Honeydew is to the fruit platter what celery is to the veggie platter. No one eats them. And they're both pale green.
How deep is that observation? Just had to verbalize it, as I stare at yet another pre-cut bowl of fruit in my refrigerator, which has only honeydew melon left for my consumption. No one wants it, but it makes great filler for the food store, apparently.
I'm on social networking overload. Didn't think it could happen. But we pulled off our coverage of the "big event" at work. I edited and uploaded photos from each segment of the day before the next portion ended, while live-blogging. We posted to our Facebook page. We Tweeted the whole thing and had people at a technology conference following us. Our "news" was posted to a newspaper reporter's Twitter feed within minutes of an announcement. All the while being personable representatives of the PR department. All while wearing heels and a dress, toting a laptop and camera.
Phew. Lots of work, but lots of fun.
It just reinforced my belief that I love producing events. I don't PLAN events, I PRODUCE them, either to a crowd in my part-time seasonal gig, or to anyone who logs on to our event coverage. Still trying to figure out how to turn this into a job that supports the family. In the meantime, I'll take the "rush" of event production wherever I can get it.
It's been a nose-to-the-laptop kind of month, with about two days of nice weather (which I spent outside instead of blogging about them).
Anyway, my day has lacked congruity. I've experienced a clash of technologies, or rather, a clash of technology and an aversion to technology.
Background: I don't like talking on the phone. I'm more of a written-word person. I'll IM, Tweet, chat, blog, converse on Facebook, but I just don't like picking up the phone. It seems like such an invasion and interruption when the phone rings. I'd rather respond at the time of my choosing, or at least know the topic at hand (subject lines in emails... please use them).
Getting caller ID at home, on my cell (for emergencies only, thank you), and at work has let me perfect my ability to avoid talking to vendors, my alma mater, and anyone I'm not in the mood to deal with or give money to. I know this sounds harsh, but I'm just not a phone person.
(Ironically, this post has been interrupted by three phone calls that I had to take.)
Moving on, we're developing a social-media plan of attack for a big event at work this week. I'm up to my ears in Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook, and related applications, all the while IM'ing a co-worker with whom I'm collaborating.
In the middle of all this, the phone rings. It's a vendor's number. Then the unavoidable flashing red light indicates I have a message, so I need to stop, wade through voicemail menus, and find out she just wants to see how we're doing. Ugh. Moments later, a person with whom I work, who does not connect with anything in the previous paragraph, asks if I've "actually spoken with" another staff member on a certain issue. She is leery of even emailing "because people can forward it." Sigh. Big disconnect, especially when trying to explain the aforementioned strategy for this week.
There's a time and a place for all forms of communication, and I will pick up the phone if that's the best way to get a message across. But 98.6 percent of the time, one of my six other "new techology" ways of communicating gets the point across while allowing me to multitask my little heart out and be far more productive.
I took lots of steps today; I should have worn the pedometer. The setting on this beautiful Saturday afternoon: the Milwaukee County Zoo.
Lots of people came out of hibernation to see the newly awakened animals, but the great part is the paths are wide, so someone doing four 18-minute laps around the zoo while wearing her iPod had plenty of space to navigate, without coming near a double stroller.
What brought me to my favorite zoo? Well, the child was exploring the South Pole in zoo class, so I had two hours to myself. In keeping with this week's pattern, I left the car in the parking lot (the mall down the road held no appeal) and started walking.
(Side note: I've experienced zoos in DC, Tampa, and San Diego, and in comparison Milwaukee's is the best for accessibility and ease of navigation -- especially during the stroller days.)
The iPod selected a marvelous variety of music to pace me while I moved past the elephants, wrestling brown bears, sunning hippos, and pacing zebras. Even the badger had emerged from hibernation. (His NCAA basketball counterpart barely woke up in time to stay alive in the big tournament yesterday).
I took a break after two laps to do some work. Outside. In the warm sunshine. At a picnic table. With golf carts driving by. The only thing missing was an ocean. I'm very productive in such a setting.
Reflecting on my afternoon several hours later, I have but one regret: 
I should have worn walking shoes. Selecting fleece-lined, Croc-type clogs (shown at right) was not my best move. I was fine until the very end, but my feet are a bit raw now.
(Side note 2: You'll notice how my blog posting picks up as the weather improves. I have time to think, plan, and analyze while I enjoy the outdoors, and I have more to talk about than "drove through snow on the way home; made dinner; too cold to leave the house again.")
