Traveling in Today’s World - Mama Said There’d be Days…

Growing up, my parents always taught the principles of “please,” “thank you” and simply being polite. Especially when it came to traveling. We traveled A LOT when I was growing up and thankfully, my folks never had to deal with traveling in today’s airline climate.

I just took a weekend trip where I had to fly out of town. And easy 2.5 hour flight up to Chicago and another one back. Before I go off on the people who tried, tested and tweaked my patience, there were some high points to the flights that helped balance out the insanity: The hilarious group of elderly women in the airport restaurant that kept us all in stitches with their humor; A lovely flight attendant on the flight up who purchased drinks for our row to honor the air force sergeant seated next to me; The couple on the flight back with the 3-month old baby who slept peacefully through the entire flight. There ARE nice strangers everywhere and it’s a shame that they are many times overshadowed by idiots.

Hmmm. Idiots. Mom would say I wasn’t being very polite. OK, I will try to highlight their antics in the most polite way possible, using please and thank you.

Please, Mr. Curbside Skycap – throw my suitcase over to the conveyor belt so as not to exert yourself in the 4-5 steps it takes to reach it. You missed? Well thank you for then flipping it like a giant block on the 2nd try so it rolled on all 4 corners before reaching the belt.

Thank you, Courtesy Shuttle for the Handicapped, for running over a little girl’s sweater in your race to the next gate. At least the little girl wasn’t wearing it.

Thank you, Father and 2 kids, for all standing at the end of the security scan conveyor belt and putting on your socks, your sneakers and your belts while the rest of us catch our belongings before they go past you. More thanks for not taking up space on the benches that are conveniently there for this purpose.

Thank you, holder of boarding pass A39, for pushing in front of me, holder of boarding pass A32. Please let me get out of your way.

Thank you, Gate Attendant, for letting him do it. Please ask your high school math teacher why you can’t count past 30.

Thank you, passenger behind me, with your i-Pod up so loud that even with earbuds I can tell you’re listening to Katy Perry. Please make an appointment with a doctor to check your hearing.

In conclusion, please allow me (see how I got that “please” in there, Mom?) to quote a popular country-western song: “Mama always told me that I should play nice, but she didn’t know you when she gave me that advice.” In this case, “you” know who you are, Southwest Airlines travelers.

Not a Selfie Fan

When I was on vacation in Europe in the last millennium, my friend asked me, “Why are you taking pictures of all these statues? Why don’t you ever want to be in the picture?” My answer: I hate having my photo taken. Getting a passport photo is as stressful to me as presenting in public or going on a first date.

Fast-forward to the current day, mobile society where most everyone LOVES to post photos of themselves…aka “Selfies.” I’ll be honest - this practice annoys me. It’s kind of self-absorbed. OK, not kind of. It is. And it can get you in trouble if you’re of the mind to experiment with more…uh…experimental… uh…arsty shots and scenes a la a Kardashian video. You know what I mean.

Obviously, my opinion is WAAAAY in the minority, given that everyone from Ellen to the President is snapping selfies. Given that that the term selfie was proclaimed 2013 Word of the Year by the Oxford English Dictionary. http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/selfie Given that when you Google, “How to take a Selfie,” there are over 73 million – yes, million – links that pop up.

So I am woefully outnumbered. I did however, take this photo while on a cruise this summer – I’m calling it my first selfie, but this friend contends that I’m simply photo-bombing her and that it isn’t my selfie because she took it.

Lastly, back to my friend and I in Europe oh those years ago: She also asked, “If you’re not in the photo, how will people know you’ve been here?”

Duh. I took the picture – you’ll just have to trust me.

Mother Nature's Anthrax

Ahhh…Spring is here. A time for growth and rebirth. For beautiful blooms and a palette of greenery right out of a Monet masterpiece. A time for Mother Nature to start fresh. And a time for Mother Nature to exercise her twisted sense of humor on all us allergy sufferers. You know what I’m talking about: POLLEN.

Forget volcanic fallout…forget acid rain…forget tear gas. Pollen is powerful. It causes almost two months of nose-clogging, eye-watering, throat-stripping plant dust that single-handedly keeps brands like Sudafed, Zyrtec and Claritin in the black. But zapping grown men into sniffling babies and keeping the drug manufacturers in quarterly bonuses isn’t Pollen’s only gift…

Let’s not forget the boon to car washing businesses. Owners of car washes all over the south are planning their Riviera vacations, thanks to the little gems of germination. Mr. Bubbles is sitting at the Captain’s Table because my vehicle looks like its wearing a yellow fur coat. But wait, there’s more…

Did your neighbor compliment you on your new yellow tablecloth? What? You don’t OWN a yellow tablecloth? That’s just our trusty Pollen, floating into an open window or door to make itself at home in your home and promote yet another industry: cleaning products and maid services. You’ll either have to hire a maid or you will be the maid, thanks to our friend Pollen.

