The Great Dr. Pepper Incident

One of the perks of my new gig is that they make a large selection of soft drinks available for free to employees.

Now, this would be nice, except....

Several years ago, I gave up all soft drinks, both regular and diet.

They're just not good fer the ol' rig, ya know? Bad stuff, lots of chemicals, extra calories and such.

So except for a splash of ginger ale now and again to float a shot of Maker's Mark, I don't drink sodas.

But I have to say, free is pretty tempting, right?

I noted in the cooler, there were some chilled to perfection Dr. Peppers looking at me like the last puppy in the pet store.

When I was a kid, I adored Dr. Pepper. To me, it was nectar of the gods.

So yesterday, day two of the new job, I decided to cave and have myself a free Dr. Pepper.

Well.

Yuck.

I mean, p'tooie, bleah, barf, YUCK!

I took two sips and poured the rest out.

It didn't taste good. I'm sure some of that is due to the fact I just don't drink sodas anymore.

But you know what? I think A LOT of my reaction was that stuff from my childhood just doesn't taste the same or even good anymore.

Over this past weekend, I tried a Little Debbie Star Crunch.

That also tasted not at all like I'd wanted it to.

You know what I blame?

Corn syrup.

Ok, this isn't going to be a rant about corn syrup and how bad it is for you. It could be, but it isn't.

I’m just going to say this. Good ol' fashioned delicious cane sugar and corn syrup are NOT the same thing. The taste, the texture, the consistency, NOT THE SAME.

I blame corn syrup, which is in EVERYTHING these days, for the fact that none of the foods and beverages that I so loved in my youth taste like they should.

One could argue that as I have aged, my taste buds have changed, and there is some validity to that.

But that doesn't let pesky corn syrup off the hook.

Nope.

Then, just to add insult to injury, after I took two drinks of a Dr. Pepper and threw it out, I had heartburn for the rest of the day.

It just ain't right.

And so it came to pass....

....that living in the Land of Schwarzenegger, in the area of the Bay, there came to be a fish. A small fish. A fish who was filled with faith and hope.

A fish purchased under the accursed impulse-purchase vexation.

The fish was of the Betta clan, and was given the name of Benito, meaning "blessing" or "blessed one" in the Spanish culture (and meaning tiny little dictator in the Italian tradition).

And so it was that Benito came to live in the house of The Good Man and true to his name, blessed us all.

Benito swam and ate of the bloodworm. And it was good.

Until it wasn't good.

And forsooth, Benito ceased to eat, and lay on the floor of the tank, flat on his side, and took on a gray pallor.

Which only raised memories of Frank, also of the Betta clan, who came before Benito and expired so painfully.

And so it was that The Girl wept, felt necessary to rend her garments, gnashed her teeth and howled to the heavens, "Why! Why must I have the curse of killing helpless fish?"

Then The Girl resigned herself to the knowledge gained that she was not meant for fish ownership.

Another matchbox coffin was prepared, and sadness befell the house of The Good Man.

In the last, desperate hours, The Good Man proclaimed, "he who believeth in the bettas shall never die."

Thusly, The Good Man brought his mighty hand down and created freshly treated water and added the miracle of the antibiotic powder.

The limp body of Benito of the Betta clan was deposited into the fresh, medicated water and hope was not held out.

In the break of the morn, The Good Man, in his grace, went to the tankside of Benito of Betta, and proclaimed, "Yea, tho I believe this crazy fish is hungry!"

And chopped up pieces of bloodworm were deposited in the tank, and verily Benito of Betta did eat.

"No %$&#ing way!" came the cry from The Girl, who stared in disbelief at the miracle The Good Man had wrought.

"Yeah, don't get your hopes up," The Good Man admonished, but despite his downplaying the whole thing, The Girl did ignore him and did in fact get her hopes up.

And forsooth! Benito of Betta did continue to eat. And became more upright, and began to flap his fins in a normal manner.

And Benito of Betta was thusly nicknamed the Lazarus Fish, having risen from the dead.

So it is that some two weeks from coming to the house of The Good Man, Benito of Betta continues to live and eat and could almost be described as thriving.

And with the focus on a new, recovering fish, The Girl finds the sadness over the loss of Frank is beginning to ease.

With the help of The Good Man, guardian of the broken pets, The Girl may in fact learn to be a suitable owner of small helpless fish.

