10 posts tagged “ramble”

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Now that I'm Twittering, I'm discovering all kinds of useless fascinating things online that I never would have found with my limited (hello, sleep-deprived mommy) time. And finding things that I want to save so I'll use this blog as my repository. It is all making me want to blog here again and giving me fodder to do so. Yay.

This is purely for entertainment, of course. To me, this skit is a mash up of my music business days (working for Metallica, Def Leppard & the like) and my more current days doing the Internet thing. It just totally cracks me up.

Thanks to CC Chapman for the link via Twitter. OK, now back to work. Or time to start work. Right.

I'm working on my book about blogging
and getting sidetracked again by the need
to blog.

I am currently searching for blogs as
performance art or blogs as art - experimental
blogs that use the blog publishing tool as
a canvas or stage. So if you have any you
can recommend, please do!

In the meanwhile, some artsy uses of blogs
that I've found so far include:

Stretch Daily
http://www.stretchdaily.com/
This guy has a graphic designer's madness.

gapingvoid
http://www.gapingvoid.com/
This guy makes art on the backs of business cards.

Lens Culture
http://www.lensculture.com/webloglc/
A collaborative photography blog project.

PostSecret
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
Homemade postcards containing a secret mailed into the blog to be posted.

I know there are more blogs pushing the
creative envelope out there. Where are
they, dammit?

I am a 40 year old, married, childless woman
who works at home and just moved to a new
city in a new state thousands of miles from
friends and family.

How do I make new friends? Where do I find
some girlfriends with similar stats who have
the time to meet up, do spur of the moment
stuff, dish over coffee or wine, and just be
girlfriends?

Is there a girlfriend store or catalog I can
peruse?

Is there a secret society of girlfriends
but I just don't have the password?

I've been tempted to respond to one
of those personal ads - in the Women
Seeking Women section - not because I've
turned lesbian, but because I'm just looking
for a female to hang out with and do
girlfriend stuff with. Not GIRLFRIEND,
just girlfriend.

One actually caught my eye:

Just moved to Anch. 48 SGF would like to meet new friends in the area and find opportunities to socialize. Enjoy hiking, exploring, going to the movies and theater, martial arts, most recreational activities and quiet relaxing. Open to friends, ideas, romance, honest communication, personal growth and respect. Would love to hear from you if any of this interests you!

If this were a man and if I were single,
I'd be even more tempted to respond.

But she did emphasize friends
twice (I added the bolding). She sounds
perfect for me! Maybe we could go
exploring Karaoke bars in town, take
Tae Kwon Do lessons, go to the theatre,
maybe even a museum.

Of course, I'm not going to respond to
a personals ad, even if it is for a lesbian
looking for friends. I'm married. My sweet
husband would never understand.

I've been doing some networking and
meeting up with other women with similar
interests such as film. But as I emailed
several with thoughts of meeting for
breakfast or coffee, I was told "You may
have to wait until September. We all have
kids so won't have time until then."

I am left out of the girlfriend club because
I don't have any kids. I can't meet other
cool women through my kids at school
functions or kid events. When I held a
garage sale a few weeks ago, a friendly
young couple stopped by looking for
cross country skis. As we all chatted, I asked
her in typical "I'm trying to be social but
failing like a dunce" fashion:

"So, what do you do?"

"I'm a mom," she exclaimed.

"How many kids?" I asked as my eyes glazed
over. Who the fuck cares? I just miscarried
in May. Do you think I really want to hear
about somebody's kids?

I think she said two. And they were young.
So she has no time for lattes, I figured.
Plus we have nothing to talk about because
she will want to talk about her kids and
I will want to talk about movies and
life and creativity and reproductive health
issues (okay, that is MY boring obsession).
I want to talk about our careers and our
goals and visions and dreams. I want to
talk about our relationships, our sex lives,
our spiritual quests.

Where are the girlfriends?