So when Mother Nature sends you her annual terrorist package of Pollen, thank your lucky stars for antihistamines, central air conditioning, a strong vacuum and sealed garage. Maybe that’s why they call it “Allegra” – which means joyous – because you’re so darn happy to have some relief!

What Scares Me?

A good friend of mine suggested an interesting topic: What are you afraid of? The first response that pops up is “ending sentences with prepositions”…but I digress. Since it’s the start of a new year and a new decade, I thought I’d ponder the question.

So what scares me? The usual tangible, icky things in nature: snakes, spiders, rodents and roaches. It’s not so much that they scare me, as I have an innate desire to kill them. Oh, and monkeys, too. Especially little, wiry monkeys. YUK. Perhaps my fear brings out some murderous streak. Perhaps that’s something others should heed…hee, hee. So here we go – Fear 101 for me:

Clowns
They’re evil. Just plain evil. No one is that happy all the time. Never trust anyone or anything that fits 10+ in a tiny car. (Now I must asterisk this by saying I do not mean rodeo clowns – they perform a valuable service.) But most circus “tramp” clowns, spindly marionettes and those icky mime-ish French clowns give me the creeps. Maybe it’s all that facial make-up and costuming hiding the real person inside. If there really IS a real person inside….

Uncontrolled Fire
I grew up with Smokey the Bear. He was smarter than the average bear. I mean, c’mon…who wants to become a human torch?!? Not me. I’m OCD when it comes to candles, fireplaces and even pizza boxes on low in the oven.

Tequila
It’s not so much the tequila that scares me as much as ME AFTER I drink tequila. It makes me mean. And I’ve already mentioned the potential murderous streak…

Drowning/Suffocation
I learned to swim at an extremely young age…perhaps my parents had the same fear and wanted me to overcome it. I love swimming, but do it very controlled environments. Pools, small ponds, oceans with see-through water and LOOOOOONG sand bars. No Jacques Cousteau-action for me...no swimming through dark, coral tunnels. I sort of hyperventilate as I write that!

Reality TV
The Bachelor…Jersey Shore…The View…Wife Swap…The Ed Show…Toddlers and Tiaras…Bridalplasty…The Glenn Beck Show…ANYTHING with a Kardashian on it. I only hope it’s not an indication of where our collective mindset is headed.

White Zinfandel
Enough said.

Being Lonely
I don’t mean being alone, I mean being lonely. Having no one in which to turn. I think I’ve got this fear licked, because I’ve been lucky to have great family and surround myself with wonderful friends.

Perhaps writing about it exorcises some fear demons. Mostly I try to live every day to that cliché of “the fullest.” And I try to be thankful every day for my blessings and to hope for those who don’t have as many. I found an amended version of “The Serenity Prayer,” and it helps me with my fears. Maybe it will help you with yours.

God, grant us the serenity to accept things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Grant us the patience for the things that take time, the appreciation for all that we have, and the tolerance for those with different struggles. May we appreciate the freedom to live beyond the limitations of our past ways, the ability to feel your love for us and our love for each other and give us the strength to get up and try again ~ even when we feel it is hopeless.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, ALL!

Reply All - REALLY?

WARNING: SOAP BOX ALERT. RANT FOLLOWS.) Has someone in your company, or even someone with a large group of friends for that matter, sent a mass e-mail? And then, one by one, recipients start hitting “Reply to All” with their own pontifications on the e-mail’s subject? It’s like kicking an anthill and all the little buggers come flowing out like lava.

Let me please go on the record and state, I LOATHE “Reply to All.” I just heard someone today making fun of people who are annoyed by "Reply to All" offenders. That would be me. Should I let them know I'm one of them? Should I let them know that a “reply to all” is simply a corporate-sanctioned piece of spam e-mail? Should I let them know that "Reply to All" offenders are just plain lazy and borderline not aware of their surroundings? That they should not be allowed to operate heavy machinery?

It’s bad enough in your personal e-mail. But I think it’s worse in a corporate setting. Most “Reply to All-ers” are oblivious to the fact that usually, high-level company executives are also cc:ed on a mass e-mail. Does the CEO of your company really want to receive 50 replies back? Do you really want that CEO knowing you were not smart enough to simply reply to the original sender? While she/he might enjoy knowing that there’s a great team spirit amidst all the replies, they still get sprinkled among the other 125 e-mails received that hour via Crackberry. And no one wants to deal with that.

