Interesting article about Bill Watterson for all the Calvin and Hobbes fans out there.

I know I will be alienating women everywhere by admitting this, but I am so, so sick of shopping right now.

Something to think about on this 100th anniversary of the Wright brothers' first flight:

In the century since, travel by airplane has gone from a barnstormer's novelty act to such a routine that it brings more complaints than ruminations on the extraordinary fact that it simply can be done. - Associated Press

Joy to the World: Peggy Noonan on the capture of Saddam Hussein

Advertising and marketing executives were asked to describe the strangest responses potential employees have given when asked why they should be hired. Some of the responses:

• "The candidate noted there were no redheads in the company and said we should hire one."
  
• "The applicant said he'd been rejected by the good agencies."
  
• "The job seeker said he just won big in Las Vegas and was on a roll."
  

From Dynamic Graphics magazine

One of my favorite Christmas specials, "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was on tonight, but I couldn't bring myself to watch. The part with the Island of Misfit Toys is just too sad.

I found a set of DVDs that seemed like the perfect Christmas gift for my dad, so I e-mailed my brothers to let them know what I was buying. I suggested they choose something other than DVDs for their own gifts, so that my dad would enjoy some variety.

A week later, my younger brother called to admit - somewhat sheepishly - that he'd just ordered the "Shogun" DVD for my dad. (His reasoning: "It's not really a movie. It's more of a miniseries.") In that same conversation, I mentioned a CD I was thinking of buying for his girlfriend. Tonight I came home to a message that he just bought her the CD today, and that he hoped I hadn't already bought it for her.

It's like having a gift idea Pac-Man following me wherever I go.

Last week I interviewed a dentist for an article I'm writing for Children's Dental Health Month. I couldn't let a perfectly good opportunity pass me by, so at the end of our conversation I asked him, "I've always wanted to know - do dentists floss every day?"

He laughed, then proceeded to sidestep the question. He made a reference to doctors who smoke and eat poorly. Then he mentioned that using Listerine is just as effective as flossing. Just as I figured he was leading up to a confession that he personally didn't bother with the ritual, he said, "But I'm a geek. I floss." I think I would've felt a little disappointed otherwise.

About a month ago, a public relations director I know vaguely contacted me about a position opening up in his department. I was surprised, because I had never sent a resume or talked with him about a potential opportunity. I got the impression that he was targeting me specifically. I was flattered, excited, and relieved to think that my job situation might finally be stable before Christmas.

He was required first to post the position internally – a formality, for the most part – and asked me to contact him in two weeks if I hadn’t heard back from him. I’ve now left two messages and have yet to get a return call. At this point, I’d just like to know one way or another – is he still interested, or isn’t he?

Job hunting is way too much like dating.

The holiday greetings I find most intriguing:

• Store-bought cards that come with just a signature - no photo, no personal news, not so much as a simple "Let's get together after the holidays!" scrawled at the bottom. Why bother?
  
  
• Newsletters that begin with something about how quickly the year has flown by, and how they can't believe it's already Christmas. You half-expect them to throw in something like, "Here we are, one year closer to death...."
  
  
• Depressing letters. Every year, I like to rummage through my parents' stack of Christmas cards to find one relative's annual letter, which inevitably includes something about the sorry shape of the world. One letter ended with a cryptic "It's later than we all think." Of course, this came with a cheerful card wishing them the warmest of holidays.

I think pumpkin pie is mostly a really good excuse for eating a pile of whipped cream.

I have to work today, which I think I'd prefer to battling the crowds on the busiest shopping day of the year. Still, it feels a little like being a child who's forced to stay indoors while all the other kids are out playing.

I've decided to avoid eating anything sweet for a couple of days to offset Thursday's inevitable indulgences. But I just remembered that a group I'm getting together with tonight usually has a dessert of some sort, so it will take an extra measure of will power to stick to my resolve. Oh, man, I just hope there isn't chocolate involved....

The actual words that appear in a card I found in the juvenile section of Hallmark's 99-cent card line:

It's, like, your birthday, so I'm, like, Happy Birthday!

Unbelievable.

With the holiday season prematurely in full swing, I can't shake a certain sense of dread: it's probably only a matter of days before I'll be subjected to "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree."

Some friends from my Sunday school class are putting together a party for the class this weekend. I was a little apprehensive, because they'd been talking about playing a form of "The Newlywed Game," and I figured I'd feel out of place as the lone single among couples. So I sent an e-mail asking if that was still the plan, and received this reassuring response: "We're going to have other games too, like couples' figure skating, synchronized swimming, doubles tennis, the usual group activities."

Oh, sure, now I feel better.

Is it just me, or is holiday merchandise out earlier than ever this year? I can kind of understand people wanting to start shopping early, but does anyone really want eggnog ice cream in early November? (Or anytime at all, for that matter?)

Congratulations, proud Dad David Letterman!

A guy I’ve known for years, but never been involved with, surprised me by inviting me out to a restaurant we discovered we both liked. After he extended the invitation, I wondered, Is this a date or just getting together as friends? After all, I’d known him for nine years, which seemed like plenty of time for him to determine whether or not he had any romantic interest.

