I am no promoter

I sent an email out to a bunch of people inviting them to come out on a Wednesday without telling them the occasion. (Which is the day before my birthday.)

Naturally, I am getting any number of excuses and not much of a groundswell for it.

Which just goes to show what a lousy promoter/marketer I am.

Which is, in fact, fine by me.

As I sit here and think about this, I am reminded of one of RD's classes in which he said something to the effect that more and more marketing needs to be done by nontraditional means. The important thing is reaching the audience, not the medium used to do it. He came up with the example of reaching out to horror movie fans at the right kind of rock show. What if you could persuade Marilyn Manson to mention your movie during his set ... "Hey you assholes. You need to check out Hellraiser 24 when it comes out next week."

I suppose this generally only works with adolescents, who tend to think that name calling, a bad attitude and a derisive tone of voice = cool. And I am not sure that this is the kind of thing that Marilyn Manson would ever say. But today I keep revisiting the "Hey you assholes" marketing strategy and day dreaming about what the response rate would have been to an email that read:

"Hey you assholes, it's my F**kin' birthday. I am one step closer to Corpsville so come out and have a G*dd*mn drink with me."

I think my entire circle of acquaintance has gotten to the age where that sh*t just does not fly. But I am still quite taken with the very thought of it.

Latest note to self

My choices are my own.
They lead to certain consequences.
If I make different choices, the results will be different.

it meant a lot to me, it really did

It is strange how hard it can be to take a compliment. It is a skill to figure out how to accept one gracefully. To accept a compliment is different from merely thanking someone for giving it. Sometimes this is due to embarrassment. Sometimes this is due to skepticism or confusion or self-loathing. Sometimes it is a desire to not appear stuck up or too prideful.

The thing to do is not be a doofus, hear them out and find a genuine way to positively acknowledge what they say.

To not accept it gracefully is ungracious to the giver. A challenge to their judgment, their powers of observation, their discernment.

But sometimes the compliment itself is so odd or misplaced or generic that one does not know how to react. Often a compliment will seem very generic, even if it is sincerely meant and expressed. Or misplaced.

There is this quote that I heard first on "My So-Called Life" that went something like:

"What you are is God's gift to you, what you do with it is your gift to God."

It occurs to me that this idea comes into play with the compliments that people give you. When they compliment you on things that are "God's gift to you," they are complimenting you on something you had nothing to do with. Best to pass those along to your parents and grandparents. Chalk it up to luck, genetics, Providence.

But compliments pertaining to "your gift to God" are a product of your actions and choices. Often they are very specific to you.

At a show recently someone told me that she thought that my diction and my phrasing were very good. At the same show, someone told me that he liked that it was not just singing, that I was very Broadway in my interpretation. In the time that I have sung in front of people, these were among rare instances in which someone complimented me on my musicianship or my performing and not my pipes.

JY at one point called me a "stalwart lass" and JJsn once called me a "Game-y Broad." Which is basically code for "stubborn foolish (probably drunken) moron." I am not sure that either statement was meant as a compliment. But they were observations that jibed with how I try to roll in this life. Observations that made me feel like someone was actually paying attention and perhaps, liked something about me that I like about myself.

These were not all compliments graciously received but I will say, when someone compliments you on "your gift to God," ...

"There's nothing like it, there's nothing like it in the world." -
Richard Maltby, Jr.

want vs. have / want vs. sell

It's easy to get more than a little paranoid about your privacy on the internet. It's altogether likely that everyone is watching you there. Some are watching everything in general and saving it all, in case there are interesting trends to be observed, or they ever need to find you or someone like you in particular. Others are just stalking you or your cohort, the people who think, feel, behave and spend as you do.

I mistakenly keep thinking in light of this, some people at businesses would be able to find me, read my mind and offer to sell me exactly what I want.

For example this week I want to buy: 10 Temporary tatoos of the Looney Tunes character Speedy Gonzalez and a very tart lemon tart or cake or pan of lemon bars. Alas, the internet today sees fit to try to sell me a blackberry, Levis, iPhone insurance, Tennis lessons, or a local piano tuner.

CK pointed out to me a long time ago that companies are not interested in selling you what you want, they are interested in making you want to buy what they have, by whatever means they can. Still, I live in the hope that the internet algorithms are eventually going to get so good that someone will anticipate my every desire and suss out the specific price point and make the exchange happen such that they make money and my material happiness increases substantially and significantly.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Meanwhile, I while away my hard earned cash on hot dogs and well drinks.