Overall, I had a fun day. But I think I'll stay off my feet tomorrow.
If you're like me, two things can happen when you see "1985."
One, you have bad flashbacks to awkward early teenage years, or two, you start singing "She's seen all the classics, she knows every line, Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo's Fire..."
Yes, it's the song by Bowling for Soup that recounts the mid-'80s, right down to my Duran Duran obsession (but I didn't marry a CPA).
And hearing that song tonight took me back to 1985.
I was standing along a wall during a school dance, barely knowing anyone, being ignored, not going near the dance floor.
Um, that was tonight, actually. I never even attended a dance as a student.
Yes, I took the six-year-old to her school's fundraiser, our first of many to come, while the husband stayed home sick (he really was...).
After dinner, at 6:00 sharp, the DJ kicked things off by playing "1985," aimed squarely at all of the uncool, SUV-driving parents in attendance, I'm sure. Ouch.
I now return you Back to the Future, because I have absolutely no desire to be 14 again.
Since I obsessed about sitting in my previous post, I will make up for it by getting on my feet.
For four glorious days this week, I got to walk to my destination, instead of depressing an accelerator to move from Point A to Point B. It's all about location.
Walk number 1: While cleaning out the grandparents' apartment last weekend, we discovered a strong need for Magic Erasers, as nothing else would remove three years' worth of grime from the refrigerator and the walls. I quickly volunteered to walk "across the street" to the store. I believe it was faster to navigate by foot through the complex, down two blocks, and across the busy road and parking lot than it would have been to drive the vehicle over the same route. I rediscovered my need to live within walking distance of places I often visit.
Walk number 2: For once, we had a beautiful Monday night in March, so the child and I (with special thanks to Daylight Savings Time) walked to her golf lesson at the local community center (formerly our library... the new library is quite a haul on foot). We saw birds, we skipped, and we enjoyed a car-less night.
Walk number 3: The final two walks don't count toward lower carbon emissions, because a vehicle was still used, but I did get to walk somewhere. I stopped at the park on the way home from work, with the assumption that I'd find the other members of my household. They were located, and the child and I walked home while the husband drove.
Walk number 4: Again, thanks to mild weather, the child and I walked to my parents' house for dinner. The husband drove again, since the child wasn't going to last for the walk back, and it doesn't stay light and warm THAT long yet. Still, a 1.5-mile walk is better than nothing.
In summary, those are the three locations to which I can reasonably walk from our house, plus a bonus destination. This week has given me a taste of what living in my dream "walking community" would be like every day.
Move along.
"Please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the plane comes to a complete stop." I haven't heard those words in more than a year. In fact, the last time I flew, you could check your luggage for free. How quaint.
My thoughts about seating are wide-ranging at the moment, so I'll ramble.
1. Today I received tickets for the right-by-the-stage seats I picked out for this summer's jaunt to the American Players Theater. The seat locations are outstanding, and the chairs themselves are comfy, so no seating issues there. We'll just hope for a 72-degree day in August, slightly overcast, with a light breeze to keep the bugs away.
2. I wish I were picking out my seat for a trip on a plane. (Can you still do that, or do you pay extra for that too?) But I'm not going anywhere, so I won't dwell.
3. My lunchtime seating today had a water view, normally a plus for a beach fan. Unfortunately, it was a view partially obscured by fog, and the river was full of debris and ice chunks breaking free from a mess upstream.
4. The days aren't getting longer just because of Daylight Savings Time (not being a morning person, I'm a big DST fan, by the way). My office chair has started making me long for shorter days.
Back story: At my previous place of employment, we had Chair School, where we rolled our assigned seats to a large open area and learned to use the very expensive ergonomic office chairs. Many people did not see the value in this exercise (and even suggested it as a topic for Dilbert), but I absorbed the lessons and actually used all the settings on my chair, depending on my task.
I could've been a Chair School instructor, but I think they gave up on formal lessons and just handed new employees a manual at some point.
Fast forward a few years: The first chair at my current place of employment came complete with stains of unknown origin, dog hair (I don't have pets, nor do I appreciate having their fur transferred to my clothing), and chipped armrests. You only can cover armrests with packing tape so many times before it becomes ineffective and you start scraping your arms on broken plastic, so I hid that chair in storage when we moved our offices.
At that point I "acquired" a brand-new-looking conference room chair (we had too many to fit around the table, trust me). Looks are deceiving: it doesn't roll on carpet, and as I've recently discovered, only has sufficient padding for sitting on through a short meeting. It's not an eight-hour chair. There really is a difference between this cheap chair and a $400 one.