The evidence went back and forth as I tried to determine whether or not our dinner together would qualify as a date:

• He asked for directions to my house, rather than suggesting we meet at the restaurant—Date
  
• His schedule was booked Friday and Saturday, so he was only available on Sunday or a weeknight—Not a date
  
• He gave me his home phone and regular e-mail address, “for future reference” (I’d only had his work e-mail before)—Date
  
• He showed up in faded jeans and an oversized shirt—Not a date
  
• He told me I looked nice (in my date-appropriate outfit)—Date
  
• He talked a lot about sports—Neither category; just typical guy behavior
  
• He referred to our evening as “a chance to get to know each other better”—Date
  

Then, as if to illustrate the puzzling nature of the evening, he walked me only halfway to my door before saying goodnight. Looking back on the whole thing, I’m not even sure if he knew whether it was supposed to be a date or not.

People offer interesting ideas when they know your employment situation is less than stable.

One man, apparently knowing nothing about my line of work, mentioned a car dealership where three women have left recently. (Even if I weren't looking specifically in public relations, would I really want to go to work for a place that is experiencing a mass exodus of employees?) Someone else offered a random tip: "I'll bet title companies need public relations people." This seemed particularly out of left field, since the person doesn't work for a title company or even in real estate. Sometimes, if I don't respond with enthusiasm, I get the impression that the person thinks I'm being way too picky.

I just have to remind myself that people mean well….

There's a Walgreens store at roughly every quarter-mile -- unless you're actually looking for one, in which case they're nowhere to be found.

I just found out you can buy stamps through ATM machines. Is this something people have been doing for years, and I'm just now finding out about it?

Is it possible to come up with a less desirable color for office supplies than "putty"?

I went shopping last night, trying to stay ahead of the grocery store employees' strike that may start this weekend. I'd planned to buy a little more than usual, hoping to avoid the stores for a couple of weeks. Then I kept finding personal favorites on special, so I stocked up even more than I expected. When I looked at the heap in my cart just before checking out, I felt sort of like I was preparing for a famine (albeit a short famine).

I'm not much of a cat person. I don't dislike them; I just don't see the point of owning a creature that's going to walk around ignoring me all the time. I've learned there are exceptions to the aloofness stereotype, though.

I usually keep an eye on my neighbors' two cats when they're out of town. Whenever I stop by to check on them, one of the pair stays glued to me, meowing constantly and walking all over me if I stay in one place too long. The other skulks about on the other side of the room and hisses if I come too close. Neither of the extremes is very appealing. If I venture into pet ownership, maybe I'll start with something simple, like a fish.

Hugh Grant on the appeal of both singleness and marriage:        
"Like most blokes, one wants both worlds," he said. "You want two houses, about 300 yards apart. One of which is your single house and another is your family house."

Last weekend a friend talked me into going to the annual Greek Festival. I've heard about the event for years, but have never gone. Mostly it consisted of 1) Greek dancing, 2) Greek food, and 3) masses of people trying to watch Greek dancing or buy Greek food. We wandered around for about an hour, indulged in the obligatory baklava, and left for someplace less crowded.

I'm bored. It's not a shortage of things to do, but more a lack of interest in doing most of those things. I procrastinate on freelance projects. I let too many phone calls go unreturned. I can't remember the last time I tried a new recipe or did anything related to home improvement, other than replace two throw pillows on my sofa. I usually feel rejuvenated in the fall, but right now I just feel bored.

I'm supposed to be working on a freelance article, but can't seem to get motivated - partly because the subject matter is very technical, and I'm not sure I'm able to completely understand the material myself, much less explain it to a non-technical audience. I've been sitting at my computer for half an hour, realizing that there's nothing like an intimidating project to make just about everything on the Internet seem utterly fascinating.

I have a bizarre fear of getting in a traffic accident while drinking a soft drink, and impaling the roof of my mouth with a straw. I really need a shorter commute - not just to decrease my risk, but to give myself less time to think about such things.

Aveda's Light Elements Defining Whip is the best hair product I've discovered in years. It's a bit pricey ($20 a jar), but worth it for those of us who consider hair products to qualify as life necessities, right along with food, clothing and shelter.

Writing that tries too hard is almost as distasteful as run-of-the-mill bad writing. Articles that fall into the Arts & Entertainment category are often guilty, as evidenced by this review of Under the Tuscan Sun. My favorite is the reference to "multitudinous supporting characters, who scatter about the movie like jelly beans across a terrazzo floor."

I'm not a fan of standard Phoenix architecture - stucco tract homes with vaulted ceilings and tile roofs. I've noticed that ads for major Phoenix homebuilders usually include: A) a happy couple, B) children playing, or C) a kitten sleeping on the floor. None of the ads show an actual house. I think this is a pretty good indication that even the homebuilders know that their houses are sadly lacking in visual appeal.

I've been working several days a week for a college department that calls itself "Institutional Advancement" - a cumbersome title, especially when you try to pronounce it quickly while answering the phone. Unless I apply full concentration, I usually end up dropping the first T, which probably makes me sound like I don't qualify to work for a college.

But I prefer this challenge to the nearly impossible feat of correctly pronouncing Tempe's "Rural Road." Most of the name becomes buried beneath all the Rs, making it come out something like "Rrrrrroad."

Is it too late to sign up for speech therapy?

The trouble with neglecting your website for so long is you start to feel self-conscious about writing again - like you should come up with something really profound, as though it's taken a couple of weeks to ponder some deep subject. But profundity escapes me right now. I just wanted to provide evidence that I am still a living, breathing member of society - one with a really bad case of writer's block.

The date/time feature on my computer is messed up. I adjusted it a few weeks ago, but for some reason it defaults to January 1904. When I send e-mail to someone not familiar with the quirks of my system, I always feel a need to acknowledge the problem - which is probably not really necessary, since nobody's really going to think I sent them e-mail a century ago.

