?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Time

Posted on October 10, 2008

Yesterday was a partial travel day, as I returned from NYC to my own office in Michigan. To pass the time between airline flights in various airports, I bought both Time magazine and Newsweek. I had a book with me, but for some reason (Maybe sensory overload of NYC) I wanted to read something easy, something slightly mentally challenging, but something that might provide insight to the week’s economic woes.

I certainly found the easy and the slightly mentally challenging in Time, but any insight was lacking. In addition I felt cheated, since the newsstand copy of this publication cost $4.95 and I certainly didn’t get that much value from its contents.

To start, the magazine had 96 pages, but it seemed most of them were advertisements. To be sure of this, I counted the actual pages that had articles, editorials, etc. I found there were 50 pages of content, although one was the Table of Contents itself, and two of them were letters to the editor, which hardly count as staff writings.

Several additional pages were short snippets of what’s happening in the world, like a condensation of material that someone could download to his or her phone. Nothing in depth here. Then there was the page of cartoons and the six pages of photographs detailing how tuberculosis is still a scourge. If you’re doing the math, you can see I spent about a dime a page to learn what’s going on in the world.

I remember the days when Time offered a cogent weekly analysis of our world for considerably fewer dimes. I remember when articles were three hundred to five hundred words in length, giving the reader something to consider. I remember when the writing was stylish. Columnists had something to say, even if you disagreed. Plays on words abounded.

It’s a fact that readership of print media is declining, and I’m not sure what happened first. Did content decline and discourage readership? Or did readership turn to other information outlets and cause various publications to cut back and decline? I only know I won’t spend $4.95 again for Time; at the same time, I mourn the fact.

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Managing New York City

Posted on October 8, 2008

I love New York City; whenever I visit I’m exhilarated from the moment my plane lands until it’s time to take another plane home. There is no place in this country that has the energy and verve. There is also no place as exhausting to a visitor.

Usually I come to work here, putting in long days at fredflare.com, but I suspect that those who come for vacation might feel the same way. There is so much to do, to see, to take in that the senses end up on overload.

Which is why pacing is important, regardless of what you come to the Big Apple to do. Which is why I holed up in my hotel room last night, ordered room service, put my feet up, and read. Which is why I’m going into the office late this morning. Granted, I’ve probably spent six to eight hours that could have been used to finish that last budget or visit an interesting restaurant or gallery. But instead I cleared my head and am ready for the next two days. Bring them on.

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Layover

Posted on October 5, 2008

I’m sitting in Detroit Metropolitan Airport killing three and a half hours between flights on my way to New York. I used to dread such long layovers, but now I consider them a bonus of free time.

After a stop at Starbucks, I head for a comfortable chair that is as far away from a television screen as one can get and still hear flight announcements. Then I turn on my iPod and either read, crochet, or do some creative writing on my computer. Some airports have free WiFi, but Detroit doesn’t so I’m really disconnected from my work world. Can’t check email, can’t Google®, can blog but can’t post it.

Since it’s Sunday, I bought The Chicago Tribune at an airport kiosk and have luxuriated in reading it without thinking I should be paying bills or ironing or practicing piano. Currently I’m listening to Handel’s “Music for the Royal Fireworks” and feeling rested, even though airline travel itself can be an exhausting experience.

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The Great Debate

Posted on October 4, 2008

Last Thursday night Sarah Palin and Joe Biden went at it. Earl and I had tickets to see Kenny Loggins in concert long before this debate was set, so we went our merry way for an evening of reminiscent music. We were disappointed.

I recall Kenny Loggins as this skinny guy with an amazing voice and an equally amazing way with lyrics. Whether he performed alone or with Jim Messina, the music was understandable and memorable. Who doesn’t recall “The House at Pooh Corner”? Or even “Footloose,” which was about as loud as the old Loggins got.

Thursday’s version bore no resemblance to the singer-songwriter I remember. When the curtain parted, he stood in the center of the stage surrounded by a flashy four piece band, throbbing neon lights, and a round disk over his head that looked like a petrie dish as amoeba-like designs wiggled in it. He sang with enthusiasm, no doubt about it, but his band was so loud you wouldn’t have caught a single word if you didn’t already know the lyrics by heart. Simple acoustic melodies became grist for metal mills.

I looked around the audience and noted that many young people were standing and bouncing in tune with the noise. Older people, like myself, were sitting and hardly moving. Yet, we were the first ones to connect with Loggins way back then, and it felt sad that the connection seemed lost.