And for the moment, it was good again.

But don't get your hopes up.

P.S. Margaret, female of the Betta clan, and The Good Man's fish, continues to thrive quite nicely, thankyouverymuch.

Checking in on my coolness quotient

Ok. It's time for my annual check in. I'm fast approaching a birthday, and now that I'm over 40, it's a good time to check to see just how wide that ol' generational gap has become.

We'll start with trending topics on Twitter. I've eliminated all the hashtag items that are Twitter specific funning around like #DontBeShocked and #Musicmonday.

So here's what we have as of 10:50 Pacific Standard Time.

Hekla
This Is Apple's Next
#ashtag
Icelandic

Ok, well. Hekla. I pretty much figured it was a new R&B artist. I was wrong. It's a volcano that may or may not be ready to blow its lid. Bad me.

"This is Apple's Next" is a topic I'm all over. I read the Gawker item this morning about a supposed "found" iPhone 4. We'll see. Apple always seems to have crafty moves...

But ok, score one for me, I'm on the board.

And #ashtag and Icelandinc are all about that fun, wacky volcano called Eyjafjallajokull.

Good, good. Three of four on that. Rock on.

Let's try Yahoo! trending topics. Here we go, as of 10:55 PST.

Boston Marathon
Conan O'Brien
Christina Hendricks
Kelsey Grammer
Timothy McVeigh
Alyssa Milano
Lady Antebellum
Joakim Noah
Space Shuttle Discovery
Eyjafjallajokull

Ok, let's run through the list. Let's see....Boston Marathon. I know what that is, didn't know it was being run today. Half point for me.

Conan O'Brien. Yup, know who he is. Heard he was getting a new cable show. There are a couple news items about he and George Lopez that I'm out of the loop on. Half point for me.

Christina Hendricks. I have no idea who that is. Hoookay, she's evidently been chosen America's best looking woman. She stars on "Mad Men" a show I haven't watched as I don’t have cable. Big fat fail for me.

Kelsey Grammer. I used to watch Frasier and Cheers, so I'm up on Kelsey. I also know he's super conservative. Ok. Evidently he's starting his own right-wing network. Fair enough. Half point for me.

Timothy McVeigh. I know who he is. I wish I didn't. Evidently there is some new project using his recorded voice. I probably don't wish to hear it. I'll take a zero points on this one.

Alyssa Milano. I know who she is. She is a $%#@ing Dodger fan. I don't give a tiny rat's ass about her. That said, I did read an article about her this morning and her new show "Romantically Challenged" (I didn't say I was proud of it). Go me. Score one for the good guys.

Lady Antebellum. Know 'em. Love 'em. Love that they won a whole slew of Academy of Country Music awards last night. Whoo! Score one for me!

Joakim Noah. Er, uh. No idea. Ya got me here. Ah, basketball player. Chicago Bulls. Apparently people are pissed off at him. I don't know why. I don't watch basketball, sorry. Zero points for me.

Space Shuttle Discovery. Heard of it. Knew it was up. Didn't know it was trying to land today. Bad weather causes delays. What's new for the shuttle? Half point for me.

And finally, there's my ol' friend Eyjafjallajokull. Point goes to me!

Ok, let me add up the points...do the math here...carry the one...

Seems that I'm hip to 8 of 14 trending topics. That's a resounding 57%.

Better than half, but not by much.

I'm not completely irrelevant, but I'm definitely trending down.

This year I will try to throw a rope over this generational chasm and hold on tight.

Image via the New York Times.

Edit: in the half hour or so it took to write this, the trending topics changed. Ah well, so goes the internets.

Ya Just Can't Take a Bad Picture

There are certain places in the world where, seriously, other than utter camera failure (or utter user-of-the-camera failure) you just can't take a bad photo.

Yosemite seems to be one of those places. I've not been myself, but I've seen plenty of friend's shots and damn, each was gorgeous!

The Grand Canyon is the same. Here's a link to shot that blogger friend NewMexiKen took on Friday with his iPhone. And it's beautiful!!

I know that there are plenty of similar examples.

On Saturday, I visited one of those "can't take a bad photograph" places. The Good Man and I needed to get out and enjoy the sun, so we took one of my favorite walks along the Marina Green, through Crissy Field and ending up at Fort Point, the Civil War era Army fort located right smack under the Golden Gate Bridge.