Potential solutions: I could figure out a way to stand all day. (I always was jealous of art directors with stand-up desks.)
I could sit on a piece of foam or a tie-on cushion from grandma's old kitchen chairs. (I'll have to rifle around and see what I can find.)
I could buy an exercise ball to replace the evil chair. (I've investigated and shopped, but can't bring myself to buy, yet.)
Haven't reached a conclusion; I'm still thinking. Suggestions welcome.
You may be seated.
Finally we can bid a not-so-fond farewell to February.
It is not a month that's traditionally beach and golf cart friendly, unless you venture to Florida. The past two years I've had that opportunity, but the flight south didn't come to fruition this year.
It has been a long two fortnights, filled with old snow, slush, cold, fresh snow, freezing rain, and ice. Plus we're wrapping up a full house of winter colds, and my grandparents both fell, forcing decisions to be made about new living arrangements.
The final week of February saw a round of firings at my place of employment. Though I have survived these job cuts, I am sad some of my favorite fellow workers did not.
I feel slightly better now, having used so many f-words in the previous sentences.
On the brighter side, spring training commenced, always a sign of better things to come. And the calendar says spring begins in three weeks.
I'm ready to flee February and find March.
Fifteen years ago, on the fifth Monday of the new year, I started my first "real" job. I was slightly removed from my college career, but I was finally working in my field. Well, not really, but you could make a connection.
I had purchased my first new car (1995 bright red Neon, aka, the lemon) and was looking for apartments ($400 a month or less please). I wore a skirt and heels to work that day, for the last time in 15 years.
Why am I feeling nostalgic? I have no idea. Fifteen years seemed like a good time to reflect. Or this anniversary just occurred to me tonight while staring at Self magazine on the elliptical trainer, so I wrote a blog post in my head instead of focusing on why white carbs are bad and more exercise is good.
I've spent the past decade and a half writing and editing magazines for three employers. During the entire stretch I've held a second job. For the first two years it was to pay for, well, food. After that, the new second job gave me a clipboard and walkie-talkie, plus money, which is always welcome.
I've been a copy editor, managing editor, editor in charge of it all, plus interim editor of magazines on myriad topics.
I've had marvelous bosses (one of whom left me and moved back to the heart of the magazine industry in New York, where I refuse to move) and one who told me I looked good in a skirt. On my first day at work. Which is the reason I haven't willingly worn one since. At least I outlasted him in the publishing industry.
I've hired and fired people. Some assignments have been a lot of fun (at one point I got paid to discuss Blazing Saddles) while others have caused great angst (closing a magazine).
I probably have two more "15-year recaps" to write before I retire, and I have no idea what I hope they will contain. Golf carts near a beach would be nice, but giving the current economic situation, just having something to recap will be grand.
I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I've learned a lot about several industries and topics in my career. I think this is a good time to do some personal reflection, take inventory, and set some goals.
I'll let you know if I have any brilliant revelations.
I don't eat much meat anymore, so the turkey reference isn't overly appropriate. But I've realized that over the past year, two seemingly unrelated items have disappeared from my daily routine: soda and a watch.
Those who know me understand that I am a creature of habit. So every morning when I got dressed, I fastened my watch on my right wrist, since I'm sort of left handed. This routine probably dates back to when I received my first watch: It had a white band and Lucy from Charlie Brown on the face. Lucy's hands pointed at the numbers.
Last week I was shocked to realize that I haven't worn a watch in months. I even had to think hard about which wrist I put it on. I believe this change stems from two things: a lack of meetings requiring my attendance during a period of transition at work, and the fact that I now carry a cell phone most of the time (since I'm an emergency contact for the child, who started school full time last fall). I rarely use the cell phone, but I always can unearth it to look at the time, if need be.
Abandoning my daily can or two of soda was a conscious decision in February 2008. It went along with giving up high-fructose corn syrup and a few other unhealthy food items, plus the aforementioned decrease in meat consumption. I tried a Mountain Dew a month later and couldn't stand the taste, and I haven't looked back. My beverages of choice are natural iced tea and water, plus the requisite iced coffee. Yes, I still enjoy/need a little caffeine.
Given my dedication to consistency and routines, I'm pleasantly surprised at how painless these lifestyle alterations have been. See, I am capable of change. I just wish I still had my Lucy watch.
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