I came up with what I thought was a GREAT
idea about making friends. What I needed
was a GAY friend, a male who had absolutely
no sexual interest in me but could dish with
the best of them. A hairdresser perhaps.
God, am I stereotyping or what?

So I met a guy at the office supply store
who was in charge of the copy department
and was helping me with my business cards.
We had been emailing back and forth and
I'd go in to review proofs so we'd been
chatting for a few days on a variety of
topics. He was great at customer service
and I figured he was just blessed with an
extrovert-PLUS personality.

Then I brought up Karaoke.

"I do karaoke," he said.

"You do NOT!"

"They call me the 'DUET GUY' because if you've
never sang Karaoke before, I'll sing with you
so you aren't too nervous. I do Karoake
practically every night," he boasted and
proceeded to jot down all the best Karaoke
clubs in Anchorage and rated them by
"not too smoky," "too noisy," and then "it has...
an ALTERNATIVE crowd."

"Alternative...?" I asked.

"You know, ALTERNATIVE," he said with emphasis.

"You mean..." I looked around and lowered my
voice to a whisper, I swear to God. "...gay?"

"ALTERNATIVE," he said emphatically.

So he was gay. Am I socially retarded or what?
I mean, I lived in New York City for 13 years
and there were gay people everywhere and
in practically every closet as well. I've danced
in gay bars and loved every minute of it (nobody
hits on you, all the guys love to dance and JUST
want to dance with you).

I've never had gay male friends although my
sister has, many in fact, although I wouldn't
call her a Fag Hag.

Anyway, I felt like I'd found my Karaoke buddy
who could meet me at Karaoke bars while
my loving husband was out of town.
That way, I wouldn't be sitting alone and
become a target for bad pick up lines.
And there was someone who could give
me pointers about my Karaoke singing,
not just gushing praise but real tips.
And someone to make suggestions of
offbeat songs to sing that I never would
have thought of myself.

Well, that was who I found managing the
office supply store copy department.

"Who do you sing?"

"Oh Elvis, Patti LaBelle, even some Britney
Spears."

Yep. Gay.

"Are you going tonight?" I asked.

"Of course!" he said and proceeded to tell
me where he'd be at 8:00pm, at the moment
they started the Karaoke.

"Maybe I'll see you there," I said and left
with my newly minted business cards in hand.

Should I go? I debated. Of course I should!
It is Karaoke, it is 8pm in the evening and I
could be home by 10:30pm, and he's gay.

Well, I'll spare you the details but suffice it to
say, my hubby was none too happy about the
arrangement. After an early evening of singing
several songs and having a wonderful time,
I tucked my tail between my legs and headed
straight home so he wouldn't be upset with me.
In his mind, I had "gone to a bar with a man
I didn't know." And no amount of discussion
("but he's GAY") could change his mind.

So a lesbian friend is definitely out of the
question.

Now what do I do?

Okay, in the whole scheme of things, work for
me is quite enjoyable, really. But I'm on deadline
for the next portion of my book about blogging
and I seem to be doing everything else but
dedicating myself diligently to the project
at hand right now...

1. Check emails. Answer emails.

2. Engage in an email negativity-fest with a
woman who claims I misquoted her in my
book "Cybergrrl@Work" (which came out in
2001, by the way) and insisting I remove
immediately an excerpt I have on one of
my web sites quoting her. Even after I
searched old Zip disks and found the
email exchanges between her, my
book research assistant and me, she
still denies having written the content
that I lifted from her emails for the quotes.
If I were in a better mood, I'd just remove
the article but I'm cranky.

3. Let the dogs out for a pee.

4. Work on research for another article
for Home Business Magazine.
I like writing for them - it is a stress free
assignment.

5. Run to Office Max to look at proofs of
my new business card.

6. Stop off at Starbucks on the way.
I know, I know, I shouldn't be frequenting
Starbucks but I like their Venti
Iced Decaf Lattes or Iced Decaf Venti
Lattes or however they say them.
So sue me. No, wait a minute, the woman
who says I misquoted her is already
threatening to sue me so I'll just keep my
mouth shut the next time I get a Starbucks
decaf latte.

