Christmas Spirit (*ahem in copious amounts) to good girls and boys wherever it goes.

For instance, there is a Santa-Con in New York:

Santa-Con in the Midwest. Branson, Missouri is shown here:

And an international sort-of boat people version of Santa-Con in Copenhagen, Denmark:

It seems wherever they go, this is what they do:

This was in Baltimore's Harborplace. They seem pretty happy and well, you must admit, they brighten up about anyplace they go.

Lately, it seems that you are curious how I take these pictures. I get a lot of questions about how I get these pictures and you also wonder why people don't swat me away.

I don't sneak up on them. I just like people. I deeply like all kinds of people. In fact, the more different the person is from me in looks, lifestyle, smell or almost any other aspect, the more interesting I find them. Matter of fact, I'm fascinated by them. Life is short; I'm asking all my questions now.

More to the point, I've observed that most people who leave home sporting unusual looks, such as neon-blue-mohawk-hair-and-40-plus-piercings-on-the-subway-in-New York, or perchance a tartan Santa kilt and fur leggings topped off by a Santa Cape walking along in front of the National Museum of American History are the very ones who might welcome some attention. They certainly deserve it, having gone to all that trouble.

So I offer it. Once they sense my harmless intent, they open up and also seem to naturally start posing. I think it also goes to how starved we are as a culture for the idea of a genial stranger being kind to us.

But for whatever the cause, here's today's offering of the very Spirit of Santa in a Stewart plaid:

She says her name is Calamity Jane. (Yes, I know she probably has another name. But just because you show everyone what's under the cape doesn't mean you want them to know everything about you. And that's okay, too.) The leggings, CJ said, were salvaged from Burning Man. That statement right there told me the type of Christmas Spirits visiting us: Free sPiriTs.

This is her escort:

His name is Richard Karn. (There's a toolbelt joke floating around somewhere, isn't there? If you have it, feel free to add it in the comment section.) With a smile like that, you know he's enjoying himself.

Next is Patchouli. I didn't catch whether she smelled like patchouli; I was, um, standing back and, um, admire. In case you can't tell, there is a prodigious amount of cleavage hidden by that bow-tie and gracious! I stood back in awe! Or something close to it.

Three piercings, glued on sparkles around her eyes and my goodness, as one of my friends would say "My Patchouli, what BIG EYES you have."

As I said, whatever a person puts out, I assume they welcome comments, compliments, questions and all manner of attention on that same matter.

Soooooooooo... did you notice the riding crop? What about that leash, which seems to go out of frame and leads to...

Ken. He seemed the shyest of the group and I noted that with some level of respect. Or something close to it.

As one of the cousins said, "So many Santas! This must be awfully confusing for children."

And I heard myself exclaim as they walked out of sight, "Merry Christmas to All; And to All a People-Candy Night!"
(By the way, one "Santa" said something about the next one being next weekend in Philly?)

EX-treme Chocolate and Toffee Chunk Cookies

2009-12-08T10:15:00.000-08:00

As the title of this blog suggests, I consider people are the true candy of life. They offer sweetness in all its infinite variety. Sometimes, I like to savor them. Other times, I simply chomp them down like a 5 year old in a sugar frenzy.

But today, I offer a different type of sweets. I'm going to give up one of my best recipes. (NO, NOT the recipe and method for the cake at the bottom of this post! Be a grownup and wait for your birthday, then demand I show up with it! Sheesh, you people are such troublesome little licorice snappers!) I'm doing it because we all know I love to cook (even if I do live in a weird little arrangement with limited access to a real kitchen at the moment) and to support a fun cookie contest on this cooking blog, offered in the holiday spirit of my good friend Brooke. Please click there after you look over the recipe and vote for whoever, whatever flips your skirt. But do remember who'll be putting the stamp on your holiday card this season. Or not.

At this time of year, I love to make cookies and indulge my friends' sweet tooths. I've been known to do this in many forms, but by far the most popular one is a known as "Marti's Best Oatmeal Candy Cookies," and you're about to find out why.

When I lived in Los Angeles (*sigh), I made these in large numbers and delivered them with a bit of chocolate coconut chews, spiced nuts, over-sized triple fudge brownies and the like to friends. And those I wished to befriend.

One fellow took particular childlike joy in wolfing down his almost before they were out of my hands! It was a little alarming at times. Made me somewhat glad I'd carefully cleaned all the cookie dough out from under my nails before I ventured out on that cold winter night. Considering the amount of sugar, candy and general calories in them, I don't know how he got to sleep. Ever. But... not my problem! His lovely wife mentioned them the other day, so I gave her the recipe. Now I'm giving it to you. And with a more accurate name.

EX-treme Chocolate and Toffee Chunk Cookies: Makes 4 dozen substantial (Ok, HUGE) cookies

Sift together:

3 cups flour
2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. salt

Cream well: (FIRE UP THE KITCHENAID!)

2 cups butter
1 1/2 cup white sugar
1 1/2 brown sugar

Add:

2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla

Add the sifted flour mixture to the creamed butter.

