Saturday, April 30, 2005
A Pop-Collar Operator and the Good-Grade Gorgeous Girl. The college kids in D.C. were visited over the weekend. Their expensively tiny dorm rooms were viewed. The campus and Georgetown were walked. My visiting mother and I then took the kids and dorm mates to dinner. The pop-collar operator son made the restaurant suggestions for both Friday and Saturday. The Friday restaurant laid claim to the hostess and waitress both knowing pop-collar son which helped to procure a window seat looking out to the Potomac river. The Saturday restaurant laid claim to a frat buddy behind the bar which ensured a steady flow of alcohol to not-quite-twenty-one son and buddies (the girls declined to drink). Meanwhile the good-grade gorgeous girl daughter continues her ascent to the top of the GPA charts. But would her good grades have gotten us a seat by the window? Or a connection to the bar? Nope.
Boy Scene. Anna Bloviation's pried the roommates about the boy scene at GW. None is particularly enthralled by what is available. The boys are either gay, metro sexual, or pop-collar. All are for the most part jerks. "What does pop-collar mean anyway?" I ask. "Look left." I turn to the boys on my left. Each has his polo shirt 'popped up' at the collar. "Oh I see!" Not being able to resist an opportunity to needle the son, I relay to him and the other boy the sentiments of the girls on my right. Without missing a beat the son smiles coyly and replies, "Well, it works for me." What a smooth operator I think. I hope your smoothness operates you right into the job market soon too....
Boy Scene. Anna Bloviation's pried the roommates about the boy scene at GW. None is particularly enthralled by what is available. The boys are either gay, metro sexual, or pop-collar. All are for the most part jerks. "What does pop-collar mean anyway?" I ask. "Look left." I turn to the boys on my left. Each has his polo shirt 'popped up' at the collar. "Oh I see!" Not being able to resist an opportunity to needle the son, I relay to him and the other boy the sentiments of the girls on my right. Without missing a beat the son smiles coyly and replies, "Well, it works for me." What a smooth operator I think. I hope your smoothness operates you right into the job market soon too....
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Second Thoughts on Cell Phone Seedlings. The idea to create a biodigradable cell phone case with a little sunflower seed embedded in the interior is cute (see previous blog) but absolute a macabre gimmick if you think about it. I mean think about it. By the time the cell phone case has finally finished degrading (50 years hence?), that poor little seed would be nothing but a shriveled gasp. And if by some miracle, there were a bit of life left in it, my god, what would be the product? That 2005 cell phone while alive would have zapped that poor little seed with all kinds of radioactive toxic garbage (not to mention the brain of the user). What could grow but something deformed indeed?
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
A Cell Phone Turned Sunflower? 130 million (yes million) cell phones are discarded in the US a year. And highly toxic stuff they are made of too. And where does this noxious stuff end up? More and more of these phones are ending up in landfills to seep their poisonous guts into ground water and soil alike. Well kudos to The University of Warwick in England. They have developed a phone exterior not only made from biodegradable plastic but that grows flowers as well. A flower seed is embedded in the case, so once the case breaks down, the seed can germinate and grow. After investigating various flowers, they found that a dwarf sunflower performed the best. As an added feature, the sunflower seed is visible through a transparent window in the case, but it won't germinate until the cell phone is planted. Well that takes care of the exterior (the exterior being the least toxic component to begin with). Now what to do with those nasty innards...
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Out of the Shredding. Out of the shredding of my first sample press release I was due to send to my prospective employer came another iteration. It was not edited by Arnold (a.k.a. hubby) because I figured at some point I have to stand on my own i.e. hubby won't always be around to shred (me)... We'll see what the female PR bulldogs think of it on Monday...