7. Check emails. Answer emails.

8. Make a chicken breast sandwich
on 8 seed bread with mayo.

9. Put dishes in the dishwasher and actually
turn it on. This is new to me. I've hated
dishwashers ever since my sister and I lived
with two other gals and my sister insisted
that dishes had to be placed in a certain
way, a certain direction. Then she'd have
a fit when I didn't do it right. I also hate
how people love the convenience of
dishwashers but spend almost the same
amount of time cleaning off plates before
putting them in the dishwasher so they
might as well just wash them by hand.

10. Post on blog. Better yet, post on all
my blogs. There are now officially 6 of
them including my new PR Girl
blog on WorldWit.org and of course,
my fave Dogorama blog
about dog products and news.

There you have it. It is 1:30pm my time,
I've been up since 7am, and I still haven't
opened my blog book. Let's hope the words
start flowing when I do. Fingers crossed.

I remember as a young girl I had one of those old fashioned globes of the world. Does anyone have one of those anymore? The ones with the topography in 3-D?

I used to spin it and barely touch it with the
palm of my hand, feeling the bumps and
ridges of the mountain ranges on my skin.

Then I would close my eyes and stop the
globe from spinning with my finger, open
my eyes and see where I landed.
Inevitably, I'd be in a body of water, but
once in a while, I'd end up somewhere
exotic, faraway and more often than not,
in Africa - Djibouti, Lesotho, Malawi.

The other day, I sat in the passenger seat
of my husband's truck and we were at a
stoplight. I looked around me at that
moment and was struck with the immense
and overwhelming thought that in each of
the cars around me, in the baseball field
across the road, in the houses down the
street, were individual people with their
own lives, their own stories, their own
worries and troubles, their own achievements.

As a young girl I used to think the same
thoughts and be completely overwhelmed
when I looked at the globe. Every dot on
the globe represented hundreds of thousands,
even millions of individual lives. And here I
was. And who was I?

I just found out about live8 which
goes to show that my life is completely devoid
of world news at the moment. And why did it
take me so long to figure out what live8 meant?
Yes, I was born and I think in college when the
first Live Aid took place.

Here's another look at Live Aid from someone
who worked on the satellite component
of the worldwide show.

Anyway, I digress. Without my old world
globe from childhood, I feel more disconnected
from the world than ever. At least with the globe,
the entire world seemed so...tangible.
In my life right now, the whole world seems
so far away. And I hate that feeling.

After 13 years in New York City, walking absolutely
everywhere and easily covering several miles a day
made up of busy city blocks with endless distractions
so I never even noticed, I've become one of those
other Americans in most other parts of the country
who is not walking.

Okay, I'm not one of those Americans who jumps
in the car to drive around the corner to pick up
a quart of milk. I live in Wyoming where "down the
road" literally means many miles away. It's not
like L.A. here, where everywhere takes 45 minutes
to get to because the traffic is so dense. It really
does take 45 minutes to get to and that is without
seeing another car on the road.

Anyway, I have had to relearn how to walk. I've
been making a point of walking into town several
times a week. I'm staying right near the outskirts
of town so "town" really begins about a mile away
and the grocery store or bakery where I frequent
are almost 2 miles from here so it is about a
3-4 mile round trip.

I'm usually the only person walking. Occasionally,
someone jogs by but that is a rare sight. At other
times, a crazy person walks by. I don't know how
I know they are a crazy person, but I just do. And
they are probably looking at me thinking I'm a
crazy person. Because no one walks into town.
Just me and the crazy people.

Walking into town here is so different from Manhattan
where ever block has rows of storefronts to peer
into, Gap clothing, Origins products, Nine West
shoes a blur. Wait a minute - shoes. Let's stop for
a minute and catch our breath. Shoes...