Mix in 3 cups old-fashioned oatmeal.

(That "instant" stuff isn't going to hold up to these cookies. Old-fashioned, please! Like the sturdier stuff we are made of!)

Next, turn off the KitchenAid and add:
1 1/2 -to- 2 cups dried cherries or craisins
2 cups chopped chocolate bars (I use leftover halloween candy, Hershey bars, Ghirardelli bars. I draw the line at Guittard and other snotty brands. That's ridiculously expensive. But at all costs, DO NOT USE "CHIPS" of any sort!)
1 1/2 -to-2 cups chopped SKOR bars. (Buy a big box at Sam's or Costco. Heath bars also work well.)
1 1/2 cups chopped pecans

Don't over mix. Just get it all in the bowl and try to turn it on slowly so the stuff doesn't fly out and try to combine it.

Now, form this stuff into logs. They should be about two inches. Get out the plastic wrap, pile it on in log shape, wrap it up and give it a few rolls on the counter to even out the bumps.

Put the dough in the fridge to chill for 3-6 hours or more. Overnight is good. Take the evening off and have some fun. Go to a movie. Watch a DVD. Smooch someone you love. (*sigh)

When you're ready to bake, cut the slices about 1 to 1 1/2 inches thick, and sorta smoosh them down a little. These are huge cookies, about 4 inches across and close to 3/4 thick. I'm sure you don't want YOUR friends and loved ones to enjoy anything less.

Make sure you bake them on parchment or the silicone sheets. With all the extras, they are pretty much as billed: candy with some cookie bits stuck in there. Which means, they can really stick to a pan and WE HATE CLEANUP.

Bake them at 350 degrees for about ten minutes to start. Don't overcook, but I like mine done. I don't know how you like your cookies. So make them and find out.

Meantime, NO, I don't happen to have any pictures of these cookies or making them. Since some of you are new here, let me explain, we're mostly about PEOPLE AS SUSTENANCE here at this blog. So I offer you a few other pictures.

Seen inside the freezer of a man I once dated:

Peter Pan Lives!!!!! I said I once dated him, didn't I?

Birthday cake, a very few minutes after assembly:

Friend's wedding cake (truly accurate, bless 'er!):

Favorite reporting outfit. Ever:

First in a series of heinously crass Christmas cards:

This year's card, minus the caption:

A friend said it "doesn't do justice," but I think with the caption, justice is deeeeeeeeefinitely served. But I won't spoil the surprise for some of you.

And finally, my High school crush, years later. EEK!!!!!

The Internet is a truly amazing and wondrous place, isn't it? And google is well, the sorter of all people. People are candy and... so are my cookies. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: You must remember "to give is better than to receive." Make 'em and GET THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE.

Pretty DARN Thankful in the 'Burbs

2009-11-29T22:29:00.000-08:00

I have recently acquired a new friend who lives half a world away. He's from the United States, but living in Europe with his wife and stepson. I am sure he felt a more than little wistful this holiday weekend.

So I wrote him a helpful note this Monday after Thanksgiving:

Dear Ex-Pat Pal,

How was your Thanksgiving? Mine was pretty good. Pretty DARN good.

I was invited along by a sweet friend from church to her brother's apartment in Springfield. Hoping to alleviate an overcrowded kitchen, I offered to bring the potatoes and was extremely gratified as the host, his wife AND his mother all commented on my thoughtfulness in taking that particularly onerous chore off their hands. It's always nice to feel appreciated.

The dinner was very nice. My friend and her brother each have been married to their spouses for a little over a year. Their parents were present along with an adult brother. Oh, and the turkey was pretty DARN moist.

And bonus! I found out a couple of weeks ago that one of my two favorite Sunday School Teachers is their cousin. He and his wife and their 7 month old boy were there along with his mother and younger sister. So it was a convivial group that included me in their festivities.

I was the odd girl out. Of course, I'm always the ODD girl. Someone needs to put a post-it note on my forehead: "ODD WOMAN OUT... unless you invite her." Or perhaps they already did? That could explain why I never seem to lack for invitations. Because I am, as you may be realizing, pretty DARN odd.

Anyway, the only problem with this jolly gathering (which spent all afternoon playing WII sports and laughing genially at the results--both good and bad) was that someone... or ones... brought NINE PIES to the party.

In case you lost count, there were only 12 adults in attendance. And I refused to be accountable for others' unscrupulous over-culinarizing! I did manage to eat a tiny 1/1 inch sliver of the pumpkin cheesecake, banana cream, chocolate and peanut butter pies. BUT THAT WAS IT! My patience and gastrointesti-nullified space simply ceased to cooperate. My waistband simply refused to rise to the occasion.
Most of the afternoon forward, I sat and played with the 7 month old who amused himself by clutching large handfuls of my blonde stuff to use in pulling himself to his feet on my lap.

