Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Rushing Rushing Rushing

I hate rushing around. I like schedules, and holding them, and meeting deadlines, and planning ahead. I hate last minute scrambles. But at least I usually see them coming. Today was one. I turned up with a cold on Monday. I chalk it up to a combination of a bad hangover on Saturday and weather change on Sunday. Between the lake, not enough sleep and a long bike ride, I think I over did it. Colds frustrate me. Stuck home, unable to concentrate, read or watch TV. Forget about working. And no food tastes good. (So, for the record, I hate being sick, too.) And with a business trip tomorrow, I've spent a great deal of today rushing around. Car rentals, emails to send, appointments to finalize, restaurant reservations to make, a pedicure to get. Throw in the post office, bank, a trip to Saks for powder they didn't have, a lunch meeting, a run by our graphic designers to pick up my new cards, and a shoe disaster you had my day. (And the shoe disaster is awful. My favorite pair of Prada slides are destroyed.) Oh well, I will find another pair I love as much someday. Maybe. If I'm really lucky.

But rushing is done and I'm off to Dallas for a couple of days. Tonight, the fair for Garrison Keillor, a corndog and the mysterious deep fried Twinkies. And tomorrow, a long afternoon by the pool.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Single? SOL in Indy

From last week's Indianapolis Star (I don't know what day since this was at the bottom of the page) in one of the "Just 1 Minute" blurbs. This particular day, they are happy to tell me that Indianpolis has dropped from number 27 to number 34 on a Forbes list of "best cities for singles". As I recall, we've been in free fall on this list for years. It's particularly interesting in light of the study done by Next Generation Consulting last year letting us know that Indianapolis was one of the elite 10% of cities actually growing in population for young professionals under 40. Perhaps it's all the young couples moving here to spawn? Same study from Forbes ranks Indy at number 8 for cost of living.

Cleaning Off My Desk

Doing a little Sunday a.m. quiet work time filing and getting rid of scraps of paper. (What is the rule of time management class and clean desk theory? I think they say when you touch a piece of paper, ask should I file this, put it in the "action folder," or throw it away. The only catch is that these days, my entire desk is one giant action folder.)

For some reason I've been on a huge cleaning jag this week. I think working at home only shows me on a day-to-day basis how filthy some things are around here. I've become obsessed with clean. (Plus, I came home from my last trip to a little fruit fly problem in my kitchen. After obsessively cleaning everything, there is now not a fruit fly to be found in the kitchen but they're making me crazy in the study and the living room.)

Friday, I actually cleaned the oven. For you guys out there who've never cleaned an oven, let's just say it's no fun. It's the girl equivalent of a really messy oil change. You have to commit the time to it, nasty chemicals are involved, and your hands will be black with greasy, nasty gunk. At some point, you think you'll never get it all clean, but then, voila, it's done. So rewarding!

It's instant gratification, really. When so many other big projects are happening and you feel like you're not accomplishing anything -- even though in reality, you are, you just can't see it yet-- I think these little household projects become equal to accomplishment. They give you some control. They let you affect the world directly. Oh, who knows what the pop psychology reason is. It could just be that my dirty oven finally just grossed me out. Now that I think of it, that's probably the much more realistic answer.

Either way, I think I'll tackle the refrigerator next. (More like the girl equivalent of, say, cleaning out the garage.) Or, before I go on another trip this week, maybe suss out the source of fruit fly happiness in the living room. Then, maybe the upstairs closet next, and touching up paint in the hallway or organizing the guest room/storage locker. If this keeps up, I'll be working in the cleanest house in town. And, so, to the fruits of a few scraps of paper on my desk. I have to blog these next few entries so I can throw them away!

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

The NCAA Must Be Joking...

But, sadly, I know they're not. In a world of college sports where recruitment violations and substance abuse occur (but are denied strongly) and athletic departments skirt academic rules, the NCAA has found a way to dictate their righteous opinion on their member schools. As if their member schools didn't already have enough to worry about including donors who earmark large gifts for sports to the detriment of liberal arts and an NCAA who can't enforce half of the rules it makes. But, damn it, someone on their executive committee was offended! Offended we tell you! And...And! And since the NCAA has no control over what members schools actually do, well, by golly, they've found a way to control what they can! Unbelievable. They've banned schools with Indian named mascots from post-season play, but they can't find out why the star quarterback drives a brand new Escalade.

I love college sports and am a proud alumni of a school that fields nationally known teams and athletes in more NCAA sports than any other school in its conference (including football, basketball, baseball, wrestling, golf, tennis, equestrian, rowing, sailing, and many more less well known sports). (Oh, no! We have to change our mascot name from the "Cowboys" it might offend the "Farmers!" Oh, wait we were the Aggies before, oh, now I'm confused. Well, make the University of Oklahoma change its mascot name instead. "Sooners" were criminals! They were land run jumpers! You can't have school mascots named after criminals -- no more post-season play for you!)