No matter how many years I live here, I still think the Golden Gate Bridge is one of the most awe inspiring man made items ever constructed. It's truly breathtaking.

And so yes, I brought my new-to-me camera along for the walk so I could learn how it works, and I snapped away.

Here's the thing...there have been millions upon millions of photographs taken of the bridge, professional and amateur alike. We've all seen it from all of its angles. It's all been done, and so it's damn near impossible to get a new and different shot.

But it doesn't matter. The bridge is stunning, and the photos taken, regardless of photographer, are always worth seeing.

So here we go, this was taken from the pier outside of the Warming Hut at Crissy Field:

It's not an especially different or unique view of the bridge...but it's still cool!

So then I try to add some artistic and photographic flair!

Ooooh! The big boat tie-off thingy in the foreground! And a fishing rod! I'm so artistic!

But what does your eye naturally want to see? The glimmering bridge in the background. With the sailboats underneath, it really makes the shot.

And then there's this one:

We've all seen that view. Doesn't matter. It's still stunning! And that clear blue sky! Whoa!

By the by, it turns out the bridge isn't only pretty up on top with the art deco towers and the graceful support cables.

The bridge is even beautiful underneath:

A man made work of art!

And even this...a terribly composed photograph, but it's still fascinating.

This is the tower on the San Francisco side. It seems to be showing some breakdown and rust. This worries me! I understand that the bridge is constantly being painted to keep it sealed and also looking good. So I'm hoping that cutbacks haven't caused a lack of care of our beautiful landmark.

Anyhow, I adore our orange bridge. Completed in 1937 it still stands proud and useful. I wish those yahoolios who are over budget and failing miserably on the rebuild of the Bay Bridge would take some lessons!

All our modern knowledge and technology still can't beat what they made 73 years ago!

The things that stick with you

Yesterday, in celebration of my mom-in-law's fabulous birthday, the three of us (The mom-in-law, The Good Man and me), loaded up for a trip to a museum.

It's become our tradition on birthdays. We have a day of culture in celebration. Memorable days are the best presents ever.

Yesterday's destination was The Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco.

I was unsure what to expect when we got there. Would it be Jewish artifacts? Would it be art made by Jewish artists?

But I love museums, so I was totally in.

I was fully unprepared for what awaited me. There were just three main exhibits, as the museum itself isn't that large.

The first exhibition we visited was called: “Our Struggle”: Responding to Mein Kampf

I'd read online how French painter and photographer, Linda Ellia, took on a project to have artists and non-artists alike transform the pages of Hitler's nasty tome.

From the website:

"The book’s weight in her hands embodied the heaviness of the Holocaust; she felt compelled to respond. After personally altering a number of the pages to express her anger, she invited hundreds of people from all over the world to paint, draw, sculpt, and collage directly on the pages of the book."

I could not have begun to imagine how tragic, and beautiful, and life affirming the exhibit would be.

There were over 600 altered pages on display, each one with a unique voice, a unique pain, a unique promise.

There were pages done by professional artists and pages done by random people that Linda met in coffee shops and on the street.

The works were sometimes simple and elegant, like the page where every word was carefully excised, leaving only a page of small rectangles. Or a page where every letter was made into a small figure of a person.

In some cases, the works were very extravagant, a train, in exquisite detail, done in watercolors, completely covering the page. Or an intricate felted and painted heart that was then sewed and stapled to the page.

Each page transformed the words of hate into a work of art. Truly, deeply, reclaiming those pages.

I don't know if my description or the websites description even does the exhibit justice. It was one of the most profound things I have ever witnessed.

And this one will stick with me for a while.

(image of The Contemporary Jewish Museum, from their website)

Still breaking this thing in

Last month, it was complete happiness and joy to celebrate my one year anniversary! Wow, a whole year.

Both of us marveled at how fast a year could fly by, and had great times remembering our wedding day. Truly, the best day of my life.

Just this week, we finally finished up our wedding albums (yay!) and so it goes, into the life of a married couple.

A few weeks ago, The Good Man had occasion to laugh and point at me (this happens fairly often, actually). He said, "You're still not used to having someone around all the time, are you?"

Well. No, actually.

I mean. I was single for a long time.