I think it horrified his parents more than me. My hair is extremely firmly attached, so no worries: I'm not beginning the week bald. And he had such a big handful that it didn't hurt. As long as the little guy wasn't trying make his escape to the ground, clutching and dragging it with him, we were okay. Seriously... he was just using it to steady himself and pretty DARN fortunately, his mother had cleaned all the sticky butternut squash muck off his hands long before he could attempt that. We had a great relationship---my tiny beau and I... until his Daddy came to collect him. Sigh.
I saw him at church again today, but... alas, he was asleep and in another's arms! Well, ok, the "other woman" was his mother. But I really liked him. And his mother. She was a vegetarian, but not an obnoxious one. I've often thought I could convert, except for I can't give up fish. (Note to self: must try blow fish before next Thanksgiving with my family.) And except for how rude I consider it to show up at dinners and parties to demand the accommodating veggie platter, as I've seen some others do. But she was lovely and not demanding at all. She was pretty DARN cool!
She also brought a huge salad. (Why is there never anything green in my teeth? Because I check constantly!) Anyway, I won the door prize: took the salad and four homemade rolls home for leftovers.
Leftovers: the OTHER Thanksgiving tradition.

So... tell. What did you and your family do? :)

I haven't gotten a reply back yet. But I have the feeling it will read something like this:

Dear Stateside Friend,
We muddled along another pretty DARN French weekend in Paris. No over-sized, dried out roast bird in sight.
Ta!

Some things just aren't fair. But between a bird in the homeland and a two-some plus one in Paris, it's truly a difficult call. I hope you all enjoyed the holiday weekend with those you love.

Disclaimer: I did not take the above picture. If one from the actual gathering turns up, I'll post it. Tonio & Katrina: If you have it, please forward it soonest.

A Study in Southern Style: Mr. & Mrs. Phillips

2009-11-20T19:36:00.000-08:00

Have you ever felt as if you were dropped from the sky, landing smack-dab into the middle of a soap opera? Previously, I mentioned my road trip to New Orleans this past week, and maybe I should have mentioned something else.

It is my long-held contention that some areas of the South (in particular the DEEP South) do not have any *normal people living there.

None. Whatsoever.

Rather, I believe that much of the Deep South is populated with characters waiting for books to be written about them.

Or perhaps just blogs. I've believed this for a very long time.

This is Anita Phillips and her husband Allen. I came in contact with the Phillipses in a Walmart (that'd be "Walmarts" for some of us) in Springville, Alabama on Tuesday. They were in the frozen food section. Shouting. At each other. (Dig her blue jumpsuit. I have one of those in fleece wear. Except in mine, I look like Smurfette.)

At first, the noise made me wonder if a fight were about to break out. Then I thought maybe a reality TV show was filming and I'd missed the notices that said "A TV Reality show is filming here today and by walking through this store, you give your implied consent to being part of the show."

But then I realized no, it was that the real life characters upon which George Costanza's parents from NBC's hit sitcom Seinfeld were based, were in fact, walking amongst us.

You remember them, don't you? Frank and Estelle Costanza were portrayed by Jerry Stiller and Estelle Harris as two of the most annoying people you've never met: noisy, bickering, angry and rude. It was almost painful to watch them at times, but yet you couldn't quite take your eyes off them.

Except these two in front of me were not annoying. Anita and Allen were every bit as noisy, which I believe may have distracted me. Being a TV reporter, I'm often distracted by shiny objects on a sidewalk, so imagine the effect of a little noise. Or a lot.

Back to Anita and Allen. Annoying? No, indeed! They were, however, every bit as entertaining as the Costanzas, squabbling over thawing bags of Tater Tots and what kind and how many rolls of paper kitchen towels are needed. It was like being immersed in a bacon-flavored Costanza-rama.
Just what is it that charms us about a Southern accent? It makes us want to listen and soak it up just as surely as we like to try biscuits with gravy just because it sounds so unusual yet somehow satisfying. We hear it and our mind sops it up as surely as melting butter soaks into fresh cornbread. It's so sweet on the ear, isn't it?

And um, yes, a bit trailer park-y. Yet still we like it. I love it!

So there was Allen, loading an extra pack of frozen burritos into his cart as Anita talked on the phone to the couple's daughter, Brittany, who relayed orders for a more diverse snack spread for viewing the upcoming football game: at least two kinds of crackers to go with the three kinds of chips.

If you notice, both Anita and Allen each have a grocery cart. See the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup dessert boxes below?

That's Anita's cart. She buys those and makes them for Allen. She admitted that fact with all the coy smiles of a 16 year old about to go to her first prom.

I like this about Southerners. These are folks who until the day they die will call their spouse "Baby." There's something warm, nourishing and right about that. Something that recognizes that the other person is to be babied and cosseted and cherished and loved.

Anita had that going on with Allen over the frozen turkey section. All the while of course, blinking those Big Baby Blues and smiling at him.

As I said, they were sorta yelling over the Totino's pizza rolls when I came around the corner to catch them in mid-sentence. Allen noticed me getting a load of them. (I think it was when the perfect stranger took their picture.) Then I noticed the tone. They were playing, teasing, taunting and flirting with each other over the frosted calzone and a row of stacked Velveeta. (Cheese. Should it be stackable? Discuss.)