I just got back from vacation last night, and feel like I'm moving in slow motion. Why is travel so tiring? Between flights from Springfield, Mo., to Dallas, and from Dallas to Phoenix, I spent most of yesterday evening sitting and reading. It's not like I climbed the Himalayas.

My favorite quote regarding Phoenix's gas shortage comes from our governor, who will go down in history for saying, "When you need to go to a gas station there needs to be gas there."

A friend was shopping for candles in a bargain store, and came across one prominently labeled Aromatherapy. In smaller letters, underneath, was a single word: Unscented. No wonder it was a bargain.

A PR Director who interviewed me for a job defined the reasoning behind his hospital’s emphasis on employee satisfaction: “We figure if employees are happy, our patients are going to be happy.” Since my interviewer had a casual style and had already displayed a sense of humor, I decided to draw a clever parallel: “Sort of like securing your own oxygen mask before assisting your child,” I said, quoting every flight attendant I’ve every heard. He responded with a blank look, and adopted the most serious tone of the entire interview when he said, “Oh, I think I’d help my child first.”

So on “David Letterman” tonight, Paul Schaefer applied the same illustration to something Dave said, and drew loud applause and cheers from the audience. At least somebody got the joke.

It was 109 degrees at 9:00 tonight. Maybe I'll just stay indoors until October.

Why do they ask "What's you biggest weakness?" during job interviews? I can understand why they want to know, but do they think we're really going to tell them?

One of my friends saw a flash while driving in an area monitored by photo radar, and is worried she's going to receive a ticket in the mail. She was speeding, but not excessively. She probably won't have to pay a fine, since I've heard that Municipal Court doesn't send tickets for smaller violations. I think it's the photo radar system's way of letting you off with a warning.

My dentist has given me an extra-soft toothbrush (he calls it my "homework") during my last two appointments. Now that I've become used to the extra-soft bristles, anything else feels like I'm brushing my teeth with steel wool. But the toothbrushes only last a few months, and are virtually impossible to replace unless I'm willing to resort to a miniature Barbie or Bob the Builder brush. Even an on-line search was unfruitful, though I did uncover an impressive assortment of options. Ergonomic Handle. Dual Action. Technique Quad Grip. Cross Action Vitalizer. I had to check to make sure I was looking at toothbrushes, and not workout equipment.

Ghostwriting bugs me, especially now that I’m aware of how prevalent it is. I used to think if someone's signature appeared at the bottom of a published article or letter, he/she at least had a part in writing the thing. But now that I’ve written for a CEO (whom I knew only vaguely) and a mayor (whom I’d observed once at a public function, but never actually met), I realize there’s a lot of writing out there that doesn’t even remotely reflect the thoughts of the person it’s supposedly coming from. Maybe it doesn’t really matter, because this is just the sort of writing nobody reads. When was the last time you took time to look at the introductory letter of an annual report?

A group from my church was supposed to get together for a dinner last night, so I bought a pie and made the half-hour drive to our group leader's home. I was surprised when I pulled in front of the house and spotted no other cars, and wondered for a minute if I had the right house. (The family lives in a sea of light-colored stucco homes so similar that one couple from our group walked into the wrong house by mistake one night.) Then I remembered the family is on vacation this week, and the dinner isn't until next week.

One of my friends refers to these things as "random acts of blondness."

So if you’re single in this age of electronic communication, you’ve probably tried Internet dating – or at least entertained the possibility. After a while, most of the written profiles start to sound alike: Above average in looks. Looks 10 years younger than he really is. Works out five times a week. Is comfortable in a suit or jeans. Works hard. Plays hard. Hates being indoors. And, of course, loves taking walks along the ocean.

Yawn. Who wants to date a clone?

When you think about it, isn't it odd when adults refer to their bedroom as "my room"? I'm sure it's a habit from childhood, when there was only one space you could claim as your own. But once you're an adult and have your own home, aren't all of them your rooms?

I came home Monday to a message from a human resources employee who had called to set up a job interview. When I returned the woman's call the next morning, I got the impression that she was either devoid of emotion, or not all that interested in her job. After we'd set an interview time, I asked if I needed to bring anything with me -- in my field, it's pretty common for the interviewer to request writing or design samples. The woman seemed surprised by my question and said, no, I didn't need to bring anything.

So this evening I came home to another message, confirming my interview time and "reminding" me to bring two writing samples and a publication I'd had a part in producing. I was irritated, since it was now 7:30 and I was nowhere near a printer or copy machine (I'd had access to both throughout the day). Fortunately, I was able to get my neighbor to print out what I needed. But, still, I wonder -- why are people like that employed, while some of us with a real interest in working are pounding the pavement?

This has me worried. (Retailers can breathe a sigh of relief that I don't have a sister.)

One of my friends had a rough weekend*, and confessed to going on an eating binge. When she told me about it, various junk foods immediately came to mind. But she's been on the Atkins diet, so her indulgences were more along the lines of nectarines, watermelon and strawberries. I had to laugh. Aren't those the things that would have gone on a diet plate 10 years ago?

* Of course there was a guy involved.

They're predicting 117 degrees on Thursday. Is it too late to book a flight to Anchorage?

I was saddened to learn that Moody Magazine is ceasing publication, after 103 years, with its July/August issue. I’m particularly sentimental about the magazine, since it published my first “real” article a few years ago. (I refer to it as my “one-hit wonder,” since I have yet to write another.) Aside from my personal tie to the magazine, I consider its demise to be a great loss in the world of Christian publishing. I share the sentiments of another reader, who wrote, “The articles are thought-provoking, intellectually enlightening, and encouraging. I understand the need to discontinue the magazine, but I shall mourn the passing of a dear friend.”