Go ahead. Hate me if you want. I hate having to purge 19+ replies all saying, “congrats” or “I feel exactly the same.” I hate hearing a barrage of opinions on a topic about which I really could care less. I hate having to mute my computer’s sound because every time one of them appears, a chime goes off and it sounds like a bad rendition of “Carol of the Bells.” I hate being excited that the e-mail box reads, “You have 30 new e-mails” and they’re all “Replies to All.”

Please don’t feel compelled to reply to this blog entry – you can leave me a voice mail.

Stop the Madness (or should I say, “Ad-ness?”)

Some things are just inherently wrong. The Michael Jackson-Lisa Marie Presley marriage…pineapple on pizza…tank tops with bra straps showing…adding water to single malt scotch…

Last night, I saw a TV commercial for maxi pads – the ones with “wings.” There’s not a thing wrong with advertising a feminine hygiene product. What was wrong was the creative concept. THE MAXI PAD WAS RIDING A MECHANICAL BULL. Not a girl wearing a maxi pad, but the pad itself flies up onto the bull (it has wings, you know) and gently spreads its wings around the body of the bull. As the bull performs its mechanical shuck and jive maneuvers, the maxi pad stays in place – an obvious metaphor for its true function.

STOP IT. I know what a maxi pad’s supposed to do. And I don’t ride mechanical bulls (anymore). I’m having a hormonal flashback to the old 70’s ad where the fem-hy-challenged female exclaims to her fem-hy-knowledgeable friend, “I need roller skates to keep up with you!” I guess the mere fact that I’m blogging about it serves the company’s communication goals. So alas, somehow they’ve won.

What’s next? A douche commercial featuring a fire hydrant? Well, that's just a bunch of bull.

Wining or Whining?

Anyone who knows me knows: I LOVE WINE.

I've been trying to learn more about wine, but let's face it. I'm a novice. Actually a novice of a novice. The difference between me and some other folks is that I'm not afraid to admit it.

Have I overpaid for a glass or bottle of wine because I knew no better? Yes.
Have I enjoyed wine from a box? Yes.
Have I grossly mispronounced a type of wine or name of a vintner? Yes.
Have I ever tasted Boone's Farm? OK, yes...but I was a teenager. Some slack, please.

The dictionary defines connoisseur as "a person who is especially competent to pass critical judgments in an art, particularly one of the fine arts, or in matters of taste." Am I a connoisseur? Heck no. All I'm saying is that I'm a fan, and I know what I like. I like crisp over buttery; peppery over plummy; dry over sweet. The more I read-taste-learn-taste-research-taste (yes, a pattern emerges), the more I can blindly detect the differences.

Lately, as I peruse Facebook, Twitter, Google and all other things digital, I'm noticing that many people don't just say, "I'm enjoying a glass of wine." They feel compelled to alert you to the fact that they're opening a bottle of Santa Margarita Pinot Grigio (which is, overpriced in my extremely humble opinion). Or a Napa this or a French that. I'm confident that of the people who read the alert, the ones who know wine just think it's pompous and the ones who don't know wine don't really care.

The more I learn, the more I know what I like and what to look for on a label. And most of the time, it's not the price tag. A wise man (and wine expert) told me that it's wonderful to enjoy a good, expensive bottle of wine - and encourages everyone to do so. But don't overlook and certainly attempt to taste the hundreds of wine values that are out there. And he was most definitely NOT talking about MD 20/20.

That being said, I'm going to open a Diet Dr Pepper, of the Waco region, canned (hopefully) in 2009. I'm saving the sauvignon blanc for a bit later. Cheers!

The Least Favorite Things File: Grocery Shopping

My husband contends that in our marriage vows, if he knew “for better or worse” meant having to grocery shop with me, he might have bailed on the whole thing. He’s right. I HATE to grocery shop.

My mother LOVED to grocery shop. To her, it was a social outing. She had her three favorite stores. She would see her friends there. She knew store managers, checkers, sackers and specialty department managers. They knew her and were all happy to see her coming. Not just because she was spending money in their stores, but she was kind to them. She appreciated their jobs and what they provided. Oh yes – and because at Christmas, she baked goodies for them.

I’m really a kind person – but it’s a different world out there now. To me, grocery shopping is not an event – it’s a chore. And it’s usually a big chunk of paycheck, even with coupons. Why is it a chore? Because of the people I usually encounter when I embark on a shopping trip.