Knowing what monumental tasks the NCAA faces in enforcement, events management, sponsorship recruitment, legal organization, and many other valuable areas, I question this decision. Don't they have enough to do rather than serve as arbiters of taste? Mascots should be a school's individual decision made at a local, regional and state level. It's not an NCAA affair. And while the NCAA has made this ruling insisting it's still the school's choice, they've inserted themselves well enough by eliminating that school from a national state of postseason play. Somewhere, it lost its vision. The NCAA exists to serve its member schools, not dictate the rules based on their own perceived version of right or wrong.
NCAA Bans Indian Nicknames In Tournaments
'Hostile, Abusive' Monikers To Disappear After Feb. 1

INDIANAPOLIS -- The NCAA has banned the use of American Indian mascots by sports teams during its postseason tournaments but will not prohibit them otherwise.
The NCAA's Executive Committee decided this week the organization doesn't have the authority to bar Indian mascots by individual schools.

NCAA Committee chairman Walter Harrison says nicknames or mascots deemed "hostile or abusive" would not be allowed by teams on their uniforms or other clothing with any NCAA tournament after Feb. 1.

The guidelines for which logos and nicknames would be considered "hostile or abusive" haven't been announced.

Among the schools that have changed nicknames in recent years -- Saint John's from Redmen to Red Storm and Marquette from Warriors to Golden Eagles.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Joining the Cult

Today, right now, as I type, one of my neighbors is sitting by himself (with his two dogs) in the grass under a tree in our courtyard playing an accordian. A squeezebox, wheezer, you know with the buttons and everything. Working at home is weird.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Old People and Food Rants

I'm sure I'm going to burn in hell, but I had to post a rant about rude old people. Let the skewering begin -- it's at Feed Me/Drink Me after all. (Hmmm. Grilling.)

What Dukes of Hazzard Character Are You?

Pointer courtesy of the Eurdite Redneck who has had an unusually strong fixation on Daisy Duke lately. I can't say I'm not somewhat pleased with my result.
Boss Hogg
You are Boss Hogg. Money and food are the most
important things in your life. You realize
that you have to take what you want in order to
get it.

What Dukes of Hazzard Character are you?

Saturday, August 06, 2005

The Marilyn Monroe Psych Tapes

Lately, one of my favorite places for a late drink and dinner has been showing old movies on the wall as part of their new "decor". Over the past few weeks, I've caught snippets of Gone with the Wind, Roman Holiday, and most recently, Some Like It Hot, with Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis, and Miss Marilyn Monroe.

I'm not a huge Marilyn Monroe fan, but I'm fascinated by those who are. 1959's Some Like it Hot was Marilyn at the height of her career. It's an amazing contrast to 1962s Something's Got to Give, her last film with the absences, the drug and alcohol abuse, the firings, (the rehirings since star Dean Martin's contract said he wouldn't do the movie without Monroe). The reports from the set were terrible -- she was late and when she did show up she was drunk, stoned, or couldn't even say her lines, and that was when she showed up at all. As much as everyone loved her, they hated her for what she was doing to herself. Of course, drug and alcohol addiction were treated differently in the 60s. Interventions were unheard of; treatment clinics were likened to asylums. No one discussed it. And no one helped -- it was a stigma. A dirty secret. Ignored. Monroe, after years of drug abuse, was in the end stages. Divorced, again, her movie career looking dicey, it's no wonder years of speculation have centered around her untimely death. Was she killed? Did she kill herself?

A new round of speculation has begun fueled by the release of John Minor's transcripts of Monroe's tapes intended for her psychologist, Dr. Ralph Greenson. Monroe had asked these tapes be kept confidential, although Greenson shared them with the Los Angeles prosecutor's office in hopes of discrediting the idea that she committed suicide. John Minor, then an assistant DA, made a transcript of the tapes, and has kept it confidential up to now. Greenson died many years ago. The LA Times has been reporting on them all week and today runs them in their entirety.

For those who believe Monroe was the victim of a vast conspiracy, the transcripts are exciting. Minor's contention was always that they proved without a doubt that Monroe did not commit suicide. He believes she was not suicidal and was, in fact, excited about life, her career, and focused on her future. However, they're still certainly unclear that she didn't just accidentally overdose -- and much more viable and believable assertion. I think the tapes paint a picture of a woman, sometimes very naive, sometimes very savvy about her power, but with a desire to maintain control -- while spiraling out of it. What they don't prove is that the official listing of "drug overdose" for her cause of death is probably the right one. Accidental is my guess and these tapes lead me in that direction. Sure, with small bits of evidence taken individually, one could spin a tale of Kennedy family cover-up. But as a whole, the evidence speaks for itself. Monroe was one more out-of-control, bigger-than-life persona trying desperately hard to keep up. So hard, that an accidental overdose got the better of her.

Ummm. Ow.

I'm not even a guy and I find this story exceedinly painful. Once again, shame and embarassment wins out over insanity -- for two weeks! I just don't even know whether to count this as just "ow", or weird things ER doctors must see, or pick your drunk friends very carefully. What happened to just plain eyebrow shaving?

Police: Man's Testicles Locked In Padlock
Man Could Not Remove
Lock For Two Weeks

BRENTWOOD, N.H. -- Emergency workers helped a New Hampshire man out of a difficult situation over the weekend after a friend apparently locked a padlock around his testicles.
According to the Portsmouth Herald, police reported that the 39-year-old man was intoxicated when they arrived at the scene on July 30 at about 3:40 a.m. The man, who was not identified, told them that he had the padlock around his testicles for two weeks.
The man said that a friend put the lock on while he was drunk and passed out. When he woke up, the friend was gone.
"Never in my 13 years have I seen anything like this," Cpl. H.D. Wood told the Herald. The man told police that he tried to remove the lock with a hacksaw because the key had broken off in the lock.