One of the things I miss about having a "real" job is paid holidays. I was determined not to spend the Fourth of July in front of my computer doing freelance work, so I worked last Saturday and put in an 11-hour day today to store up extra hours. It seems like a lot of work for one day off. I just hope I don't sleep through the fireworks tomorrow night.

There was apparently quite a stir when the manager at one of my workplaces announced a new dress code that did not allow capri pants -- a summer wardrobe staple for most women. Two weeks later he sent an office-wide e-mail rescinding the unfavorable ban, explaining that he had not understood the range of styles covered by the term "capri." He ended his message on a personal note: "I would like to thank my wife for pointing out to me that reading the 'Style Man' column in Bicycling magazine does not qualify me to be much of a critic in the fashion world."

Dreyer's is having a contest for kids to come up with a specialty ice cream to represent their state. Being a great fan of ice cream, I find it painful that I don't qualify for the contest. I've thought of ideas that would work for Dairy Queen ("Lizard Blizzard") or any basic fast-food restaurant ("RattleShake"), but nothing so far that would fit this particular contest, even if I did qualify.

Aren't I clever, nonetheless?

The new film From Justin to Kelly looks so lame, even my die-hard "American Idol" fan is thinking about going to a late-night showing, hoping nobody she knows will see her.

I ran across an ad for a company that sells supplies for the art of papercutting. It's not a hobby I'm familiar with, but I found myself captivated after reading this sentence: Specializing in paper-cutting patterns and supplies for the beginner to the advanced scissorist. I wanted to respond right away - not to explore the hobby, but to ask, "Is scissorist really a word?"

I think it’s interesting that some people dismiss all television as worthless - especially those who aren’t all that selective about what they see on the big screen. A guy I knew a few years ago bragged that he never watched television, but he went to see the Lost in Space movie three times.

I agree that television can be a time-waster, and I’m selective about what I watch. I have little appreciation for sitcoms that rely mostly on sarcasm for humor. And I dislike being in homes where TV provides continual background noise. Still, I do have a few favorites that I find worthwhile:
Gilmore Girls
Alias
Ed
Monk
(The West Wing would have been on the list a year ago, but lately viewers need a degree in political science to follow the show.)

How to Buy a Pepsi - Karen's Complicated Version

1. Determine, mid-afternoon, that you will fall into a coma if you don't get a Pepsi into your system soon.
   
2. Remember that the Pepsi machine in your building has eaten your money, while delivering no beverage -- twice. Decide not to give it the satisfaction a third time.
   
3. Walk outdoors, through the blazing heat, to a machine in front of an adjacent building.
   
4. Insert three quarters, and listen to them drop abruptly into the change slot. Try again. And again.
   
5. Walk to another outdoor machine, in front of another building. Repeat step 4.
   
6. Resort to the indoor machine after all, becoming optimistic when you see that the original offending machine has been replaced.
   
7. Insert coins, press the Wild Cherry Pepsi button, and listen to the satisfying clank of the can hitting the bottom of the machine.
   
8. Realize that you've accidentally pressed Mountain Dew Code Red.
   
9. Return to the office, and find that Mountain Dew Code Red is so detestable that you can't even give it away to the student employee who will normally consume just about anything.
   

I read an article yesterday that suggested McDonald's could be in trouble (in January, the chain reported its first quarterly loss since the company went public in 1965). It's hard to believe the chain could be in any real danger, given the restaurant's enormous popularity with children. Give a bunch of kids their choice of restaurant to go to, and - unless a competitor is offering a better toy that month (kids are fickle that way) - McDonald's will be the hands-down favorite. It's an unexplained phenomenon.

I'm driving a rental car this week while my car is in the body shop for repairs. Insurance covers the cost of renting a compact car, which is fine, since that's what I'm used to driving. After telling the Enterprise people that no, I didn't want to upgrade to a Tahoe for $10 more per day, and, no, I didn't need the extra leg room offered by a Taurus for an extra $2 per day, they handed me the keys to a Suzuki Aero. I've never seen or heard of this car, nor had the Enterprise woman who was helping me. (Granted, it was only her second day on the job.) I'm starting to suspect that Suzuki made only one of these cars, and I'm driving it.

This is sad on so many levels.

A friend and fellow weblogger keeps telling me I need to add Commenting to my blog so that people can make their own clever observations about the things I write about. The thought always makes me nervous, though. For one thing, what if I add Commenting and nobody ever comments, and I'm forced to realize that I actually have no readers out there? Or I could end up with a string of comments like some I've seen that start out with remarks related to the topic but finally digress to probing inquiries such as, "Hey, are you going to Jared's party this weekend?" followed by compelling responses like, "Yeah, but I'm gonna be late. It's my mom's birthday."

But aside from such tangents, my real fear is that the comments will be more interesting than my own writing. (Humility just isn't my thing right now.)

Some of my friends were trying to name the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. Someone named the Grand Canyon right away, and another followed with Mount Everest. Without thinking, another chimed in, "Mount Rushmore."

Amazing how the faces of those presidents just happened to appear on that
mountain.

I had to attend Defensive Driving School after getting a photo-radar ticket for speeding. Part of the six-hour class was devoted to listening to people complain about their tickets. One woman got on a soap box about photo radar being unconstitutional (in her case, at least), while others were figuring out ways to beat the system. Yesterday a neighbor complained to me that half the money collected from photo-radar tickets goes to the companies in charge of the systems. But since Phoenix ranks sixth on the list of most hazardous cities for driving, I'm all for the effort to crack down on lawbreakers. Even though I've now proven to be one of them.