They were communicating. They were discussing what their kids wanted, who needed how many bags of which kind of tortilla chips, what brand of salsa to go with those chips and what to wash it all down. And here's a tip: look how pleased Allen looks to be in a grocery store with his wife. Of 20 years.

And me? I was drinking it in a bit, myself. Awash in a Southern style that is sticky sweet because after all, people are candy. And these two were just a little... nuts.

(*Special to Anita Phillips: everyone else who reads this blog knows my definitions. "Normal equals average; average equals mediocre; mediocre equals BORING." Welcome to the fun crowd!)

If People Are Candy, Waffle House Is A Sugar Shack

2009-11-19T13:14:00.000-08:00

As you know, I've been out of town for the past several days. You know how much I love a good road trip. Below are a few of the pictures I took literally along the way.

It's a beautiful time of year in the South. And I rolled along taking pictures like the one above with beautiful blue skies.

And this one, where the clouds seemed to be clearing.

I must admit, I was in a bit of a hurry, so I often didn't stop the car and just relied on the scenery from the drivers' seat. It was very pleasant seeing the Deep South as I motored west.

But I noticed a bit of symmetry along the highways and byways of Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee and Virginia.

A bit of a theme, you might call it.

(Here's a little Waffle House Trivia [WHT]: Waffle House restaurants serve more than 3.2 million pounds of grits each year; enough to fill 86 semi-trucks.)

I never had to strain my eyes.

Although sometimes, it did seem to go by in a bit of a flash!

Look, it's almost gone! No worries because here comes the next exit:

And the next:

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Haha! Sorry, just wanted to try out that sentence.

(WHT: If you stacked all the sausage patties WH serves in one day, it would reach the top of the Empire State Building.)

The next two exits? Heck, just south of Chattanooga, TN, I spotted one exit with a Waffle House on each side. They'd catch you coming or going.

Sometimes, I was going a little too fast to get to the side of the road to snap a photo.

But I didn't let that stop me from capturing the moment.

This one loomed up on me so fast that I could only point and click.

Not exactly sure where this was, but somewhere in Tennessee, I believe.

(WHT: Waffle House Restaurants serve 10,000 T-bone steaks per day.)

I almost missed this next one. Do you see it?

The sign is behind the tree. I put a little arrow in, just in case you struggled to see it behind the tree. Click on the photo and you'll see it.

I don't want you to go away thinking that I wandered and meandered all the way across five states taking these pictures without ever getting a meal in one.

Waffle Houses are something special in the Southeastern United States and you have to be in a particular mood to eat there.

Or you have to be a trucker. Truckers can eat there any day of the week and any time of the day, it would seem. But... that's another story.

This was my first ever-meal in a Waffle House, and I chose the one in Wytheville ("withVILLE"), Virginia, to take the plunge.

The menu is limited. Waffle House pretty much sticks to eggs, bacon, waffles, steaks and anything that you can do with those items. Plus chili.

(WHT: WH customers consume more than 2% of the total eggs produced in the USA for foodservice, every year. That's 185,000,000 eggs annually.)

They also serve a "garden fresh salad" but I suspect the "fresh" is a misprint.

Ordering salad in a Waffle House is rather like ordering a burrito in a Chinese restaurant. It'll arrive, but you may wish to rethink that choice. I wish I had.

After a day of junk food and sandwiches in the car, and with another 5 hours in the car still ahead, I couldn't face more carbs. I ordered the chili and BLT ("with six slices of bacon!") combo with a soda for $5. (It's a "recession special." Please: nobody tell them the recession is over; I don't think they like change.) I had the sandwich wrapped to go and ate the chili and added a salad.

The chili was pretty good; the salad was um, a salad. But here's what made the whole experience stand out as fresh:

That's TJ on the left and Beth on the right.

TJ has worked there a month and when I walked in, she asked "Can I help you?" that seems to be a universal question among Southerners. They always want to help, see to your comfort, get you a glass of sweet tea or start fixing whatever it is that ails you.

Beth has been there several years and is from Pennsylvania. She's an accomplished hand at Waffle House waitressing.

Beth is still training TJ just a little and carries the burden well. She made my BLT ("six slices of bacon") and wrapped it up with a smile. I think she even looked the other way as I examined the silverware.

Waffle Houses are so small that they generally have a cook in the back and two waitresses during the lunch and dinner rush. (They are open 24 hours, so in "the wee hours," a graveyard waitress is often alone out front.)

On the whole, it was an interesting and entirely satisfactory experience. Perhaps more so from an anthropological standpoint than on a gustatory angle. But it was interesting and all six pieces of bacon were accounted for on the BLT which I ate for lunch the day after.

And I will be back. Their hashbrowns--chunked, smothered and scattered all the way--is an experience I will want to savor after a day a little less Cheeto'd.

Producers? Who Needs Producers?

2009-11-16T18:36:00.000-08:00

I am going to admit something here: I like having a producer around sometimes.

I don't always like having them around. There's nothing better than getting in a news truck and roaring off to chase a great story without anyone else's input or say so. The feeling of independence is amazing.