Bad Drivers 1 – Outside. These folks can’t seem to notice that the lines on the parking spaces are slanted at a direction completely opposite of the direction they’re driving. And no, you cannot “whip” that Suburban into the space from the wrong direction. These are also the drivers who apparently don’t understand the meaning of “crosswalk.”

Cross Walkers. Not only do these people take as much time as possible to navigate the crosswalk, but they do it at the longest diagonal line they can manage. No straight shot across for them – no. They have to be in the path of vehicles for the longest amount of time they can muster. Kids, cell phones, loose shoe strap, lack of equilibrium – whatever it takes to stay in the way.

Bad Drivers 2 – Inside. Now we’re in the store, behind the cart. C’mon people, it’s America – treat the aisle like a road and drive on the right. Don’t stop, leave your cart in the middle of the aisle, and go back 15 feet to grab the Nutter Butters. Would you leave your vehicle on Westheimer Road while you went back to grab a soda at Valero?

Deli-Tasters. How many samples of ham can you taste? Do you REALLY not know the difference between gouda and pepper jack cheese? If you’d like lunch, hit the drive-through at Mickey D’s. And speaking of McDonald’s…

Out-of-Control Kids. Take your kids to the Playland. I know you’d like to tire them out for their nap, but please CONTROL YOUR CHILDREN. The only reason you should allow them to run up and down every aisle without your supervision is if your retirement plan includes a corporate lawsuit against the store when they crash into an end-aisle display. And thanks for loading up four of them – along with a full basket of items - on one of those carts made to look like a car. You usually can’t steer it and you’re in everyone’s way.

Coupon Perusers. I’m a coupon-a-holic. But I’m an organized one, ready to go with list and coupons in hand. Nothing is more fun than the person on the busiest aisle…wad of coupons (or worse, flyers with uncut coupons) in hand…thumbing through the ones that aren’t being dropped on the floor…then bending and chasing them all around the aisle. You can double the fun if you add bored spouses, an impatient mother-in-law or kids to this equation.

People Who Can’t Count Their Items. The sign says “15 Items or LESS.” Did you fail Sesame Street? (And it's "fewer" by the way.)

Clueless Sackers. Do they give bonus points to sackers for constantly chatting with fellow sackers? For putting the can of V8 on top of my bread? For bagging the leaky bleach cleaner bottle in the same sack with the dry pet food? For lobbing the easily-bruised tomatoes and apples to the side in search of a new sack? For wedging the piece of chocolate-iced cake down the side of the cart so the icing will stick to the top of the container? Bonus points like that should get you a vacation!

Cart Dumpers. Thank you so much for leaving your empty shopping cart in the empty parking space. Not only does it prevent someone from parking their vehicle there, but it enables the wind to propel the cart into the side of my car door.

And everyone needs a door ding to remind them of their fun trip to the grocery store, don’t they? Cha-CHING.

P.T. Barnum Would Have Loved “As Seen on TV”

I read in a research journal that in this time of economic strife, the “As Seen On TV” retail business is booming. Not only are people staying home, finding things to occupy their time, but the product offerings are affordable. We can “treat ourselves.” But there are a lot of things they’re NOT: Functional? Not. Fashionable? Not. Rational? Not. Here’s what I mean:

The Sham Wow. My neighbor was sucked into one of these faster than the water gets sucked into the Sham Wow in the video. IT DOESN’T WORK. The video is full of flubs and inconsistencies between wet and dry. What do you expect from a pitch-man who’s been arrested on deviant charges?!?

The Snuggie. Are we not fat and lazy enough in this country to be able to wrangle our arms from underneath a blanket? Plus, it’s just ugly. And if you try and walk in it, you risk falling, tripping and hurting yourself. Then you’ll need the “As Seen On TV” medical alert bracelet because you’ll have fallen and can’t get up!

Save-A-Blade. Why am I paying $19.95 plus $6.95 S&H for a device to sharpen a plastic Bic razor that cost me around $2-$3 for a package of 6? I’m not a math major, but this seems silly.

Bumpits Volumizing Hair Inserts. Remember: “Flat hair is so last year.” Ladies – it’s called “TEASING.” Try it – it worked for your mom, your grandma, Nancy Sinatra and Dolly Parton. If you’re saying, “Who?” then look Nancy Sinatra up on the Internet. She had a famous dad.

GS27 Scratch Remover. OK, OK – I was conned into this one. I had a new car, there were scratches on the side, so I caved. Guess what!?! IT DOESN’T WORK. And yes, I can get my $14.95 back, but not my original $6.95 S&H. AND I have to pay to mail it back. Not likely.