Karen's Layoff Aftermath Journal, Day 72
I miss my job.

I've been battling ants in my kitchen the past few weeks. They're the tiny black ones - not really disgusting, as bugs go, so I feel sort of guilty killing them. But I douse them with Windex nonetheless, hoping to keep the population under control. Knowing what I do about their lifting abilities, I'm afraid a bunch of them will join forces one of these days and start carrying my appliances away.

Sometimes I'm not sure if the Internet has made job-hunting easier or more difficult. It's nice to be able to click on various company websites, check out their job openings, and send a resume electronically. But some companies require you to customize information specifically for them, which is time-consuming. I spent three hours working on an online resume/portfolio for a company that recruits freelance writers and graphic designers, and I still haven't finished.

I miss the carefree days when all I had to do was work for a living.

Last week I went to hear sportswriter Rick Reilly talk about his new book, Who's Your Caddy?, at Borders. It was the first book-signing I'd been to, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Actually, once he arrived, I knew exactly what I expected. Since Reilly is from out of state, and it had been some 110 degrees in Phoenix that day, I braced myself for the usual out-of-towner's opening line about the heat. Instead, he stepped up to the microphone and said, "I love this town" (sounding like he meant it), then asked, "How many golf courses you got here?"

I bought his book, intending to give it to my dad as a Father's Day present. Later I discovered the book contains quite a bit of locker-room humor, so I'll probably choose a different gift. But I did enjoy one of Reilly's observations about women's golf vs. men's golf:

It's Wednesday and Jill (McGill) is warming up on the range when she has the following discussion with Tour pro Joanne Morley:
Jill: Is that skirt Banana Republic?
Joanne: No, this is The Gap, I think.
Jill: It's darling.
Can you see that on the men's tour?
Tiger: Is that shirt Tommy Hilfiger?
Phil Mickelson: No, this is Boss.
Tiger: It's darling.

A woman at my job du juor (at a city Recreation Division) dropped by my office this morning to talk about project. Suddenly, she stopped mid-sentence and said "Oh, my gosh," staring at the wall behind me. I whirled around just in time to see a mouse scurrying up a cable that suspends from a hole in the ceiling. After it had disappeared from view (and my heart regained normal function), I realized I'd had no idea that mice were capable of rope-climbing. Maybe the creature had taken up rapelling. It's been hanging out in the Recreation Division, after all.

Why do guys write such short e-mails? Usually they're not only brief, but you can typically count on at least one misspelling, missing punctuation, and an extra word thrown in somewhere that makes no sense. You could send an e-mail to a guy letting him know you'd decided to donate a kidney to his firstborn child, and you'd get in response, "Thanks a. that'l help"

But the record for e-mail brevity goes to a co-worker I shared an office with a year ago. After teasing him about being especially talkative one afternoon, he responded by giving me the silent treatment for the remaining three hours of the day. I finally sent an e-mail asking something like, "Are you ever going to talk again?" He surprised me by responding right away - but when I opened the message, it was completely blank. At least everything was punctuated correctly.

When I told my family about my ill-timed reading of Mad Cow articles during lunch last week. my brother suggested that maybe I was only eating Slightly Annoyed Cow.

Arizona Republic columnist Clay Thompson refutes the myth that light-colored cars are cooler inside than dark-colored ones. That's good news for those of us who find white cars bland. But when you live in Phoenix, the Land of White Vehicles, you have to be careful about expressing your car-color opinions. Once a group of coworkers and I were discussing our favorite car models. I told them, "I always know I really like a certain type of car if I like it in white, because I think that's the most boring color for a car." As soon as I said it, I realized three of the four people around me drove white vehicles. Oops.

After the Mad Cow scare hit, I steered (very bad pun only sort of intended) clear of beef for about a year. Ocassionally, when I was beginning to tire of chicken, and the shredded beef Chipotle burrito looked especially appetizing, I would indulge in a game of Beef Roulette. I'm becoming a little less paranoid about the whole thing lately, and decided to brave a beef selection when I stopped by a favorite Mexican restaurant for lunch yesterday. I read the newspaper as I ate -- and proceeded to find two articles about Mad Cow. I'm thinking of becoming a vegeterian.

I have a basic cell phone plan that gives me a low monthly rate and very limited number of minutes. The plan is ideal for me, since I have the phone mostly for security, and to make an occasional quick call. I don't feel a need to be reachable at all hours of the day, nor do I want to be one of the growing number of people holding phone conversations in stores, banks and restaurants. But when I tell friends I don't keep my cell phone turned on, I sometimes receive a mocking response like, "Oh, that does a lot of good." Apparently it doesn't make sense to have a cell phone for my own convenience rather than everyone else's. But I think my life is less frantic, and I'm probably safer on the road than I would be if I were continually groping for a ringing phone on the freeway.

I've been working one or two days a week on site for one of my freelance clients - enough to be included in some of the office activities, but not enough to get to know people very well. Today someone asked me to sign a card for a student employee who is graduating tonight. I stared at the inside of the card, wondering what to write to someone I'd barely exchanged words with. I immediately started thinking of the tired phrases we used to use when signing high school yearbooks: "I don't know you very well, but you seem really sweet...." or "Have a great summer!" Fearing I would eventually scrape bottom with something like "BFF," I wrote a simple note of congratulations and signed my name.

I recently received a $10 Blockbuster gift certificate. That should just about cover one video rental, plus late fees.