But sometimes, you can just enjoy having an "assigned best friend/minder/ assistant/and yet somehow boss-person" around. And when that person comes with a funky little style all her own, knowing exactly what she wants, how to achieve it, communicates it clearly and takes care of all the details along the way, well, it can be a wonderfully relaxing experience.

Toss in a New Zealand accent, a piercing or two, hair that looks (it's hard to see in the photo, but in person, that hair is shaved around the sides and the shaped part on top comes to a point in the front, as if a small jet-black boy's cap was perfectly positioned on top of her head) like the personification of the word "cheeky," and the occasional well-placed "F---" and it's absolutely hilarious. (Sorry if that offended, but when some people say it, it's just darned funny.)

This is Kelly. She fits the description of the two paragraphs above to a "T." She works for a company out of London that hired me to do some reporting in New Orleans this week. I'd tell you what her last name is, but I think she's rather private. (Otherwise, I'd tell you her middle name is Joan, right?)
She flew in from The Mother Country on Sunday and she's a nonstop scream. If the picture was video, you'd seen her hands flying around adding a little extra sauce to the whole soupy thing of her.

This week, Kelly set up everything that happened, organized the interviews, schmoozed her clients, wrote material for me to shoot all along the way, kept the convention managers happy, taught a fast workshop in remedial photography and editing, ordered lunch and trotted out to get it and kept the reporter moving whenever she stopped to play a little too much.

I'm sure you realize that a producer has to take a measure of crap. I think it's in the job description. It's not just that reporters are difficult to steer (like being road manager to the iceberg that sank the Titanic) but it's also that everyone we come in contact with wants something.

For instance, if a city official from Meridian, Mississippi sends his public affairs person over to advise me of exactly how vital he was to success of the project that I'm reporting on and then press me to interview him, well, the answer is no. But it's so nice to be able to say "You'll have to ask Kelly."

If the father of a ten year old girl who made a poster for the project comes by with the daughter in tow to say "Wouldn't you like to interview my little angel?" I say, "Oh, gosh, you'll have to ask Kelly."

If someone shows up to say, "Fred Schmidt is actually the person who organized this (project/scheme/grand plan for the edification of the Universe); you absolutely must interview him," well, you know exactly what I say: "You. Must. Check. Kelly."

As for Kelly? She deals with it. She smiles a crooked, quirky little smile and sparkles a little at them. Waves her hands around a fair bit and it's magic. Before any of us know it, she's taken my measure of crap, turned into cookies and handed them out to everyone she comes in contact with who then walk away thinking they got the best of it all.

And I have to tell you, if they got it from Kelly, I'm guessing that maybe they did.

My Feet Are Not Small

2009-11-11T20:01:00.000-08:00

This is Rahman.

If he looks familiar, perhaps it's because you saw him on a "WANTED" poster. In Pakistan.

Oh? You've not been there recently? Neither has Rahman. But he's the opposite of a criminal.

Rahman Bunairee sat next to me in digital audio editing class for several days this past week at Voice of America. (This is probably one of the coolest aspects of working at VOA. You never quite know who is around the corner.)

The first day when I came in, he told me his name and said "Maybe you've heard of me?" I said "Um, no."

He said "My house was blown up in Pakistan."

Yes, yes, we've all had accidents with the blow dryer and a tub of water. Bad times with a toaster and a butter knife. Life is difficult and confusing, isn't it?

Television reporters are known for sensitivity and tact at such moments, as we all know, right?

"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry that happened to you, but can you tell me exactly what you felt at the moment that you heard your family's home and all its contents had been utterly laid waste by an explosive device made specifically in the hope of killing... YOU?"
I promise, I didn't say that. But you thought it was a distinct possibility, didn't you? We're all friends. You can admit it. I can take it.

It took me a bit, but I soon began to have a vague, rather nagging memory... a distant bell tinkling in the back of my mind that let me know I could dig in the far, dimly lit recesses of my mind for the details of what I read on a couple of in-house emails and in the Washington Post.

Rahman was working as a Voice of America journalist in Pakistan. Technically, he was the bureau chief for another television group and did a little work for VOA on the side until after he received a few death threats and his family's house was blown up by the Taliban.

Well, that happened to me one time when I... er, no. Never.

Fortunately, neither he nor any of his family were at home at the time that the bomb detonated. The U.S. government immediately brought him to Washington, DC to work and resettle his life as best they could. Not so far, so great, right? But maybe things were looking up.

Maybe, except for on arrival, Rahman was taken into custody by federal officers on charges of being a terrorist. Well, not really. They just said that his reason for being in this country was something more than stated on the visa. The visa that the government procured for him.

In journalism, we call that "adding insult to injury."

After a couple of very public statements by someone a lot higher than me at VOA, Rahman was released to restart his life in the United States.

I learned a lot in computer class.

I learned that it's very nice to sit next to the cool guys when in a learning situation. That way, the extraneous lessons in humility are a bit more concentrated.

Hump Day!

2009-11-11T16:36:00.000-08:00

It's Wednesday. And it's raining. Which is really not a surprise in Washington, DC in November. It just isn't.