Well I guess Barnum WAS right – there’s one born every minute because these products keep cropping up on TV. Instead of buying things “you’ve seen on TV,” why not invest the money in HBO or something. In the long term, you’ll save money. Now, if I can just keep my husband from buying the “Topsy Turvy Tomato Hanger,” we’ll be fine.

Will Pets Rule the World?

I love my dogs. I really do. But c’mon. They are DOGS. I realize that some folks see their furry friends as their children. I get it. I’ve never had children either. Lately, I’ve seen lots of situations and products that make me think, “wow – these people have more money than sense.” If I DID have children, I’m not sure there are a lot of these things that I’d experience with THEM. If you look in my blog archives from July of 2008, I went on a mini-rant about a lady at my nail salon that brought her dog in with her. PLEASE. Here are some actual “real-life-occurrences that just have no place with your pet:

Strollers – There’s a high-rise next to my office. Lots of people walk their dogs, as they should. However, as I drove into work, I spotted one lady with an old-fashioned, pram-style stroller. In the stroller were three – YES 3 – white, fluffy little dogs, just enjoying the ride and panting as if they were actually walking. Isn’t the purpose of a dog walk to “walk the dog?” I almost hit a fence! As we all know from my previous blog entries, there’s no stroller big enough on this planet to fit even ONE of my dogs, let alone one of them riding shotgun in a stroller.

High-End Mattresses – One of our local retailers is advertising Tempurpedic® mattresses on sale. Nothing wrong with that. The wrong part came when they started hyping their Tempurpedic® mattresses FOR DOGS. I can’t even afford one for myself – let alone provide one for my pets, who will promptly devour it as the large, foam rubber marshmallow it is. We’ve seen what Chip can do to a rose bush, so foam rubber is a piece of sponge cake to him.

Pet Clothes – If you live in the north or Midwest, and your pet needs to go outside in the dead of winter, then dog clothes (i.e. sweaters) serve a purpose. However, dressing your mastiff like Madonna or your Persian like Paris Hilton means there is a spark plug that’s not firing in your brain. Why don’t you put on a furry Chewbacca costume as you’re putting clothing on your pet…see how long you enjoy it?

Kitty Clothes – Oh please. Enough said. Good luck with those back claws.

Pet Swimming/Life Preservers – OK…these may have a place. Older or crippled animals would probably need these. But geesh – there’s a reason the swimming teacher called it “the dog paddle.” And if you’re afraid that Spot will jump off the Sea Ray, then leave him on dry land.

As ludicrous as these things are, I will however, give kudos to the companies and retailers for seeing their niches and jumping on them. And we wonder why people are worried about “the dumbing down of America?” I rest my case.

Language Mangling (Would These Be Cases of "Mangluage?")

We live in a world where, instead of reading a finely-crafted story, people see movies to experience literature. Cliff Notes are considered too long a read. E-mailing replaces letter-writing. Texting rules; and it comes with its own dialect. We have lost most all appreciation for grammar, oratory and the written word – and it shows.

I have a list of pet peeves as they relate to grammar and pronunciation. Despite the fact I own a library of dictionaries, Roget’s Thesaurus and several editions of the AP Stylebook, I’m still reasonably hip for a word geek. I can live with (and use) things like “LOL,” “BTW” and “ASAP.” I understand a few lines of “text-ese.” I catch myself using bad grammar more often than I want to admit, but hopefully not in my professional life.

But things happen everyday which make me cringe, and everyday the public is more accepting of it. The “dumbing down of America,” I’ve heard it labeled. As I remember back to my college journalism classes, where a misspelled proper name or incorrect fact resulted in an automatic failing grade, here are the things that drive me nuts:

Mangle #1: “Less” versus “Fewer”
Less refers to quantity or bulk; fewer refers to individual quantity. “I had less than $10 in my pocket” versus “I had fewer than 10 one-dollar bills.” This is abused ALL THE TIME. When I called out its incorrectness to a radio producer, the reply was, well that’s how my listeners talk, so it makes them more comfortable to hear it that way.

Mangle #2: “You and me” versus “You and I” versus “ANYONE and me or I”
I can’t even write these without my computer’s Spelling/Grammar Check kicking in. Say the sentence in your head without the other person in the equation: “Sally and me want to go to the store.” Did Me want to go to the store or did I want to? Go with what makes sense. Wait – that implies that one has sense.