Impossible Bachelors. A bachelor friend wants to know if Anna Bloviation's can recommend a classy restaurant/function hall to host a bachelor party for 20-30 men. No strippers. Just a nice place, perhaps-with--a-view, and descent food. I'm praying to a god I don't believe in that my bachelor friend will find something given he just started his search with a mere three weeks to go before his target date of May 14th. Obviously he doesn't understand the concept of hundreds of New England brides-to-be booking all of the good places years ahead of time. Plus now in Massachusetts he has additional competition from the same-sex crowd doing ditto. His only chance is that May 14th is just early enough that the weather worriers won't have booked yet. If he gets something close enough to Anna Bloviation's home, she is thinking of going drag and crashing the party...
Impossible Bachelors. A bachelor friend wants to know if Anna Bloviation's can recommend a classy restaurant/function hall to host a bachelor party for 20-30 men. No strippers. Just a nice place, perhaps-with--a-view, and descent food. I'm praying to a god I don't believe in that my bachelor friend will find something given he just started his search with a mere three weeks to go before his target date of May 14th. Obviously he doesn't understand the concept of hundreds of New England brides-to-be booking all of the good places years ahead of time. Plus now in Massachusetts he has additional competition from the same-sex crowd doing ditto. His only chance is that May 14th is just early enough that the weather worriers won't have booked yet. If he gets something close enough to Anna Bloviation's home, she is thinking of going drag and crashing the party...
Friday, April 22, 2005
A Bloviater Blowing Bull-Shit. This was more or less the conclusion hubby came to after reading my GORE-TEX press release sample I had drafted to send to my new prospective employer. "You're talking out of your ass and it's because you never want to do any research. You just want to talk" (think Arnold Schwarzenegger when you read that sentence because that's what this Austrian husband of mine sounds like). In less than three minutes he had shredded my press release into something resembling the tangled birdie nest splayed a mess on the rhododendron bush outside my kitchen window after having been unceremoniously blown out the venting duct when I turned on the oven fan. And as hard as it is to admit, every last criticism was right! In my quest for creativity, I had mixed up the company-with-the-brand-with-the-fabric-with-a-story that was all absolutely implausible. Hiding under the bed covers later I mewed, 'Oh who's the weakest link now? Not those stupid birds who don't know any better not to build a nest in a venting duct. It's YOU.' Then I let the imaginary sappy music pipe in to visions of an atrophied Anna found twenty years hence in her stuffy State House basement office by a surprised janitor. "Hey Joey! Come take a look at this old dusty mummy I found! Jesus!" Over my dead body someone will find me there. Back to the drawing board...
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
The Interview. Many of which have been had by thousands. No matter how prepared you are, the whole situation is a fluke of happenstance really. A convolution of star alignment, personalities, first impressions, external stimuli, what-have-you.
So went I yesterday to one such job interview. My first interview with a woman I might add. Not only a woman. A certain kind of New England woman. This kind has no fashion pretense what-so-ever. If anything she comes across rather manly and rumpled. Her gait is like that of her ancestors before her -- the one's who chose to trudge across prairies towards Oregon. She speaks without the grating Bostonian accent I've never been able to get used to -- suggesting a good private boarding school was provided to her in her childhood. She is intimidatingly competent i.e. a 30-year veteran in PR, she converses in a seamless stream of high-end techno garble with the IT guy on hand, she can sails with her eyes closed, and talks shop-talk with the contractor renovating her office like one were comparing toothpaste brands. She also has the sexual guile of an armadillo.
OK so I was a bit intimidated. No problem. That's when I dig down deep into my carefully honed ultra-sophisticated Euro persona cultivated from many years abroad, a Euro husband, and an eclectic array of quasi intellectual friends. I don of course the black-rimmed glasses from Switzerland which do a remarkable job at making me look intensely something. Back and forth. Back and forth we go. Though there is really nothing like an interview in the midst of a major office renovation replete with hammering, drilling, and falling plaster. I finally flash my well-kept white American teeth because this certain kind of New England woman tends to have frugally crooked yellow teeth and sure enough she suddenly suggests I send a sample press release to her colleague in Colorado. Ok.... Easy enough. I go to their website and peruse their client base. Hmmm. Let's be creative here. GORE-TEX HITS NEW HEIGHTS WITH NEW WINTER GEAR LAUNCH. And on from there. Just get me away from this manic dullard Irish hot-head I find myself working for now.