It was more than sprinkling when I left for work. It was absolutely pouring hours later when I left to go home. It's not surprising at all.

But this was. Look how clear and sharp and brilliant the colors are in the rainbow above that apartment building!

Now look a little closer. There are two.

And look at this third picture.

We can all hope for that, yes? Happy Veterans Day.

BTW, later this week? ROADTRIP. Deep South. I promise, I'll bring home the bacon!

I Dreamt that I Was Married to Tom Cruise...

2009-11-07T06:53:00.001-08:00

And somehow it wasn't a nightmare.

Disclaimer: Since this is not now, nor has it ever been one of my aspirations, we will consider it a product of an odd bite of turkey sandwich in the waning hours before I turned in for the night.

I don't recall worrying about his film career. I was looking forward to getting to know Suri, because she looks like a dear child and Katie Holmes seems like she'd be an excellent mother; one who would raise a sweet little girl. (Although I do remember wondering if I could get Siri's little cast-off designer duds which, according an online "news" service, cost an estimated $2 million dollars annually. I planned to start an ebay.com store and sell them. Then I'd use the money to pay for enough H1N1 vaccine to immunize at least one developing nation.)

Tom, himself, seemed intelligent and well-focused on his acting.

I do recall thinking he was very, very short.

And I don't remember at all thinking about the "hmmm, he believes our progenitors were aliens" bit. Interestingly, that didn't cross my mind at all.

He just seemed a tad better looking (which I was nicely detached about) than most men that I've kept company with recently. And a lot more well thought out.

Dreams are odd things, aren't they? And this one had no couch-jumping involved whatsoever.

PS: please do feel free to comment with your own odd dreams or perhaps insight you might have about my "Tom Cruise as husband" subconscious babblery.

Human Candy: The Leaf Blower

2009-11-04T17:47:00.000-08:00

This is Jeremy Tidd.

Jeremy was blowing leaves on the street when I got in my car the other day. I popped right back out to take his picture. Why?

Have you ever heard that saying that people resemble their pets?

You take a hard look at Jeremy and tell me that blowers of leaves don't resemble their, uh, leaf-blowing machines.

Jeremy, to me, resembles his power tool. Seriously. Tell me that I'm wrong.

I don't mean it in an unkind way. He also seems to me to be the human personification of the word "Autumn," too. Autumn, of course, being one of the most productive times of the year, when many fruits and vegetables come to fruition. (I just flashed on my farmgirl roots. Did you notice?) I thought he was fun to look at and maybe you'd think so, too. He's a little bit of human candy.

Part of the reason that I like looking at people so much is because some of them have a type. Jeremy is almost a character in a Hollywood film because his visual "flavor" is one of those "types." I'm not sure what type that is, but it seems very likeable to me, and something to be savored at this time of year. Maybe I can compare him to a pumpkin pie flavored lollipop. If such a thing existed, it would be a little sweet, seasonal, and yet made from a humble pumpkin, which everyone likes.

We have lots of leaves in the streets here in Washington right now. It's a very beautiful time of year, and in between damp, gloomy days, we are enjoying beautiful clear blue skies and the last weeks of warmth before winter sets in.

So it's a good time of year for Jeremy's business. You know what I've always wondered about people who blow leaves? Where exactly are they blowing the leaves to?

It seems kind of funny to me that someone pays a person to blow leaves off their property.

Of course, then their neighbor comes outside, sees that the leaves are blown his direction and pays another person to blow them back. But perhaps this is all part of our great economic system of "circulating American dollars."

But likely it's just more of the same stuff that Jeremy puts in a big bin with grass clippings, leaves and yard trimmings all summer and into the fall, then spreads around the landscape in the spring to make things grow.

The Halloween Party

2009-10-31T22:50:00.000-07:00

I crashed a Halloween Party on Capitol Hill Saturday night. It was quite a treat. I highly recommend it. It started when I took a wrong turn and ended up on the far side of the Hill early in the evening.

I saw a group of costumed children and adults in a park, obviously having a good time. So I sidelined my car two blocks away and lit out to join their fun.

This is what I saw when I arrived: a mostly average looking group with great costumes and tons of cute people filling them. But it was what I heard that made the difference. Not a word. No crying. No fussing. No talking.

I looked closer. You should look close, too. Oh, they're communicating alright, but this party was put on by the Capitol Hill Children of Deaf Parents. That's right. I crash parties given by people who the government classifies as "disabled." Ahha! Now you like me better, doncha?

But I ask you, does this woman look disabled? She's never seen me before in her life and yet, she appears quite delighted to let me snap a picture. No questions asked.

I've seen people whose attitudes seemed much more debilitating and as a reporter, I had to try to talk to them. (No worries about this guy. He was udderly tickled to be there.)

Look at these kids. Do any of them look disabled to you? Yes, maybe they are hearing impaired (I had no idea who has what level of hearing because no one talked and I don't "sign."), but certainly they seemed no less happy than any other kids on Halloween. (Update: I have since been informed by the group that many of the children are hearing impaired. Please see comments below.)