Mangle #3: Know Your City
I can only speak for my hometown, but if you’re going to be a broadcaster somewhere, for goodness sake, learn to pronounce things properly. The names of streets; politician names; area cities and towns. In Houston, on every TV station, there’s at least one anchor who can’t get it right. “Hiram Clark Blvd.” is not “Here-am” and our Texas senator is Hutchison – not Hutch-in-son.

Mangle #4: “Electorial” College
It’s Elec-tor-al. There’s no “I” in it. Enough said.

Mangle #5: “Good” versus “Well”
This is my pet peeve because it totally confuses me. From the AP Stylebook: Good should not be used as an adverb. “Good” is an adjective that means “as it should be or above average.” As an adjective, “well” means “suitable, proper or healthy.” As an adverb, “well” means “in a satisfactory way or skillfully.” I feel good = I am in good health. But if I feel well, I don’t know if my sense of touch is working properly or my skin is soft and supple. Hmmm. When your head stops spinning, please proceed to #6.

Mangle #6: “My Bad”
On the heels of good, well or indifferent, I can’t stop this one. It’s too ingrained into everyday life. Technically, it’s not incorrect. It’s just me. I hate the fact apologizing for a slight error (and sometimes large errors) is replaced with this flippant “I could not care less” response. The lack of sincerity is just one more pebble in the rockslide that is good manners.

Oh well, I guess one can chalk it all up to laziness – not looking something up; not checking facts; a lack of doing one’s research. But hey – we’ve elected politicians who can’t spell “potato” and can’t pronounce “nuclear,” so I think I’m ranting for nothing! But if you have Mangluage Pet Peeves of your own, please feel free to comment!

It’s the holiday season, and we are increasingly reminded to share goodwill to all men (and women, of course). We are encouraged to remember those who aren’t lucky enough to have the blessings that most of us have. Each day on my commute to or from work, it’s VERY easy for me to remember these holiday sentiments and send comforting thoughts to these less-fortunate drivers:

-- The person who’s gold-packaged, silver-rimmed Escalade is stylish, but sadly didn’t come with a working blinker.
-- The middle-aged businessman whose heinous disfigurement of a Bluetooth ear and a GPS keypad attached to his right hand rend him powerless to understand the concept of “Exit Left.”
-- The dyslexic Mercedes driver who can’t seem to distinguish one lane from another.
-- The schizophrenic teen girl whose selves don’t know whether to listen to ColdPlay, Lil Wayne or Katy Perry – or text her friend to help her decide.
-- The learning-disabled driver of a BMW 7 Series who isn't aware that his performance auto will easily achieve the speed limit.
-- The mom in the fully-loaded Navigator, whose dangerous stress level is accelerated by apparent multi-tasking: opening/closing the sun roof while talking on her cell phone as she sips her Diet Coke® and changes her precious baby’s DVD from Elmo to Dora.

At this charitable time of year, let’s all try to embrace the spirit of the holidays and help these people. And while you’re at it, please say a prayer that this Escape Hybrid-driving, hair-pulling, patience-challenged, stifled-screaming blonde woman gets to work (or back home) in one piece!

The Mascara Conspiracy

Ads these days have so many disclaimers. “Do not expect these same results.” “Paid endorser.” “Professional driver on a closed course.” “Don’t try this at home.” Everything is designed and executed to protect the poor, unsuspecting consumer from either expecting to lose 50 pounds in 1 week if a certain tablet is ingested to believing they’ll learn Portugese after listening to a 3 CD-set.

Let’s talk cosmetics. If I’m not supposed to believe I can drive a new sports car on the ledge of a skyscraper 40 stories high, then WHY should I believe my skimpy little eyelashes will grow exponentially if I use mascara A versus B? Sure – it helps to wear it and my eyelashes actually show up.

But if I believe Cover Girl and use one of their latest mascara products, then the wooly bear caterpillars that crawled on Drew Barrymore’s eyelids should appear on mine. On TV, she bats those black, feathery-eyelashed lids in the ad and mysteriously, magically, my dining room set is dusted! In the magazine, they look like a fine grade of corduroy. They’re long enough and defined enough to rake leaves in my backyard with them.

For the record, I’m in advertising. I know she has a make-up artist who painstakingly painted each eyelash individually. I know about photo retouching. But it’s ridiculous and quite frankly, a lie. There are never any disclaimers on mascara ads and the photos, film footage and claims are as false as the lashes the models are wearing. If ever there were an appropriate time and place for the “Results not typical” line, it’s here.