So went I yesterday to one such job interview. My first interview with a woman I might add. Not only a woman. A certain kind of New England woman. This kind has no fashion pretense what-so-ever. If anything she comes across rather manly and rumpled. Her gait is like that of her ancestors before her -- the one's who chose to trudge across prairies towards Oregon. She speaks without the grating Bostonian accent I've never been able to get used to -- suggesting a good private boarding school was provided to her in her childhood. She is intimidatingly competent i.e. a 30-year veteran in PR, she converses in a seamless stream of high-end techno garble with the IT guy on hand, she can sails with her eyes closed, and talks shop-talk with the contractor renovating her office like one were comparing toothpaste brands. She also has the sexual guile of an armadillo.
OK so I was a bit intimidated. No problem. That's when I dig down deep into my carefully honed ultra-sophisticated Euro persona cultivated from many years abroad, a Euro husband, and an eclectic array of quasi intellectual friends. I don of course the black-rimmed glasses from Switzerland which do a remarkable job at making me look intensely something. Back and forth. Back and forth we go. Though there is really nothing like an interview in the midst of a major office renovation replete with hammering, drilling, and falling plaster. I finally flash my well-kept white American teeth because this certain kind of New England woman tends to have frugally crooked yellow teeth and sure enough she suddenly suggests I send a sample press release to her colleague in Colorado. Ok.... Easy enough. I go to their website and peruse their client base. Hmmm. Let's be creative here. GORE-TEX HITS NEW HEIGHTS WITH NEW WINTER GEAR LAUNCH. And on from there. Just get me away from this manic dullard Irish hot-head I find myself working for now.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Darwinism Right Outside the Window. Damn the little birdies are cute fluttering about my rhododendron bush by the kitchen window. But geez are they low-tide-at-the-gene-pool creatures if I ever saw some. The romantically attracted pair have been kissing and humping for pre-spring weeks now and I guess things have ratcheted up to the next level as just recently they have begun building a little nest for the babies-to-be. I've watched bemused as mom and dad collect pine needles, dog hair, unidentifiable fuzz and what-not for their little house in the burbs. Unfortunately they don't seem to get the message that the location they are determined to build their nest is just not going to work i.e. it is tucked inside the venting duct leading out from the side of my house and every time I turn the oven fan on, it blows their nest right the hell back out into the rhododendron bush. Four nights of cooking have not deterred their efforts. Sorry guys. You are the weakest link...
Monday, April 18, 2005
View From The Home Office Window (or why tele-conferencing from home is a good idea). Is it any wonder I want a job working from home?.
Bad Cell Phone Etiquette. Don't call up someone and tell them you thought you'd call because with a little time to kill while you're donating blood and btw you have good cell phone reception at the clinic, well, why not? Ummmm. No....
Bad Dinner Etiquette. The former CEO of hubby's last flailing software company came for dinner with his wife over the weekend. They never would have known that I had protested vehemently to their coming given that in my opinion that former CEO didn't stick up for hubby when things got ugly. Nonetheless they are charming and interesting in their own way: she from Ireland and he from South Africa. Together they have three children and the wife obviously doesn't get out much. The third glass of wine had made her positively tipsy and the poor former CEO, himself quite animated from an entire bottle of red wine he had brought as a present and drunk for himself, kept imploring, "Dear are you sure you want to go to that black void?" 'Oh do', I thought to myself. Yes do tell me of your marital problems. Your almost affairs....