And for a while, even when I was in a couple, we had such different schedules that I found myself with a lot of alone time on my hands. Which was ok.

Don't misunderstand. I love my husband and miss him with an ache in my chest when he's not nearby.

But...

Look, we all do things we're not proud of. And, well, it's often better to do such things without a witness.

Like, I don't know, eating a dozen donuts, while still wearing your stained nightgown at 3:00 in the afternoon, sitting on the couch watching re-runs of "The Hills" or "Real Housewives" or something.

Or...

Listening to "The Big 80's" radio station, indulging in the strains of "Tainted Love" or "Jump for my Love" or "Love is a Battlefield" without *someone* commenting "oh. my. god. Why are you listening to that?"

Or...

Putting a goopy green mask on your face while painting your toenails and plucking your eyebrows without hearing "Agh!"

Or...

Belting out a show tune, for no reason at all.

Or...

Needing to spend some, erm...time, in the one restroom in the house...without some damn boy standing outside the door making farty noises with his mouth. Cuz that's not funny. And it's rather embarrassing. But it makes him laugh every time so I can't be too mad, because he's adorable when he laughs.

You get my drift.

This marriage thing...it's like breaking in a new pair of shoes that you *know* will be incredibly comfortable, but you gotta wear through the tight spots first.

You are the sum of all your learning

Back in my college days, I lived for a couple years in a sorority house. There were twenty-eight girls, a house mom and a cook. All of that living with a bunch of strangers was quite a life lesson for a nineteen-year-old girl, I assure you.

Those twenty-eight girls came from a variety of different backgrounds, with different values and talents.

Much of what I know and much of who I am can be traced to those days.

Recently, I've had a real dearth of creativity. Like a desert in a drought. My creative mind is dusty. The Muse, she's out to lunch. A two martini lunch.

I'm learning, with the help of my extraordinarily talented and creative cousin, not to worry so much when the creative well has run dry. Be confident, he tells me, and The Muse will find her way home.

I've also gotten suggestions that creating something, anything, can also kick loose that block, get the gravel out, and let the magic happen. (this the basic tenet of the good folks at NaNoWriMo)

And so, when I get all creatively clamped down like this, I often go back to something I learned back in those sorority days.

This great girl from Roswell and I made fast friends (we'd both had to endure the same crazy roommate in separate semesters. This sort of experience bonds people). She'd grown up showing pigs and living on a ranch and was a much more creative person than I was at the time.

Not to be all stereotypical, but those ranch woman can out cook, out craft and out wrassle any of their town raised counterparts.

Anyhoo, I don’t really remember the events that lead up to it, but this friend of mine, at my request, taught me how to do a counted cross-stitch kit. It was a simple pattern, but when I was done, I was so pleased. It was a nice distraction during those long days of studying.

Doing cross-stitch is not especially hard, but can be time consuming, and there are certain stitches for certain patterns.

My friend very patiently showed me how to sort the threads, how to tape the sides of the aida cloth to keep them from unraveling, how not to pull the stitches too tight, how to fix mistakes, how the back of the cloth should look as clean as the front. All of that.

And so, over the weekend, I had a coupon for Michaels, and yearning to create, I picked out a very simple kit. A "learn a craft" kit that I think is made for kids.

But that doesn't matter.

Today, I very carefully applied tape to the aida cloth. I sorted the threads and counted to be sure they were there. I folded the cloth and marked the center lightly with a pencil, and I got out my highlighter to mark off my progress, all the way my friend taught me lo' these almost twenty years ago.

Whenever I start a new cross-stitch, I always think of my friend. She is with me, guiding my progress the whole way. She is forever a part of me. That's a happy feeling. That's the family you make over the course of your life.

So here we go! Let the creation begin!

Oh, wait. Well. There is one change. One update that will take place this go 'round. A necessary adjustment, if you will.

Yeah. My lighted magnifying class. Sadly, I don't have twenty-year-old eyes anymore. *cranky*

Oh. And getting to work on my cute frog cross-stitch isn't the only bit of using my hands that I got up to today.

I also got busy on these:

Ooh, I feel The Muse on her way back already! Here Musey, Musey, Musey!! Want a cookie?

Excuse me, your pettiness is showing

I'm going to take a divergence from my usual frivolity and irreverence here on this blog.