I’m starting to adapt to the multiple demands on my time. I woke up at 5 this morning and managed to get an hour in on my computer to meet a freelance deadline before I had to leave my house at 7:15. I was starting to feel cocky about my ability to finish a design, shoot off some e-mails and still make it to work on the other side of town by 8:00. Then I got in my car and realized the tire I had repaired on Friday was going flat again. As I was sitting in the waiting room of the auto repair shop a few minutes later, a woman sitting nearby decided to read the day’s “Dilbert” cartoon to me (and then repeated the part she thought was especially funny). I gave her a courtesy laugh, and wondered how much worse Monday was going to get. (I’ve always thought that only married people should have to endure being read to from the paper.) Sometimes life is more comical than the daily cartoons.

Whenever I see the back of a vehicle covered with bumper stickers, I know that the sayings will be either off-the-wall or vulgar. Nobody ever peppers their car with messages like "I'd rather be quilting" or "I brake for garage sales."

Here's a sign that you've spent too much time on the Internet.

It's 11:15 pm, and there's an insomniac bird singing outside my window. I guess that's what they have to do, since they don't have television.

I'm designing a college commencement program as one of my freelance projects. I commented to the college's marketing coordinator that it's a little stressful to think about how many names are included in the program, and how important it is to make sure each one is correct. She nodded in agreement, then pointed out that some people will save the program as a keepsake (maybe for the rest of their lives).

No pressure.

I finally have high-speed Internet service. Maybe I can now become a regular contributor to this website.

Today's grammar puzzler: What's the past-tense of "pick and choose"?

Last week a man I met recently invited me to get together for coffee – a pseudo-date, I suppose. He’d learned that I had an interest in black & white photography, so he asked me to bring some of my photos along. I gathered a few of my favorites, slipped them into a large envelope, and headed for Coffee Plantation. When I got there, I noticed my pseudo-date had a large photo album with him. He told me that since he’d brought up the subject of photography, he decided to bring along photos from his climbing expedition in Africa last summer. We went through the book cover-to-cover: Postcards of London. Maps of the region. A trip itinerary. English translations of common phrases. And page after page of photos from his week-long expedition. He never did ask to see my photos. I think he was trying to impress me with his overseas expedition, but what would have really made an impression would have been if he’d shown more interest in me and less in himself. Don’t they have seminars where guys can learn these sorts of things?

I like the grass-green Volkswagen Beetle, but it seems to fall in the category of "fun car" instead of "practical, everyday car." Or, worse, it could come off looking like the sort of vehicle someone buys when they're trying to come across as more freespirited than they really are. Like the middle-aged accountant I used to work with who drove a bright-yellow car to work every day. One of my co-workers spotted it in the parking lot one day, rolled her eyes and said, "There's Bob's mid-life-crisis car." Of course, who really cares what anyone thinks? I'm just not sure my love of grass-green would endure for the life of the car - something to think about, since I've had the car I'm driving now for eight years.

I'm doing freelance work for a community college, and have started working out of the school's Public Relations office on Fridays. Last Friday, the Marketing Coordinator invited me to lunch and picked up the tab. Friday night some friends from church invited me to join them for a movie and dinner - and paid for both. It's nice that people are aware that money's a little tight for me right now. When I do get settled into a new full-time job, I'm tempted to keep it to myself for a while and see how long the charity continues....

Since I'm working quite a bit from home now, I've decided it's time to invest in high-speed Internet service. The extra expense will be worth it - I figure I'd end up spending that much and more in psychiatry fees if I continue much longer with dial-up service.

Jimmy Osmond turned 40 yesterday. That's hard to grasp, since I think of him as eternally 12. He probably even has a wife by now. (Maybe even several.)

I probably have no readers left, since I’ve neglected to write much in the past few weeks. I was officially laid off last Tuesday, and life has been a whirl since then. I kept thinking that I should write something poignant about the seven and a half years I spent working for a children’s hospital - what I considered my “dream job” for nearly all of that time. But I’ve been working to piece together an income - between a part-time, temporary job and assorted freelance projects - and any would-be poignant writing has taken a back seat to the kind of work that pays the bills. I have leads on several jobs that sound pretty good, though it’s been kind of hard to get very excited about any of them. When you’ve written about kids with cancer, kids who’ve endured one surgery after another, kids who’ve beat all odds against surviving, all the other jobs seem flat by comparison. At least for now....

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks job hunting, interviewing, picking up freelance work, and working on the biggest project of the year at my regular job. I feel like I’m juggling too many things, but so far I haven’t dropped the ball on anything major. I woke up in the middle of the night and decided I might as well get up and write for a few hours, since my project deadline is fast approaching. I wasn't sure what quality of work I would produce in the middle of the night, but I’m actually pretty happy with the stories now that I’ve read them in the light of day. Nothing spurs productivity quite like deadline pressure....

Is David Letterman ever coming back? Other than a short article that said he had a case of shingles, I haven't been able to find any information about his absence. I don't think he was out this long when he had quintuple bypass surgery. I'm beginning to think he's dead, and they don't know how to break it to us....

Someone delivered a bagful of candy to my office suite last week as a token of appreciation for our hard work. The assortment included one kind I'd never heard of - chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, with a bright-colored coating that makes them deceptively appealing. I popped one into my mouth and immediately declared it the worst candy I had ever tasted in my life. (Apparently we haven't been working hard enough around here.)

This spud’s for you
One of my Idaho friends flew in for a visit last weekend, and came bearing gifts. I am now the proud owner of a potato-adorned magnet in the shape of - you guessed it - Idaho.