They were thrilled to see their friends, enjoy their costumes and share a quick game of "wrap the mummy."

Even happy to play with Dad's castoff golf clubs. It's amazing how fun two old golf clubs can be, if you have the right attitude. And they had it all... to spare.

Ah! These children came in costume as adults. Well done!

This child did not want to be photographed. It happens. Mom was gentle but firm. She'll come around. (What I particularly liked was the way everybody communicated by looking directly in the face of the person "speaking." They seemed much more tuned-in because of that, I think.)

And this little guy may have tripped or stubbed a toe. We'll never know because unfortunately, again, I don't sign.

But while I don't sign, they speak "people-ease." They all spoke it beautifully, loud and clear. Look at the wattage in her smile!

This woman had two of the most beautiful children I've ever seen. She seemed to be a profoundly good parent, as well as profoundly deaf.

And so it seemed were this man and woman, but in spite of that, I was under their spell.

They all seemed to be having a grand time and didn't mind at all that I crashed their little gathering. (I did let them know what I was doing. And I left before pizza was served. My "crashing credential" does not include freeloading.)

By the end of my time with them, everyone that I asked posed for a picture. Have you ever seen a more radiant mother and child?

I walked away quite thrilled with my party-crashing efforts and with this inescapable thought in my mind:

For a little while, I had been allowed to hang with The Beautiful People.

People Are Candy: Merle

2009-10-25T11:03:00.000-07:00

This is Merle.

I met Merle on Saturday as I stood in the pharmacy line, waiting to plunk down my money on Tamiflu, which is one of two drugs the FDA has approved for use with influenza symptoms.

Before we go much further, I should explain a little about Washington, DC culture and thinking.

In the Washington, DC metro area, when someone is sick, we think it's best if they stay home. We think it very considerate if you keep your germs to yourself. We appreciate a little warning if you have a fever. We'll clear a wide berth when you are coughing. We want to be kind and considerate, but if you're sick, we appreciate you doing the same. So it's polite to say "Stand back! Save yourselves! I've got a teensy head cold!" Friends and neighbors will thank you and be happy to scurry away from such warnings.

With that in mind, you know we're doing a full-on freak-out over Swine flu. Or, being the proper people that we are, the "H1N1 Virus."

One late Tuesday night, after working a weekend shift sitting next to a sneezing, coughing wreck of a coworker whose wife was diagnosed with H1N1 Swine Influenza Virus, (There. That was a mouthful.) and going to the gym, where I did not properly sanitize the equipment before or after I used it, I did get a little sick.

I have a home remedy that I generally like because it generally works: massive Vitamin C doses, Airborne, and Zicam. I launched that.

But by the next day, I was sicker. So I called my favorite doctor and begged a Tamiflu prescription, which he generously called in.

Yes, we're so paranoid of being sick that doctors will actually call in prescriptions for their regular patients without seeing them because A) according to news reports, 90% of what is going around will test positive as H1N1, so why bother to test? And B) the doctors themselves don't necessarily want Typhoid Mary 2.0 coming in to infect them and their staffs.

On Friday, I walked out the door to get the prescription when I suddenly thought, "Hmmm, what if this is just a typical early season cold? I don't want to blow $105 on Tamiflu, as well as adding to the general problem of over-using medications and building super-germs." So I went back in the house, figuring the situation would be better or worse by the next day.

Saturday morning came and my condition was definitely worse. The scratchy throat worsened along with my all-over acheyness. Plus now I had that nasty stiff, sore pain in the middle of my back that tells me either I've been run over by a semi-trailer or some awful sickness is about to hit.

I had a few errands to run and then I went to the pharmacy which is where I met Merle. Behind me in the pharmacy line, he bumped and jostled me a little bit. I said "Oh, you shouldn't get so close." He looked at me, probably thinking I was a rather prickly sort of person.

I explained "I'm a bit sick. Not so close, so you won't get sick."

He smiled and said "Oh, I'm not worried about that!" I said "Good for you!"

A big, beatific smile spread across his face and he said "I have a cure. I told my granddaughter how to cure it, she tried it. It worked. She fine!"

At that moment, I was all ears.

"Onion tea!" he said proudly. I blinked.

"How does one, er, make onion tea?" I asked curiously.

"Just make some tea and stick onions in it. Soak 'em and when you ready to drink it, take the onions out." This was not exactly earth-shattering medicine and actually, not even an "old wives tale" that I'd ever heard before.

"It make you sweat. The virus don't know what to do. The fever make you sweat. The tea make you sweat. You wrap up in a blanket, sweat it all out your pores and then in the morning, whatever's left come out in a bowel movement," he explained. (By the way, the apparent typos are his English usage, not mine. I was going for authenticity.)
At this moment, I realized I was in a Southeast District pharmacy, having a discussion about bowel movements with a 70-ish year old Washingtonian. I sorta chided myself a little in my mind. My well-known openness to new experiences nearly slammed shut.