Yup, a departure. I'm instead going to sink below all that and slip right over into immature and really, a bit petty.

But I'll redeem myself by the end. I promise.

Watch me work.

So, last evening I was out and about. I had drinks with a former coworker. A lady who is a friend, a mentor, and someone I respect deeply. It was great to catch up, laugh a little, and have fun.

Later, after we'd parted ways, I wandered over to the ol' stompin' grounds located near my former employer. I was looking for a friend I knew would probably be there, having a drink. I was surprised to find not just my buddy, but also a whole group of my former crew from The Company.

These are the folks I worked with, side by side, walking through fire, hand-to-hand combat, and together we had major, major success.

These are some of the best folks, and it was great to see them!

Among those present was a gentleman (using that term loosely) that I worked with pretty closely back in the day. This was quite a few years ago, well before The Good Man.

For the sake of anonymity, let's call him...Sporto.

Back then, I sorta had a little crush on the guy. Yes, I'll admit it, I liked ol' Sporto a lot and might have chased him a little bit. I think he might have liked me a little too, but just a little. He actually liked it better when I was chasing him around.

So of course, I never got any traction there, and eventually gave up.

Whatever.

So last night, there Sporto was, and seemed really happy to see me. He gave me a big hug, a "how *are* you?" and that ol' charming smile...the one like a ferret about to devour the alligator egg.

After hugs all around the group, we all got a drink and settled around a table. We quickly fell back into our old ways, teasing each other mercilessly and laughing a lot.

At one point, I said to the group something like, "yeah, my husband told me blah blah blah."

What I said doesn't matter.

What *does* matter is that when I said the phrase "my husband", ol' Sporto's ears perked up, and he gave me a look like someone had shot his dog.

He caught my eye across the table and mouthed, "You got married?"

I nodded eagerly and held up my ring hand.

And I grinned a Cheshire smile.

Later he caught me aside, "uh...when did you get married? I mean, last time I saw you...you were...."

He left that space empty to imply, "last time I saw you, you were into ME"

Whatever.

I laughed and said, "Yeah, I got married about a year ago, he's great, we're having a lot of fun."

And here's where I got petty.

I then said to him, concerned hand on his shoulder, "Why do you look so sad?"

He mumbled, "I don't know.....I guess.....just another good one off the market."

What I *should* have replied was "YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, DILLWEED!!"

Here's where I redeem myself.

What I did reply was, "thanks for saying that..."

He then shuffled off, shot-dog look and shoulder slumped, over to the bar, and ordered another beer.

I went back to my friends and picked up where we left off.

I also *might* have engaged in a small, yet subtle vindication dance.

Oh man, now I'm stuck in here...

The wayback machine, that is.

After my post yesterday, I got an email from my best good friend. Turns out she was in the wayback machine yesterday too, but for a whole different reason.

Still a resident of Las Cruces, over the years, she's given me an on site report on all the things changing in that sleepy college town. Yesterday she saw a sight that made her incredibly sad and she had to tell me about it in email.

Remember how I talked about NMSU being a land grant college?

What that meant to a business major such as me, is that if you walked down the hill toward the Ag College, you would find a big open pasture in which actual cows roamed around, grazing on the actual college campus.

With the wind from the right direction, you were reminded, frequently enough, that you did, in fact, attend an agricultural college.

Personally, I always liked that. Tied us to our roots. Kept us humble.

Once upon a time I even had to help round up a truckload of calves that were being moved to a different pasture. Those buggars had managed to break free. Tiny criminals. If you know anything about calves, you know they don't naturally have that herding instinct yet.

It was like herding jello. Or the Tasmanian devil. Or some combo therein.

Sadly, the cows haven’t roamed the campus of NMSU for several years, and that open land went pretty much unused.

Until former university president, Michael Martin, agreed to annex that pastureland to the City of Las Cruces for the purpose of building a convention center. In exchange, the university gets money back from events hosted there.

I'd heard this was coming. My friend and I talked at length about it when I visited in February.

As of yesterday, ground has been broken. Construction is underway.

They made my best friend cry. That makes me cry.

There is some quote about not going quietly into that good night. But anymore, I'm not sure it's worth the calorie expenditure to holler into a hurricane.

Change must happen. At the end of the day, it's not about the memories, it's about the dollars. As an NMSU trained businesswoman, I should know better.