Positively Dumb

For many people the drive to correct and edit is more powerful than the drive to make a decision or share information. Often the decisions are absolutely necessary but scary to make. If your ego and reputation can handle it, sometimes playing dumb will yield you more effective results than asking questions.

Gear shift

While things were slow, I was the one kind of crazy at work. And now that things are picking up, I am trying to remember how I did things when I was the other kind of crazy.

mercy or fairness

The problem with enforcing excessive fairness is that you have to refuse people things that aren't that big a deal, because they are a big deal to someone, on principle if nothing else.

And trickled down to me, I feel petty when required to enforce such fairness. Would that I was in a position of enough authority to afford to be generous.

Healthcare Slow Jam

KL pointed this one out to me.



"Bipartisanship means, bipartisanship means, everyone can par-tay-ee"

Gifts from yahoo

It's rare that I read the news and laugh out loud.

"I think Joe's [Joe Wilson] conduct was asinine, but I think it would be asinine no matter what the color of the president," said Dick Harpootlian, who has known Wilson for decades. "I don't think Joe's outburst was caused by President Obama being African-American. I think it was caused by no filter being between his brain and his mouth."

Paranoia and forgetfulness

I am changing all of my passwords today. And realizing that I don't exactly know how many places on the web that needs to happen.

*blink*

*head scratch*

Options

Make the choice. Speed or perfection. Insisting on both makes for great misery.

Two things

Two things that I always say yes to and then regret - Tequila shots and one more taco.

In the moment it's good. But soon thereafter I tend to pay for it.

Alas

No matter how singular or magical the moment, I snap back to reality too fast. If I could just hold that back and extend the savor, how cool would that be.

CSSF part 3, post-post

I am partly done with the bedroom. Partly done. pant. pant. sigh. There is a lot of cleaning, moving to clean around, moving back and moving more stuff to make way to do more cleaning. That and the distraction of instant movies on Netflix.

"Am I straight, am I gay?
And I realized, I'm just slutty.
Where's my parade?
What about Slut Pride?" - Margaret Cho

LOL! I have not seen Margaret Cho's act since her TV show. It's damn funny. Her impression of her mother is nothing like my mother but brings on a wave of homesickness nonetheless and makes me want to call home.


Amongst the things watched as a movie called "Trojan War" which is a teen comedy which is a cross between "After Hours", "Adventures in Baby", and "Some Kind of Wonderful". It's a so-so movie. But it does have a beautiful cameo by Anthony Michael Hall. If the whole movie was like that scene, it would have been a cult classic.

When I got back to my house on Friday morning, there was a sunflower hanging from the front door knob. I removed it form the knob. let myself in and put it back. It is only now that I wonder whether it was for me. I assumed that it was for BB or JB. If you happen to have left a fleur for me, I'm sorry that I haven't thanked you. You didn't leave a note, Dork, none of us can thank you. And no. This is not me hinting around for dead vegetation.

CSSF part 2 and the Bell Curve

The bedroom closet is wiped out. When dry I will start hanging clothes in there.

While wiping and rinsing and wiping, I thought of a bit from the one-man show The W. Kamau Bell Curve - Ending Racism in About an Hour. He posits that black people are responsible for American popular culture, especially the music. I am inclined to agree with this statement. During this discussion, someone asks about country music and he thanks the audience for that questions and throws a up a slide.

"Country music = the blues - slavery."

It's a smart, sharp, funny show. And if you get the chance to see it at the New York Fringe Festival in it's last show this Saturday, August 29 at 5pm on the third floor at the Players Loft, 115 MacDougal Street , it will be well worth your time. If you miss that, keep an eye out for it, perhaps he will be coming to a theater near you or head out to SF where he is based.

Cheese Sandwich Summer Friday

This rainy day is my last summer Friday of the year. *sniff* When the summer Friday part of the season appears, I day dream about a summer Friday in which I do all the daytime things that I always intend to do here - shopping sprees, ride the staten island ferry, visit ellis island, see the northern end of Central Park, do a serious museum tour, see matinee movies or theater productions, read and nap at home, go for sumptuous spa packages, write a scathing political ska opera. It's the summer Friday after time machines are invented.