Animals in Their Places – And NOT Nail Places

(WARNING: SOAP BOX ALERT. SOAP BOX ALERT.) I know it’s very chic and trendy to bring your pocket-sized pooch wherever you go. Purses are getting larger and dogs are getting smaller. Some purses are even being redesigned to accommodate a mobile mini-mutt. I don’t think that’s what Dylan meant when he said, “The times, they are a-changin’.”

But it’s just not my style. My dogs are large. The only purse in which they would fit would have a system of pulleys and hydraulics attached. Oh yes, and a pair of drip attachments for the slobber. And while they’re friendly, let’s face it: they really don’t want to shop unless it involves possums in the backyard. But I digress from my original rant.

I went to my nail salon for my regular mani/pedi appointment. Mary, my nail artiste, is finishing up the client before me as my feet are happily soaking in the sudsy warm water. I’m checking out that client’s nails, when all of a sudden I notice movement in her lap. A DOG. A cutie to be sure – a tee-ninesy little schnauzer. But he’s was not looking at all happy. And I see why:

1. Would you be happy if the person whose lap you were clinging to was really not a lap? It’s more like a slope. This lady was not missing many meals if you get my drift…and the poor little guy kept sliding under the manicure station.

2. Would you be happy if as you slid, you were scooped back up and smushed back into a belly covered in a terrycloth shirt? I guess it’s better than corduroy.

3. Would you be happy if you were wrapped in a “potty pad?” The plastic and cotton pads on which puppies are trained? Imagine yourself wrapped in a very large Kotex pad (with or without wings) before you answer that.

4. Would you be happy to breathe in acrylic nail dust in your very sensitive little canine nose? Try sniffing some talcum powder and it will feel similar.

5. Would you be happy as the metallic whirring of the nail dremel file was picked up by your heightened sense of canine hearing?

Would I? I’m going out on a limb here to speak for Little Schnauzy – not no, but HELL NO.

Aside from what I’m sure are plain old sanitation reasons why an animal shouldn’t be in a salon, that poor sweet little thing did not want to be there. He was NOT having a good time. But it was important for us all to see her with her precious pet. I hate it when people dress their dogs and I hate it when they’re used as accessories. A pet’s supposed to be your pal – and I would never treat MY pals that way!

A Sign I've Been In Marketing Too Long....

This morning, our staff was in a training session to become more knowledgeable about one of our web resources. The site contains great information and meeting was valuable, but the presenter was energized on something more than standard-issue caffeine. Here are a few excerpts from her presentation(home-shopping pitch):

“If you click here, we’ll provide you backgrounds from over 200 advertisers – and if you call now, we’ll send you another 200 advertisers at absolutely no charge to you!”

“The study from our partnership with Big-Time Major Research Company is located in the Market Studies channel on the site. Download one in the next 10 minutes and we’ll send you the Magic Bullet Smoothie Maker for FREE! ($29.95 shipping and handling applies)”

“You like all this information, but you don’t have the time to create a presentation? We do it for you! Just click here and you can customize your sales sheet right from your CrackBerry. If you log in now, we’ll send you the entire CD set, How to Make Gazillions on e-Bay - completely free. AND if you type in keyword, ‘Please Pass the Valium,’ we’ll include a copy of the first season of WKRP in Cincinnati on VHS.”

Gotta run – if I log in now, there’s a Bedazzler with my name on it! Yee Haw!

The Trouble With Elevators

Elevator usage is a simple process. You do it. Your parents do it. Even a child can do it. An elevator comes, you hop on, you ride for a few floors and you shuffle out. In and out, anti-social and methodically identical each time - a process built for efficiency and speed. There are no known reasons to improve the ride or prolong the elevator experience any longer than necessary. However, some people - for a variety of reasons - do. On most elevators (except for hospitals, where we expect that doctors are smart enough to figure it out), there's only one way in and one way out, so I speculate that elevator designers figured that people would get the concept. Unfortunately, THAT is a misconception....

The Door Holders. They hear footsteps a mile away...a car door slam in the next county...voices of people approaching from nowhere. Upon hearing these sounds, real or imagined, the Door Holders feel compelled to earn their title: they hold the door. They hold the door until one of two things happens. Either (1) "the door has been open too damn long" siren blares for the city to hear or (2) the elevator aborts and changes direction on you. It's usually after those incidents that the Door Holders look at their watch, laugh sheepishly in mock embarrassment, "Gee, I hope you weren't catching a train."

The Door Talkers. Door talkers are usually found going floor to floor. It's a species found primarily in large companies on multiple floors. The Door Talker will break off from a group of "talk-ees" to enter the elevator (or to get out of the elevator). However, using a technique very similar to the Door Holder, they will stand half in the compartment and half out while continuing a conversation with a "talk-ee" which detains everyone else in the elevator. (There’s a way to stop Door Talkers: get behind them and swat anything they might be holding out of their arms and into the elevator lobby. When they jump out to catch it, the doors close. Folders and books work great, small children and open containers do not.)