Photo by Clay Mathis of NMSU. Source.

Replacement Parts

Sorrowfully, I had occasion to visit with my dentist of twelve years today. He's a good guy and when you have that kind of trust with a dental professional, you don't take it lightly.

The reason for my visit today wasn't an easy peasy cleaning and check up, no. A couple weeks ago I bit down on something hard and felt pain shoot up the side of my face.

That *can't* be good.

So I was unsurprised when the good Doctor told me I had three cracks in my tooth. The same tooth that was home to not one but two fillings.

Feeling myself headed for "you need a crown"-ville, my dentist looked at my xrays and said, "good news, we can use the machine."

The Machine?

What the [insert dental-fear inspired curse word here] is "The Machine?"

I guess if you need something more than a drill and fill, but something less than a crown, they have this cool device that takes a scan of your scraped out tooth, then creates a puzzle piece-like filling that slips right in there.

It's milled out of a block of dental porcelain right there onsite, same day.

So the dentist drilled out my tooth, and then I read a magazine while the machine churned and groaned and soon enough, they showed me the little piece of tooth looking porcelain. Add a little dental glue and ta daa! New tooth!

As The Machine worked, my dentist talked about science's ability to make new body parts, like my homemade tooth. He said, "I laugh when people get up in arms over athletes using steroids to increase their body's capabilities. In ten to twenty years they will be making new joints, ligaments and tendons, you name it. Athletes can be created, and steroids will be looked on as quaint."

I replied, "That's weird, man. In a good way, but weird."

Oh well, in about an hour and a half all in, I was fixed up and sent on my way with a droopy drool-y smile and a bit of ache in my freshly manufactured body part.

Weird.

Image from The Searcher's Flickr Photostream.

Whoa! Refreshing!

Things you would never have heard from the former administration:

"I take responsibility for this mistake," (President Barack Obama) told Fox News.

Doesn't matter what it was for. He took ownership.

Damn. He's going to make me like him.

Source.

Perspective is a beautiful thing.

So, really, this new job is blowing my mind. I knew that changing jobs after almost ten years at a rather quirky company would be difficult. Challenging. Would test my bounds.

It's been all of that and more.

I've been here two months and I'm still struggling. They promised the learning curve here is at least six months, but me, being both impatient and a chronic overachiever, feel like I should be up and running fast. Contributing to the work. Being useful and value added.

So far I've been mostly a bump on a log that asks a LOT of questions and says, "Are you sure?" upon hearing the mind-blowing responses. Oh, yes, this is a very backwards organization.

Last week I sort of had a breaking point. I wasn't feeling great physically and I had my second "called into the principal's office" to be told "what you did wasn't *wrong*, it just wasn't The Company way."

You know the drill, you are right but you are still wrong. Won the battle but lost the war. And other platitudes.

I went home demoralized, a new hole punched in my self-esteem. I cried on The Good Man's shoulder. Considered packing it in. Wondered how I could have had a successful fifteen year career in my chosen field and still can't get it right in this two-bit flea circus.

So the weekend came and went. I got some sleep. My immune system kicked in, and I started feeling better, physically at least.

I made my way to work Monday, and it wasn't so bad. Tuesday came and went. That brings us to today, Wednesday.

Starting my day, I was reading the headlines and saw the latest report on the doings of our new President. The story was about Obama needling the Washingtonians for shutting down schools due to ice. Said that his Chicago daughters play outside in that kind of weather.

It was a fun, humanizing story. But it also made me think.

This guy's got a new job, too.

And if he makes a misstep, it's not only reported to the world, it impacts the world.

He doesn't just get called into the boss lady's office for a talking to, he's got real issues.

So maybe, for as freaked out and demoralized I am about this new gig, it could, definitely be worse.

I mean my coworkers both in my own organization and across the board, including my predecessor, want me to succeed. Everyone is trying to help me get acclimated. I don't have to take the slings and arrows of Congress, snotty media and opposing party's interests. I don't have to remember what I promised last year during the interview and then deliver.

No one is watching my first 100 days, other than my immediate manager.

I don't live under the hot fire of the magnifying glass.

Then again, Obama's also got a horde of advisors. Maybe I need more advisors.

Hmm...

Happy MLK Day!