Good Real Estate News. I call it the 'Sanctuary Factor' i.e. look for continued strong growth in real estate provided you are a little smart about your investments. This is how the sanctuary factor works: the world is a pretty f****ed up place right now and certainly our polarized fanatics both left and right are doing everything they can to maximize our fears. Hence the droves turning to religion for comfort as we speak. For the more secularly-minded, there is real estate. No not real estate actually. Sanctuaries. Havens to escape to. Havens to escape from. Put it this way: in August of 2004 we spent $750K (top dollar) for our 'sanctuary.' A year latter we could get $900K. Simple as that. And this will continue.
Bad Dinner Etiquette. The former CEO of hubby's last flailing software company came for dinner with his wife over the weekend. They never would have known that I had protested vehemently to their coming given that in my opinion that former CEO didn't stick up for hubby when things got ugly. Nonetheless they are charming and interesting in their own way: she from Ireland and he from South Africa. Together they have three children and the wife obviously doesn't get out much. The third glass of wine had made her positively tipsy and the poor former CEO, himself quite animated from an entire bottle of red wine he had brought as a present and drunk for himself, kept imploring, "Dear are you sure you want to go to that black void?" 'Oh do', I thought to myself. Yes do tell me of your marital problems. Your almost affairs....
Good Real Estate News. I call it the 'Sanctuary Factor' i.e. look for continued strong growth in real estate provided you are a little smart about your investments. This is how the sanctuary factor works: the world is a pretty f****ed up place right now and certainly our polarized fanatics both left and right are doing everything they can to maximize our fears. Hence the droves turning to religion for comfort as we speak. For the more secularly-minded, there is real estate. No not real estate actually. Sanctuaries. Havens to escape to. Havens to escape from. Put it this way: in August of 2004 we spent $750K (top dollar) for our 'sanctuary.' A year latter we could get $900K. Simple as that. And this will continue.
Monday, April 11, 2005
When Ex-Politicians Plug (or, PR across the Pond). Mikhail Gorbachev will be in town tomorrow as a keynote speaker at an event sponsored by the Massachusetts Software Internet Council and the Russian Software Industry Association. His topic of discussion will be: The Role of IT in the Global Economy. I'm thinking this is more likely a thinly veiled pitch to US software companies to outsource to Russia... Hey somebody has to bring home the vodka.
I did send the above link to my former company which has extensive software development ties to Samara, Russia. Thought it my be a good networking opportunity for the Russians given that the last time I visited my former work premises, the cash-starved developers in Russia were exporting really bad Russian art onto the premises of what used to be a fledgling, maybe-promising technology start-up.
The afore-mentioned, de-facto director of the Samara-based technology company has always had a soft spot for me. No let me clarify that. He has continuously cultivated a relationship with me in the hopes that my VP techie husband might one day decide that their little Russian company is just the right developer to whom his company might outsource work. In baroque English, the director emails me kind and flowery notes. And much to the chagrin of my former boss, he assigns trans-atlantic carriers boxes of Russian chocolate which he insists said former boss give to me upon arrival in the States (my former boss would rather rip my limbs apart than present me with chocolate I can assure you). In even-baroqueier English (because I can), I graciously thank the director, knowing well that my former boss (whom I send a blind copy) would like nothing more than to rip me further from limb to limb. Hey with no kids around anymore, one has to torture somebody.
I did send the above link to my former company which has extensive software development ties to Samara, Russia. Thought it my be a good networking opportunity for the Russians given that the last time I visited my former work premises, the cash-starved developers in Russia were exporting really bad Russian art onto the premises of what used to be a fledgling, maybe-promising technology start-up.