The Door Closers. They are the Don Rickles of elevator riders. They are the exact opposite of the Door Holders. They are the irritants that allow the door to slide shut right in your face when you are no more than two feet outside the elevator. Instant nose job! Added irritation is your arms full of paperwork and/or several varieties of briefcases and portfolios. This action is usually accompanied by a snide smile and a "gee that's too bad" cocking of the head.

The Contortionists. This is the only characteristic which is exclusive to very chivalrous males. Contortionists earned their name because they were trained as little boys to always let women exit any room, compartment or area ahead of them. With this traditional belief firmly planted in their brains, you will witness the Contortionists bend their bodies in ways only Gumby could. A Contortionist can be in the rear of an elevator filled with women and he will lunge for the button panel - one finger stretched to the "Door Open" button and the opposite arm blocking the door. This is an admirable gesture to be sure, but one that usually requires the exiting woman to crawl under arms and over legs...a very tough task in a straight-skirted business suit.

The Hummers and Whistlers. Hummers and Whistlers are happy and they want you to be happy. We should be happy for them, but they make you pray for that sleepy elevator Muzack. They're usually tinny, off-key, very loud and almost always deface music that means something sentimental to you. I doubt The Beatles meant for "Back In The U.S.S.R." to be hummed or whistled. The same goes for "Jail House Rock."

The Genteel Chatterers. Hello! How are you? What a lovely coat... Do you work at the bank? Is that a perm or are you naturally curly? I have had the worst day. Nice purse. The carpet in this elevator needs to be replaced. Don't you hate this music? I'm taking tap dancing lessons. Are you related to Joe Shmoe? You look like him. Did you hear about the company president? I'm a Pisces so I love the water. Governor – oh sorry – President Bush was spotted near the city park I heard. Beautiful earrings, are they new? What's the matter, cat got your tongue?

The Redneck Chatterers. Hey! How you been? You get that coat at Wal-mart? It’s real nice. You still workin’ at the plant? What did you do to your hair? My day sucked. The carpet in this elevator looks like what’s in my dog pen. Where the Hell did this music come from? I'm taking welding lessons. You related to Jeb Schmoe? You look like him. Did you hear about the manager of the Handi-Mart? I'm a Capricorn so that means I wear a cap and I love corn. Elvis was spotted near the city park I heard. Why do you wear three earrings? What's the matter, you deaf or somethin’?

The Statues. They’re self-explanatory. They don't move - especially not for you. You get in and they refuse to move from their self-appointed spot. People are forced to move around them to find a place to stand...as if they were expressionless maypoles. These are the strong, silent types that you can't quite get to...and certainly can't get to move without the aid of a bouncer.

The Button Pushers. Impatience happens in everyone, but apparently these people can't get where they're going fast enough. Button Pushers have not figured out that once the up, down or floor number button has been illuminated, that's all it takes. Punching it several thousand times more does not make the doors open any faster increase the speed of the elevator's arrival. It only makes your finger sore.

The “Foreigners.” This term does not define race or personal origin or mean from "somewhere." They are foreigners in a building and/or preoccupied with other thoughts. They do not know where they are going. They are not aware of what is happening around them. Foreigners can be identified by several behavioral actions. They:
- punch several buttons because they don't know exactly which floor is their destination.
- punch the wrong button above or below the actual button they need.
- get on the up elevator when they want the down one.
- stand twiddling their thumbs when the door finally opens to the floor they desire.

The Fragrants. Stronger than an industrial plant, more powerful than a loaded skunk, and unfortunately aren't limited to one species. The Fragrants either carry odors on themselves or carry things with odors. Bags of fast food, newly manicured nails, wet leather binders, Indian food on the breath, baths in cheap cologne, chain smokers who've been locked in a car, skin damp with perspiration, Final Net hair spray, commuters fresh from gassing up the car...might be bearable individually, but combined, contribute to the diverse yet nauseating aroma found in most elevators. These far-from-understated smells linger and there's no place to sprinkle Carpet Fresh.

Well, that’s it! Now I realize that these scenarios are grossly exaggerated, and there have been many times where I’ve been a less than gracious, if not obnoxious, elevator patron. But next time you're in an elevator, whether it's Sears Tower or Sears Roebuck, remember these people - and you might be taking the stairs. Twenty-five flights looks shorter every day.