By now, practically everyone from Joe Six-Pack to politicos and pundits has offered an opinion on the Biden-Palin debate. So I’ll move on to the other debate, the one I rarely see discussed. It is this: If aging rockers feel the desire for a comeback tour, should their shows remind the audience of how they once performed or should they ramp up their music for the times?

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I Found an Intelligent Human at AT&T

Posted on October 2, 2008

I have been in more contact with ATT these past five days than I’d like. But there has been a problem with my phone service for almost three weeks, and I needed to resolve it. Knowing how telephone companies are, I dreaded the interminable automated menu system I’d encounter, the advice to visit online, the lack of communication skills from a company in the communication industry.

At the same time, I was missing important calls because of the problem. And missed calls are missed opportunities. So I finally bit the bullet, as they say, and began to get help. The exact problem isn’t important, and it’s pretty technical; so suffice to say I hope you trust me that a problem existed.

In the beginning, after navigating the confusing automated menu, I spoke with Chris, who saw the problem but wasn’t authorized to fix it. Instead, he was authorized to create a work order and pass it down the line. I had high hopes.

But as the days passed and I spoke with Marcie, Ellen, Shannon, and Nancy (You should always get the name of the customer service rep who help you, but that’s another blog!), I felt nobody could help. All these customer representatives were ineffective; one even gave me a wrong telephone number as follow-up.

The last time I called, however, I reached John. Not only did I get John, I got him on the first ring. There was no automated attendant, no buttons to push; he simply answered the phone. It was a first for me. I was taken off guard. “Is this AT&T,” I asked? He assured me it was. And after listening to my tale of woe he asked intelligent questions, provided useful information, and actually solved my problem. I reacted by asking how I could get him again if the need arose.

He wasn’t encouraging, except for the fact that he was located on the West Coast and, from his perspective, I was calling before those states opened for business (which made his call list brief) even though it was 9 AM where I live.

John, I acknowledge you publicly since I have an enormous bias against the phone company. I’m thrilled to learn that one of its employees actually picks up the phone and solves a problem. The only thing is that I’ll probably never reach you again.

Unless you’d be willing to share your home number.

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Unattended Children

Posted on September 30, 2008

It’s probably a sign of my age, but whenever I see children in public these days they seem quite unruly. For instance, Earl and I dined at a local establishment a while back, where we saw youngsters running around while the parents chatted, apparently oblivious.

We were also in a different restaurant at another time and saw the following sign: “Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy.” I loved the admonition, although my own experience is that this annoys parents.

Case in point: Years ago I co-owned a balloon store. Now, I’m not a retail personality to begin with. But I tolerated the axiom that the customer was always right . . . except when misbehaving children were involved. After all, children love balloons, so coming into our shop was a treat. The thing is, the parent involved often did little to discipline an unruly offspring. Popped balloons, misplaced merchandise, and finger marks on walls and glass counters were frequently the result.

So I put up a sign that read: “Unattended children will be filled with helium and released outside.” I thought it was a funny way of making a point. But our customers were not amused. They let me know.

Currently the online company I work for is in the process of opening a bricks and mortar retail store, and the old problem of children in a store is haunting me. I went online to see if there were any ready-made signs for the occasion. The only one I read said: “Children left unattended and running will be towed at the owner’s expense.”

Since the towing reference isn’t quite right for our new situation, I’ve been working on something that is. So far I’ve come up with: “Unattended children will be put to work in our warehouse for the duration of the holiday season.” But this seems too long.

Maybe: “Unattended children will be given the loudest item we have in our stock as a gift.” Or, more to the point, “Unattended children are not welcome.” That tells it like it really is.

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Saturday Schedule

Posted on September 27, 2008

It’s early Saturday morning, but my day is already booked. Planned. Scheduled. Arranged. Spoken for. Pick your phrase.

I want to work out and practice piano. Beyond that, which takes much of the morning, Earl is eager to head to South Bend and the Notre Dame campus where we have tickets to see the ND football team play Purdue University. The game itself doesn’t start until 3:30 PM, compliments of national TV scheduling, but Earl wants to get there in time to stroll the campus, munch a hot dog, and maybe visit the bookstore. Me? I’d be for showing up at half-time, giving a few cheers, and leaving before the fourth quarter.

Still, I’ve agreed to be ready by noon and realize that this will be a long day, as I doubt Earl will leave the stadium before the last quarter clock counts down to zero. By then, I will probably have read a good portion of the book I’m bringing and also exhausted the battery on my iPod. I might have endured some other fans’ snide remarks too.