Here, there is a long stretch with nothing to really
look at - pickup trucks with big tires rolling by,
a hotel, a gas station, McDonalds, a pickup truck
pulling a horse trailer.

But once in town, there are storefronts and some
things to distract me from my trudging along.
The Jesus-oriented vitamin shop, a store that offers
NASCAR items and stuffed animals, Mom's Malt
Shop, a liquor store, several banks. Even a store
with clothes that aren't my style, and I think I can
even see shoes on display inside.

Mostly, I just daydream as I walk. I have no
worries about bumping into other people -
sidewalks are usually empty. I'm certainly
not worried about crime - there isn't any.
My biggest concern is slipping on ice this
time of year.

Walking is a good thing, even if I do look crazy
doing it. I've had someone I know stop to offer
me a ride about halfway to my destination as
I dangled a grocery bag from each hand.

"No, that's okay, I like walking," I assure them.

They start to pull away, then stop again.

"You can put your groceries in here, and I'll
drive them up to your place."

"No thanks," I say. "They're like weights, and
I'm balanced."

Yeah, I must have sounded crazy to them.
But I kept on walking.

There is a consensus about the demise of the Bachelorette/Bachelor concept amongst friends and professional commentators.

This season lost its luster early on, culminating when Jen didn't even show up for "The Men Tell All." Bachelorette shows just don't have the cattiness and guilty pleasures of watching grown women wrestle for a man. Men who vye for the girl just aren't that into it.

And when a guy sheds a tear - like Fabrice did on the nightmare date - it makes you squirm and dub him "psycho" which on a woman makes good television but on a man makes us tune out. Oh, the double standard of love and war.

I wasted too much time posting on this blog about the show, convinced that I'd find some nugget that would justify my watching it. But when all is said and done, I'm pretty embarrassed that I hung in until the end.

My friends and I agree we won't be watching the next season. The next season looks like they are sinking to new lows. Who is that - the less attractive brother of a cute television actor? Not interested.

The other day, I went to a memorial service
for a colleague at the TV station where I
currently freelance. I didn't really know him.

In fact, when I received a call to say that
"David died last night," I wasn't sure who
they meant and had a moment of panic that
it was someone I knew well whose name
I had forgotten because of my continually
fading memory.

When I finally realized it was someone I'd
seen in the halls, said hello politely to when
walking past, commenting on some
miscellany now and then when we found
ourselves both standing in the same room
at the same time, I came to appreciate how
we pass by people every day and have
no idea that in the next moment, they -
or we - could be dead.

It seems he had a heart attack while packing
up equipment after a live shoot. Another
production person found him gasping for
breath on the floor. While someone tried
to administer CPR, he died on the scene.

He was 50.

I've only been to a handful of funerals in
my entire life. The first was for a girl, Ellen,
who I knew slightly in high school, another
example of someone you pass by every day
and take for granted because they aren't
in your circle.

Ellen played piano for our high school drama
productions, but I was one of the performers,
one of the singer/actresses, not a band member.
It was a different circle. And even though I
was mostly an outcast in high school,
even outcasts have their inner circles.

Still, I attended Ellen's funeral. She was killed
in a car accident, supposedly on her way to the
mall to shop and following a truck too closely.
The truck stopped suddenly and she drove
into it. I may not remember a lot about Ellen
other than she was tall, slender and had short
dark hair, but to this day, I am terrified of
driving behind trucks and keep an extra large
distance from the backs of trucks at all times.

I did not attend the funerals of my grandparents.
Looking back, I realize that I used work as the
excuse for not being there. In the case of my
beloved Mexican grandmother, I remember not
being able to get away, but my sister attended
and told me that my mother fainted in the
middle of the ceremony. I guess I should have
been there for my mother, even though at the
time, we still had not healed the jagged rift
between us that formed when I was young.