The afore-mentioned, de-facto director of the Samara-based technology company has always had a soft spot for me. No let me clarify that. He has continuously cultivated a relationship with me in the hopes that my VP techie husband might one day decide that their little Russian company is just the right developer to whom his company might outsource work. In baroque English, the director emails me kind and flowery notes. And much to the chagrin of my former boss, he assigns trans-atlantic carriers boxes of Russian chocolate which he insists said former boss give to me upon arrival in the States (my former boss would rather rip my limbs apart than present me with chocolate I can assure you). In even-baroqueier English (because I can), I graciously thank the director, knowing well that my former boss (whom I send a blind copy) would like nothing more than to rip me further from limb to limb. Hey with no kids around anymore, one has to torture somebody.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Purist Panting. Being a purist is hard work but someone has to do it. What I mean is that anyone living in this harsh New England climate with half a brain would opt for plastic or some other man-made composite for outdoor garden furniture but nooooooo, not Anna Bloviations. She has to have an Amazon forest-friendly wood table and chairs that remind her of California! All the better to go with her California-style house in the middle of New England. And rather than let said furniture weather to a nice gray pantene, no she rather likes the amber look one gets with strenuous rubbings of teak oil. Looks extremely nice except that by the end of the season you invariably have black mold spots caused by trapped moisture a la thunder storms, humidity, and moody temperature swings. Not to worry. There is a solution for everything right? So.... you go to Crate & Barrel and buy product that will restore your furniture to its original amber luster. Step 1: Liberally spray all chairs and table with anti-mildew, spot remover stuff. Scrub rigorously the backs, fronts, seat, legs, etc. of all six chairs plus the rather large table replete with half-inch apart slates. Hose all that down with water. Then go to Step 2: Use the 'special cleaner' to scrub again all six chairs and that bitch of a big table. Hose all that down again with water. Step 3: Look askance at those six chairs and that bitch of a big table before rubbing them down with the 'prepping' solution designed to wick away excess moisture to prepare the furniture for the next THREE STEPS. Jesus. OK, on the next round (Step 4) , with hands raw and scratched from step 1,2. and 3, rub 1/4 part prep solution and 3/4 part teak oil onto all six chairs and that big bitch of a table. After fifteen minutes, wipe off excess solution and repeat the process (which I think counts as Step 5 but the instructions don't say that so as not to completely discourage the sucker doing all this). OK, on to Step 5 (6). Repeat Step 4 AGAIN. Let all this sit overnight and then the next day, rub all six chairs (each of which you have named and assigned a personality by now) and that big bitch of a table down with a pure solution of teak oil. Let sit fifteen minutes before wiping down excess oil with a fine cloth. You cannot imagine how gorgeous all this outdoor furniture looks but geezzzz..... how many seasons of that before I cave...
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Going, going... Is this even possible from a physics standpoint? The last snow mound in the state of Massachusetts me thinks.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Defying the Weather. This stubborn lump of snow sits to the right of my front door in spite of 60 degrees Fahrenheit temperatures. Otherwise the snow seems to have quite melted in Massachusetts. Just this one tenacious hump remains on the grounds of this former Californian nearly driven mad this winter by the snow... Bastard lump.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Speaking of vegetative States... "Sunny" von Bulow is still alive. She has been in a coma since 1980.
"Anti" Mame. Having just visited my friend's four-month-old baby I've decided to change my role of having promised to be her Auntie Mame to instead being her "Anti" Mame. Like the 1958 movie heroine, I who was going to undertake wildly fun and eccentric things with little Mia. But given my recent observations of stimuli overkill (e.g. little tots with their own DVD players at the dinner table!!), I've decided it would be better if I assume the role of 'Anti Mame'. Little Mia is going to come to my house and I shall plop her on the grass and we are going to watch grass grow...
"Anti" Mame. Having just visited my friend's four-month-old baby I've decided to change my role of having promised to be her Auntie Mame to instead being her "Anti" Mame. Like the 1958 movie heroine, I who was going to undertake wildly fun and eccentric things with little Mia. But given my recent observations of stimuli overkill (e.g. little tots with their own DVD players at the dinner table!!), I've decided it would be better if I assume the role of 'Anti Mame'. Little Mia is going to come to my house and I shall plop her on the grass and we are going to watch grass grow...