I am grateful to Dr. King for many, many things.

I am also grateful for my new employer because they give employees the day off. This is the first employer I've worked for that honors this day.

So Happy Birthday to the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

It is, indeed, a happy day. I wish Dr. King would have been able to see the historic even that happens tomorrow. The realization of much of his dream.

2009 is filled with lots of possibilities. And that's the first time I've felt that way in a long time.

Conflicted emotions

The times, they certainly are a'changing.

One place this is perfectly evident is in the world of newspapers and reporting.

A number of key dailies have either gone out of business or gone to internet only publication to cut printing costs. As these papers scale back, they must also downsize their staff.

Just last week, I was referring to something that Gene Grant had written about in his column (published in the Albuquerque Journal). I'd said that I had always liked Gene's work, whether or not I always agreed with him.

I find him to be both eloquent and articulate. Something lacking in so many of today's so-called journalists.

Just two days after I had been extolling Gene's virtues, I read his last column for the ABQjournal.

Said Gene: "A small story in the historic and difficult choices newspaper owners and editors are facing. It's tough out there."

Gene and his opinion column have fallen victim to the world of the internet and the ever present blog-ready online world.

I love my blog and the forum to be able to openly express my opinions on a variety of topics, but I realize that the blogosphere has taken down talented journalists like Gene.

And I have conflicted feelings on that subject.

On the one hand, I lament the lack of real journalism with integrity and reporting "just the facts." This is, I know, an antiquated notion. Opinion has made its way into the media, as each paper has its own axe to grind. My own local rag, the San Francisco Chronicle, is one of the worst.

So although I wish for strong, precise journalism, it just doesn't exist anymore.

Then again, on the other hand, I think the rise of blogging is a good thing. No longer am I subjected to only the forced opinions of my local paper or other media outlets. I can seek out a variety of dissenting opinions, take them all in, and then make up my own mind. Knowledge is power.

I wonder if blogging wouldn't be quite the force it is if our journalistic outlets gave us the unbiased news we desire? Or perhaps it would be popular, but in a different way.

So while I'm sad to see the demise of newspapers and the downsizing of talented writers like Gene Grant, I think it was inevitable.

The newspaper world is a stodgy old industry and it's high time for that old dog to learn some new tricks.

Change or die is the motto these days. Newspapers aren't immune.

Something tells me 2009 is going to be a wild ride.

Time, she is a cruel mistress…

Was listening to the radio on the way to work yesterday and the two deejays, one man, one woman, were discussing the work holiday party they had just attended.

The man told the woman how nice she looked. He said it with a bit of surprise. This was chalked up to the fact that since they work the morning show and go to work so early in the morning, she rarely "does it up", opting for easy and comfortable.

The female deejay, who is teetering on the edge of forty, launched into a hilarious diatribe about everything it takes for a woman to get it together to go out to a nice event.

She said something to all the ladies listening about "remember how back in the day all you needed was a bottle of Love's Baby Soft and a Bonnie Bell lip smacker to get started on your day. Oh, and maybe some mascara."

And this, of course, hit a nerve with me.

Hit a nerve hard, actually, as yesterday evening I had a way overdue appointment with my hairdresser to get all the grays covered. And they are many.

I remember when a box of color had never touched this head.

I remember when I never even had to wash my face at the end of the day. Zits? They were not a problem.

How is it that I have more acne in my late thirties than I did in my teens? Does that seem right to you? Don’t answer that.

The lady dj went on to talk about how in order to go out to the party, she had to spackle over all the skin issues, then cover up the cover up cream.

And the hair, oh the hair is a whole other project.

I remember back in the day when I would brush my hair, and it would lay nice. I put no spray, gel, mousse, shaping wax, pomade, or anything else into it.

And I rarely ever wore makeup. I didn't need it. My dewy fresh skin and peaches and cream cheeks were enough.

When, exactly, did the skin around my eyes get…crepe-ish? This I do not enjoy.

Ah well, I won't go silently into that good night.

I'll fight with the help of my color goddess of a hairdresser, a wand of cover up crème, skin renewing lotion and the help of darn good lighting!

I won't begin to talk about the "foundation" garments I have to sling shot into to be able to put on a nice dress. It isn't pretty.

That's another post for another day. Or was another post on another day.