I ran across the video What About Bob over the weekend and realized that while I enjoyed seeing the film years ago, I have no interest in watching it a second time. But I can watch another Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, again and again. Which is strange, since watching that particular movie once is pretty much like watching it again and again....

The nice thing about job-hunting - even if it's in the face of a potential layoff - is you can daydream about the things that might be better about the next job. Maybe I'll have an office with a window. Maybe the pay will be better. Maybe there will be a great single guy in the next office. (Hey, if I'm daydreaming, I might as well go all the way with it....) At the very least, maybe they'll have an efficient cooling system. It's at least 85 degrees this afternoon, and my building has no working air conditioner. I feel like I'm working in slow motion.

I lived in Japan when I was between the ages of 4 and 6. One of the skills I picked up - besides the impressive ability to count to 10 in Japanese* - was the ability to use chopsticks. Whenever I end up at Tokyo Express for lunch, the person who takes my order will ask if I prefer a fork or chopsticks, and I always opt for chopsticks. With take-out orders, I've learned to check the bag for the requested utensils before I leave, because they usually give me a fork instead. I must not look like the chopsticks type.

* Okay, so I'm not exactly bilingual.

Quote of the Day:
The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall.
- Mitch Hedberg

(I'm not into tennis - I just liked the quote.)

After two years of mocking the Atkins Diet, I'm actually thinking of going on it to lose the five stubborn pounds that won't seem to budge. The biggest challenge will be breakfast, which is now made up completely of Atkins-forbidden foods (toast, yogurt, juice, cereal, bananas). But I am looking forward to indulging in a few other delicacies without guilt: steak, cheese, deviled eggs, omelets. We'll see how long I last before I become a crazed woman in Safeway's bakery aisle, loading my cart with every bagel, muffin and loaf of bread I can lay my carbohydate-deprived hands on.

I’ve always wanted to live on a street with a beautiful name, like Magnolia Avenue or Lakeshore Drive. Instead, I live on a street with a bland number name. I suppose it’s better than my experience a few years ago living on West North Lane - which seemed to confuse every person who assisted me with a phone order. I think my best missed opportunity came when I tried to buy a house on Stella Lane. I ended up not qualifying for the purchase, which carried double disappointment. I was so looking forward to people asking me what street I lived on and being able to yell Stella!

Maybe things are looking up after all. Yesterday a printer I work with surprised me with a restaurant gift certificate. And today's mail brought a $10 AMC Theatre gift certificate as a reward for completing a readership survey. At least I'll be able to afford entertainment for the next week or two....

I'm wearing a new pair of boots today. They make me feel really sassy.

When it rains, it pours...
It was pouring when I drove home last night, and my car stalled a few blocks from my house. I left it parked on a residential street overnight, and found out this morning that someone had backed into my car during the night and dented one of the wheel wells.

Great - I hope I don't become one of those people who has a hard luck story to bore people with at every turn. The Pollyanna in me wishes to point out that at least I had an umbrella with me when my car stalled. And the person who hit my car had the decency to call the police and report the accident.

I can’t say I exactly survived the Valentine’s Day Massacre at work. Though I wasn’t among the 45 who were laid off two weeks ago, I was told my hours would be cut to 24 per week beginning April 1. Now there’s talk that I, along with most of my department, may be laid off altogether. The hospital I work for is in financial crisis, and there doesn’t seem to be much hope for a quick turn-around. I’ve always known that public relations is one of the first departments to suffer cutbacks in times of financial difficulty, and I'm seeing evidence of that now.

So my after-work hours have been spent putting together a resume, scouring for job leads, and trying to spruce up my house in case I’m forced to put it on the market. The day after I received the news about my job, my car broke down and I was forced to rent another one to see me through the next few days. And last Friday all the electricity in my house went out as I was getting ready for work. Fortunately, it was a fairly simple problem, but extra expenses for home and car repairs are hard to swallow when I’m trying to tighten up my budget as much as possible. I’m hoping things start looking up soon....

There must be a particular difficulty in translating Asian languages into English. Dave Barry Does Japan points to the peculiarity of Japanese baseball fans who sit in the stands yelling, “Loudly make it fly!” Today, one of my friends is puzzling over a sign he just saw in Panda Express: “Happy Firecracker Beef.”

Is there a new holiday they haven’t told us about, or is this an odd Eastern version of the Happy Meal?

We’ve been living with the threat of layoffs at work for the past six weeks. We were told to expect an announcement in mid-February, so there’s a gloomy feeling in the air this week. And though we’ve been assured the announcement will not come on Friday, the impending layoffs have been dubbed the Valentine’s Day Massacre. One co-worker suggested they probably won’t do the necessary deed on Thursday, either, pointing out that “it’s sort of a holiday” (though I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone celebrating Valentine’s Eve). At this point, most people just want the news - good or bad - so they can either breathe a sigh of relief or move on to the next thing.

The cafeteria at work posts its menu a week ahead of time, but the only thing listed for Friday is “Special Valentine’s Day Menu.” I’m trying to figure out what, beyond chocolate, qualifies as Valentine cuisine. Artichoke hearts? Red meat? Dates?

My grammar reference of choice is Woe Is I: The Grammarphobe's Guide to Better English in Plain English. It's a great tool that even manages to be funny, as evidenced by chapter names such as Plurals Before Swine and Verbal Abuse. Garrison Keillor offered this endorsement:

You forget so much about English as you go along being profound in it, like who a gerund is and where adverbs go, until one day you stand up to receive your honorary LL.D. and children snicker at your grammatical errors. Woe Is I can save you from that. I mean, this is, like, a cool book.