I did not attend my paternal grandmother's funeral -
she and I had a falling out one Spring Break
and our relationship never recovered. I found
her to be judgemental, and I hate to be judged.
I did not attend my paternal granfather's funeral
either. I think I did have a conversation with my
father - to whom I am very close - and asked if
he wanted me there. He said that he understood
if I didn't want to be there. So I opted not to go.

Eventually, I had an epiphany that funerals are
for the living, not for the dead. Just like weddings
are for everyone other than the couple (unless
you are one of the obsessed brides-to-be who
dreamt of the event all of your life - which I was
not). I should have attended the funerals of
my grandparents - my parents' parents - for
them, not for anyone else. But I flunked that one.

More recently, I attended the funeral of my
husband's grandfather who raised him. At the
time, G. and I were still engaged, but had planned
2 wedding ceremonies - one in Wyoming and one
in Montana so his grandfather could attend the
second one. He died the month before our wedding
day.

This was the first time I had seen a dead person,
ie. an open casket with the shell of a person I knew
laying inside. I was morbidly fascinated, looking
at the waxy skin of a man I was fond of. Was that
really him? Was anything of "him" still in there?
Or was it truly an empty vessel? Where was he?

I have faced my own mortality all too often
since I first began having anxiety attacks
about dying - around age 9 or 10. Sitting in
a room with a dead person was an interesting
exercise for me, knowing that someday, I'd be
there, too. Whereever there is.

As I sat in the memorial service for the TV
colleague, I looked around at the others
in the room. Friends, family, co-workers.
Who would attend my funeral, I wondered.
I've traveled around so much of my life
that even now, I'm away from 90% of my
friends and family. I have 3 people in
Wyoming who I would consider to be
good friends, and I can envision them
attending my funeral, but only if it were in
Wyoming. For one of them, it would have to
happen during a warm weather month because
she is terrified of driving on winter roads.

If I died in Wyoming and were buried here,
I wonder how many friends from the East and
West coasts would attend? Only 1 of them
attended my wedding, which I think would have
been the more logical event to attend because
I now know who didn't make the effort to
come out. When I'm dead, I most likely
won't know or care.

I do not belong to a close knit group of lifelong
friends, I do not belong to a community of
people who care about one another. I have
a very small circle of immediate family and
friends who even know an inkling about me.

I've been told that many people care about
me or admire me but I don't know who they
are. In reality, I doubt if they'd come to
my funeral.

yes, yes, I know even watching The Bachelorette
is a dumb waste of time, but watching last night's
Bachelorette was a criminally negligent use of my
time and attention. It was the dumbest, most
boring show ever. And Jen didn't even appear
at the live reunion of the guys - except by video
to babble philosophical about some of her
scorned dates. What was that? Was she off getting
some more plastic surgery before the final show?

I feel tempted to boycott the final 2 hour finale.
But I won't. Because I still get some weird cheap
thrill watching people on the Highway to Bad Love Hell.

I must be vain.
I must be insane.
Call me crazy but I love to google myself.

The only bad thing about it is that the
entries rarely change. Pages from 1995
and earlier show up in all their outdatedness.

Today was different - a little thrill because
this blog showed up on the first results page.
It pays to pay attention to your web site
page titles!

Google must be using a new algorithm.
I'm finding things that I never knew existed online.

Like a sample web page created by someone
in K-12 in Livingston, Montana.
Check it out!

Or a complete transcript of a speech I gave
in 1996 in San Francisco to the Webgrrls
chapter. With laryngitis, no less.

And a chat transcript on Time Digital.

I also find things like my very first web site
with Interport (now RCN) that is still up,
although it has been edited in the last
5 years so it isn't the gloriously ugly original
"The Web According to Cybergrrl" site.
(http://users.rcn.com/asherman.interport/.

Here's is a more recent product endorsement
thing I did for fun (no pay).

But in case there's a danger of me getting a big head
for having such vast Google results, I can just go
to BookCloseouts.com and see my out of print books on sale
for low, low prices.

Googling myself is like a trip down a bittersweet
lane or a visit to a cyber mausoleum for the
Web dead.