Meanwhile, wishing all out there a Happy Turkey Day! I'm going to attend a pot luck at work, get fattened up like a Butterball, and leave work early.

All in, not a bad day.

The Trickster

Oh yes, I am.

The Trickster.

See....soooomehow, in the course of a series of interviews, a fairly well crafted resume and a bunch of conversations, I've managed to convince the procurement organization of a well respected Fortune 500 corporation to award me the title of Senior Manager complete with an office (with a window that has a really nice view) and a fairly robust staff of minons to do my bidding.

Me. The goofball from New Mexico. The kid who, once upon a time, had to be taken to the doctor because I got a piñon nut stuck up my nose.

That one.

For some reason they actually think I might be.....good.

Damn. I convinced them. Now what?

I'm pretty sure I'm a fraud.

Day 3, the rubber is, you know, sort of starting to meet the road.

Can I shove another piñon nut up my nose and sidestep this responsibility?

No, probably not. Guess I better just keep showing up and trying to make good on who they seem to think I am.

Abject fear. Whatta rush.

Slacker

Lazybones

Laggard

Sluggard

Loafer

Shirker

So endeth the thesaurus list.

Today, I am a slacker (sluggard?).

Today, I join the great masses of the unemployed.

Ne'er do well.

Thankfully, my shirker ways will end in exactly one week when I begin my new job and a whole new adventure.

I spent nine and a half years toiling for my former employer, and it was with a heavy heart that I left on Friday.

But ultimately, though painful, it was the right decision.

Next Monday I start with a company that is consistently in the top ten "best places to work". We'll see in the coming months whether or not I agree with that assessment, eh?

But for today, I'm a layabout. And I like it. Maybe a little too much.

The wonder of progress.

Yes, oh yes, the miracles of modern engineering.

Mind boggling!

I'm just astounded to be living in these times of overwhelming progress.

I mean LOOK at this…a breakthrough!

They are now able to take the humble Hershey's kiss.

And fill plum to bursting with gooey CARAMEL!

(sorry for the bad iPhone photo, but this is an actual kiss actually consumed by me in my kitchen last night!)

Who is the glorious person that created this process and how soon may I slap a hug on 'em!

God bless the chocolate engineers!

Sigh

Another one bites the dust.

After nearly 40 years, Rolling Stone magazine is whittling down its trademark size. It will now look like every other magazine on the stands.

Ugh.

When I was 15, I had a subscription to Rolling Stone (thanks to the kindness of my mom, thanks mom!). I read it cover to cover every month, drinking in the journalism, the hot, hot interviews and the hip quality of it all.

I stopped subscribing when they went from newspaper print style to glossy pages. It wasn't the paper, it was the quality of the product. Rotten.

So to be fair I haven't read Rolling Stone in a good long while. But now, this nail in the coffin.

The magazine that was so subversive, so out there, so of-the-now is, at its heart, just another corporate owned mass-produced media product.

*sigh*

We've come a long way since RS 1:

Photo source.

Really? No, can't be. But it is.

Labor Day. A nice three-day weekend. A day off that signifies the end of summer.

WHY GOD WHY!?!?!?!?!?

I know I can't regulate the passage of time, (cuz if I could I'd have a lot fewer birthdays I'll tell you that much…) but COME ON! How did the summer slip away so fast?

Here we are again. September.

Heck, the frappin' New Mexico State Fair (Oh, excuse me, Expo New Mexico) is just around the corner…like…starting on Friday.

The days are noticeably shortening.

Before you know it, Halloween will arrive with the chill it brings in the evening breeze. (the stores already have Halloween candy on the shelves!)

Pretty soon it will be five freaking thirty in the evening and pitch black outside...while I toil away at work.

Then the time changes.

Gah!

The Good Man spent some time last night explaining to me, again, how September and October are the *best* months in the Bay Area and I should be happy for Indian Summer. I am not.

I need sunlight! I’m a wilting flower in the hazy, cloudy skies!

(she says, whimperingly, while it's planned to be 90 degrees here today…)

*sigh*

Seasons change. People change.

Basically, if I could go back to the week of my honeymoon in the heart of summer, sitting under an umbrella by the beach, happy hour at sunset…THAT would be great.

Instead I stare mournfully out my window…at work.

Maybe this is less about the seasons on the calendar and more about the seasons of my life, eh?