But a second later, I decided, it was all in pursuit of knowledge and good health. Just then, I was called to the counter, bought my Tamiflu and went home, $105 poorer. (Seriously, $105 for ten pills. I realize they want to make money on their investment, but did they expect to recover it all THIS YEAR?)

When I got home, I realized I still had doubts about whether what I was going through was serious enough to necessitate taking actual drugs for it. My usual thinking is that every drug has side effects and unless you are really in need, you are better off without taking them. Plus, unless I'm truly sick or a deadline is looming, I like to build my immunity by letting my body work through it.

And as I gave it a little more thought I decided... what harm could a little onion tea inflict?

I pulled out a new box of Stash Spiced Chai tea, purchased a few hours before to sooth my throat and steam my sinuses. I made a cup of tea and then, pulled out half of a red onion and sliced off a chunk. I went a little "Paula Deen" and cut slices into it, in order to provide more onion surface and maybe make the tea stronger. Then I dropped that smelly sliced bulb in what smelled like a heavenly cup of spicy sweetened tea and... waited.

Wanting to enhance the effect, I decided to microwave it, which burst all the little onion-y cells to full effect. I pulled it out after 30 seconds, fished out the onions and sat down to, ughhhh, enjoy my cuppa.

To be very honest, I think the dreading was worse than the drinking. If I think back to yesterday, I believe the muscles in my cheeks were stuck in "revulsion" mode for the rest of the day.

But the actual onion-tea drinking experience wasn't that bad. It tasted like regular chai tea that had been made in an unwashed cup that was previously used for onion soup. It left a somewhat iffy aftertaste in my mouth. And I had a small dish of my favorite granola sitting on the side to help rid my mouth of that taste immediately after the first cup was finished.

The second cup was a lot stronger for some reason. (I think I microwaved it for a full minute.) There was a moment or two where it smelled like an underarm. That had been to the gym. For a couple of days in a row. And whose owner was out of hopelessly out of soap.

The next morning, I woke up and felt surprisingly better. It was as if I could feel that the virus was either gone or on its last legs. I drank another cup. And I put the Tamiflu aside, to keep it it safe for the time when I am sure that I do have some horrible influenza. Doc said it will have me ship-shape in 24 hours. Did I mention he's retired, U.S. Navy? Lots of those here in the Washington area, too. Solid medical knowledge and great experience.

So now, 24 hours after starting my onion tea adventure, I do feel a good bit better. I never did experience the sweating that Merle said would be so helpful, (no further bowel movement discussion will be offered here, in case you wondered), but I was already sweating and feverish yesterday, so maybe it was all tied up together.

Did it work? I couldn't say. It's hard to know what works with a cold and fever and what doesn't. I don't think it hurt. Well, maybe that onion-y aftertaste in my mouth that still persists.

But if it didn't, if there was no real effect and it is all a big joke on the "gullible woman in the drugstore," I hope Merle is somewhere having a very good laugh. Just him and his onion-breathed granddaughter.

Update: I dosed an ailing housemate. She feels better, too. I may start a mail-order influenza "cure" business, if anyone knows where I can get a truckload of onions at rock-bottom prices?

The Road Not Taken

2009-10-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

This is the road not taken. Well, not by me anyway.
I was driving past this street when I glanced up. Seeing saw all the colors of the leaves, lining both sides up and down, and being only a couple of blocks away from home, I pulled over and snapped a couple of shots. It may very well be the road not taken, but isn't it beautiful?

It seems my beloved friends in California and Utah think I am missing out by being on th East Coast. But my friends in Washington and I would like you to know that, in fact, you may be missing out. And I thought I would show you a little of what this season brings in the District of Columbia.

This time of year, the number of tourists in Washington is on the way down. Oh, we still have plenty of stragglers in town.

This was a gaggle coming out of the Jefferson Memorial this morning. There are not as many as when those cursed Cherry Blossoms bring out the walker and wheelchair set in the springtime every year.

I'm guessing this is the asthma and allergy sufferers group, getting out to enjoy the clear autumn days.

They still manage to stack up buses around the monuments, waiting for the eager riders to return from their meanderings.

And why shouldn't they be here? Fall is one of the best, prettiest times in Washington, which is one of the most beautiful cities in the World.

Just look what you are missing: October rains seem to clear our air and brighten everything around them. They make the world look richer, cleaner, and more colorful.

And look what a simple break in the clouds accomplishes in this little wooded area. Yes, there is indeed a bit of seasonal bloom everywhere you look.

What might be just another tree at any other time of the year suddenly becomes quite a stunner!

And there's still enough warmth (minus the city's legendary summer humidity) to make an afternoon game of rugby take on historic importance.

So if you're in the area, please come this direction. You never know what you'll see just around the next turn.

The reality and my message is, that wherever you are is wonderful. Some people complain about the rain, but to my thinking, it turns the outdoors into a jeweled wonderland. The sound of it falling is nature's own heartbeat.

Yes, it's a change from the summer heat. And still different from the snows ahead. It's a moment in time to relish the last days of warmth, store up memories and prepare for long months of cold ahead.

Or at the very least, get out the skis and enjoy an afternoon of polishing them in the carport with the rain running by alongside.