As we leave the stadium, we can anticipate the gridlock in the parking lot as a gazillion fans head for their cars. There’s also gridlock on the local roads as those fans head home. And, if Notre Dame is victorious, there’ll be gridlock in the local restaurants because stadium food is great during the game but doesn’t last long when it’s over. That’s why we have several contingency plans for dinner after the game.

Truthfully I believe I’ll have a better time than I’ve possibly portrayed here, because that is how outings with Earl go. I went to two football games last year at Notre Dame with the same dreading and ended up having a wonderful time at each. Maybe I just have to groan about it first, get it out of my system, and relax.

I will say, however, that a nice dinner at the end of the day helps.

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Debate Time

Posted on September 26, 2008

We’re about an hour and a half away from the first presidential candidates’ debate of 2008. Earl and I, who represent the polar ends of the political spectrum, have agreed to the ground rules for watching the event on the same TV in the same room. It was as serious a discussion as the current bailout is in Washington, D.C., although it didn’t take half as long.

That’s probably because we’ve been through this before . . . (But then so has Congress!)

In 2004, we agreed to watch the Bush-Kerry debates together with the caveat that neither of us could express expletives, exclamations, or excruciatingly rude behavior toward the other’s candidate. We already knew neither of us would persuade the other of our political choice’s merits. We also knew that we would cancel each other’s vote. So the debates were not going to persuade anyone in our household with the name “Undecided.”

Rather, they were an opportunity to do something together in the evening. I could crochet while Bush and Kerry waxed eloquent. Earl could muse over a crossword puzzle, since these debates don’t really require one hundred percent of one’s attention.

It went swimmingly until the last debate, when I had had enough. In an unguarded moment, I vented what I had been thinking for several weeks. I cannot remember what I said at this time, nor can I recall the comment that triggered my outburst; but Earl clearly reminded me of our contract. He was right to do so, and all this went the way of political campaigning until today.

This afternoon we revisited our ground rules for watching the debates together, and I recalled that I was the one who forgot them. I’m still willing to try again, although I think the stakes are higher, the risks greater, the outcome less predictable.

And I’m not talking about Earl and me. I’m talking about the election.

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Long Distance Friendships

Posted on September 25, 2008

It isn’t uncommon for me to spend a couple hours each week talking with old friends who live far away from St. Joseph. This week, for instance, I talked for almost two hours with my friend Peg, who lives in Atlanta, GA. I talked for over an hour with my friend Carol, who lives in Bloomington, IN, and I spent another hour or so burning up the phone lines with my friend Judi, from Arlington Heights, IL. I’ll get in touch with Noreen and Anne soon too.

What do these women have in common besides their friendship with me and a penchant for talking on the phone? Let me tell you. They are all intelligent, analytical, middle-aged women with different stories to share but a common heart. They come from different stages of my life and don’t really know each other, but they are all one in their approach to life. They support their mates, their children, their homes.

At the same time, their intellectual curiosity sends them in varying directions, into book clubs and websites and literary circles. I suspect they’ll all be watching the upcoming presidential debates and we’ll buy telephone time to discuss them. It doesn’t matter than we probably won’t vote as a bloc; what does matter is that we share insights into how we think so that whatever each of us decides is well informed. And not just on politics either.

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Last Day

Posted on September 20, 2008

Today is the last day of official summer, even though I believe summer ends for all intents and purposes on Labor Day. That’s when most beaches close, most schools open, and most people revamp their schedules to accommodate new routines. Even though I no longer have children in school, I am among those whose schedules need tweaking.

When today shows up, I’m already in sync with autumn, having put three weeks’ worth of work into the effort. I’m geared up for fall. At the same time, being the compulsive clock watcher that I am, I realize that today is really still summer.

So Earl and I celebrated by biking about 16 miles on the Kal-Haven Trail, a 35.5 mile bicycle trail created from an abandoned railroad bed that runs between South Haven, Michigan, and Kalamazoo, Michigan. It is truly God’s Cathedral, as the overhanging branches from mature trees provide a canopy of comfort for every cycler and a reminder of divine creation that surpasses steel skyscrapers and concrete condominiums.

We then celebrated summer’s demise at Gallagher’s in Paw Paw, Earl with a Guinness® and me with a nondescript lite beer. That was before our patty melt and bratwurst arrived. After that, we headed home for a nap and the sunset and a mellowed-out evening where we privately and silently said “Goodbye” to summer. See you next year!

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