I have friends from Boise, Idaho, and have visited several times. I’ve teased my friends that Idahoans seem to be obsessed with the shape of their state - the silhouette appears on signs everywhere. In response, my friend Kim (raised in Idaho, and now a reluctant Phoenician) brings me some Idaho-shaped product after every visit home. So far, I’ve received cookies, chocolate and soap. When my office moved, I noticed an Idaho-shaped discoloration on one of the keys of my new phone. Kim claims to have nothing to do with it, but can anyone blame me for being suspicious? I think it’s just plain freaky.

In all the years of automotive technology, I wonder why nobody's come up with a way to honk at the person behind you in traffic.

I have a keen dislike for intentional misspellings sometimes used by businesses in an effort to be catchy or cute. The marketing effort backfires on me - the last place I want to go for a haircut is a shop called Kurls and Klaws (yes, it’s a real name). When I bought my first home - a condo - several years ago, people told me, “You could hang up a sign that says Karen’s Kondo - you know - and spell it with two Ks.” I heard this not once, but twice. I think there’s some sort of English-major-hating group that’s out to get me.

Most people seem to assume that singleness brings an endless supply of free time. While it’s true I have fewer responsibilities than my friends who have a spouse and children, that hardly means my life is unencumbered. I usually work until 6:00 in the evening. All the other tasks of life have to fit into evenings and weekends: working out, cooking, cleaning, yardwork, errands, paying bills, shopping, home improvement projects, recreation.... Probably the most out-of-touch was the man who told me how unwise it was for a woman to be out after dark, and told me his wife never shopped or ran errands after dark. If I heeded his advice, I’d have to stay home every evening, drop my gym membership, and do all of my socializing over lunch. I get the idea some people think I have the life of a stay-at-home mom, but without the kids.

I was sick on Friday - some type of flu, I think. I felt queasy all day, and couldn’t do much beyond laying around on my couch. I rented two movies to pass the time, but one was so terrible I couldn’t make it past the first 10 minutes (I should have given up after five). I read for a while, but even holding the book at eye level seemed to take considerable effort. So I resorted to television as soon as I could find an option other than soap operas, talk shows and game shows. But TV ended up being a mistake, because every commercial seemed to be one for the newest version of stuffed-crust pizza. Do you know how disgusting a greasy slab o’ pizza looks when you have the flu?

My post-college jobs have always been for non-profit organizations. I prefer it that way, but in my less altruistic moments I wish I could work for a place that has matching chairs in its conference rooms.

Sometimes I think people should have to earn a license to communicate, just as they need a license to operate a motor vehicle. Those who prove to be incompetent by their inconsiderate habits would have their license suspended. Here are what I would consider to be obvious infractions:

• Interrupting


• Correcting insignificant details. (Usually committed by spouses, as in the following exchange):
  

  She: “Last Tuesday, we tried that new Italian restaurant...”
  He: “No, it wasn’t Tuesday, it was Wednesday. Remember? It was right after we picked up the car from the mechanic.”
  She: “I thought we took the car in on Tuesday.”
  He: “No, because Tuesday I had that meeting and had to have the car to....”

  (By this time, everyone listening is ready to yell, “It’s not important!”)


• Monopolizing the conversation


• Looking around a crowded room while someone’s talking to you, in case there may be someone more interesting nearby


• Making jokes during a serious conversation


• Talking incessantly about yourself, but showing little or no interest in the other person. (Haven’t we all been on dates like that?)


• Responding to any statement with “Yeah, right.” That’s just another way of saying, “You liar.”


• Leaving notes with multiple exclamation points to convey anger. During college, I lived one summer with a roommate who was utterly sweet in person, but would leave notes like, “Do NOT put the knives with the wooden handles in the dishwasher!!!!!!!!!!!!” (After a few of these, I should have left my own note saying, “I’m moving OUT!!!!!!!!!!”)

Of course, there are other communication quirks that are annoying but not necessarily rude. For those, they should just let you off with a warning.

Toy Story 2 on Ice looks a tad silly, with twin Buzz Lightyears joining hands and twirling about. One of my friends thinks the “on ice” adaptations of popular movies has gone too far: “What will they come up with next? Titanic on Ice?”

As I continue to battle insomnia, I’ve stooped to occasionally watching “She Spies.” It’s pretty hokey, but it’s a show that knows it’s hokey - which somehow helps the entertainment value. It’s actually pretty funny at times. Besides, at 3 in the morning, you can’t be too picky.

Why do guys think they have to come up with an answer to any question, whether they know what it is or not? Isn’t responding with a simple “I don’t know” preferable to making something up? A (male) friend of mine refers to this as Male Answer Syndrome.

I was up until 5:00 this morning, working on a deadline, and I am not a night person. I hope I won’t end up being a complete grouch today.

I heard a taped speech by Frank Abagnale, the subject of the film Catch Me If You Can a few years ago. Captivated by his story, I searched the Phoenix Public Libary system for his book, and found a single battered copy at a small branch in Paradise Valley. So of course I was thrilled when the film came out. I saw it over the weekend, and liked it a lot. It’s a terrific cat-and-mouse movie with great acting and some surprisingly touching moments. And the 60’s-style opening credits are oh-so-cool. Unfortunately, I didn't find out until afterward that Abagnale himself has a bit part in the movie. Guess I’ve found my excuse to go see it again....

Today’s helpful cooking tip is courtesty of the instruction booklet for my new George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine: After the desired amount of time, the food should be done.

Today's date is 1-2-3.

Cool.