Last year I did a whole lot of nothing. I think I spent two of them working from home. And this year, one was spent at All Points West, one was spent recovering from my solo show, one was spent cleaning in preparation for a friend's visit. And this one is intended to be spent cleaning and unpacking into my newly renovated apartment. As a girl known for starting her cleaning efforts by balancing her check book and checking her email, you can sort of imagine what kind of a day this might end up being.

But first I took myself for brunch at the Clinton Street Bakery. At the raving of friends, I have tried on two other occasions to get food there. Went at 10am when they opened, was informed that there was a 2 hour wait, and went elsewhere for fud. This time on a Friday morning at 10am-ish the wait for one person was 20 mins. My day off, why the heck not.

The blueberry pancakes are very very good. That maple syrup butter stuff was delish as well. But I was knocked out by the eggs. I got a side of scrambled eggs and they were sublime. Fluffy, tender, and slightly salty. I always get eggs and never notice them. I take them for granted as the morning protein source of choice. These were exceptional eggs. I wanted to walk back into the kitchen and shake the hand of the egg guy. Wow.

I talked to my parents. They have been bugging me about this electronic device they have recently heard of called a "Blueberry." Something that high powered and ambitious corporate types apparently use to stay in the loop at all times. They worry that the lack of a "Blueberry" sequesters me to some kind of corporate ghetto, some little cubicle sized box in which to rot in obscurity. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about and that the blueberry is a nutritious and delicious fruit but certainly not a corporate miracle. They have since called me two more times accusing me of being too stingy, too short-sighted, and arguing that it's the kind of investment that would pay off in the long run. I expect that they will be calling a few more times during the course of the day to further discuss this "Blueberry" question. And I am now dreaming of pie.

On arriving home I find that my newly painted windows are all painted shut. So I went at them with a butter knife. Hacking at the paint in the cracks and wiggling the knife to pry the window away from the sills. In my minds eye, I see Jimmy Stewart laid up with a broken leg watching a short sleepy asian girl with big black glasses making violent stabbing motions through the air right by the window with a red faced, cranky, determined look on her face. He turns to Grace Kelly and hands her the binoculars and the string tremolo swells as they discuss whether what they are seeing is real or imagined and whether to call the cops. In my zeal, I hacked some of the paint off the sills and will try to glue them back - for the sake of appearances - once I find the wood glue.

It's a cheese sandwich blog post kind of day. More updates to come for better or worse. I had thought of doing this on the appropriate forum - Twitter. But I seldom write in 140 character increments. I leave that exercise until my next free Friday.

Once upon time

When my mother was a young woman, she loved ice cream. And so, when my parents were first married, on payday, my father would take my mother to this fancy and expensive ice cream parlor in Seoul and they would eat ice cream for dinner. And at other times of the month, he would buy her ice cream bars. "They were different from scooped ice cream, but they were VERY good," my mother said, a little shy, a little embarassed, but beaming with the memory of that ice cream.

It is a strange thing to consider that once upon on a time the people who are now my parents were sustained by love and ice cream. And honeymooned in their apartment with a newly purchased collection of opera records, because there was no money to travel.

What you find in the reference room

I have just run across "The Cowboy Encyclopedia" by Richard W. Slatta.

I opened it up at random to page 291 to the entry:

Pull Leather
To grab onto the saddle when a horse bucks. Pulling leather shows a lack of skill or courage or both.

So there.

Background processes

Over bevs, a friend told us that she whitens her teeth while working at the office. She puts in the bleaching trays and scowls at people who come over to ask questions, promising to get back to them in 40 minutes.

Brilliant optimization. Brilliant.

In your neigh-bor-hood

Since my lock out I've been thinking a little bit about the Prof. Henry Louis Gates situation. I have barely followed it at all. It seems that everyone has been focused on the cop, but I have to wonder about Prof. Gates' neighbors.

Someone called in the incident. Someone who thought it was weird that there was a man in their neighborhood messing with the front door of a house. Perhaps they would have called in the incident regardless of the man's appearance. Perhaps they didn't recognize him. Many of us don't know who are neighbors are these days. We don't recognize them on the street or know each other well enough to feel comfortable asking for or offering help. And I cannot help but think that this is actually the heart of the problem. The nation of strangers problem.

One summer when I was a kid, my father was re-roofing the house and it started to rain, a heavy torrential downpour. Four of our neighbors rushed right over and climbed the ladder to help him cover the roof with tarp to prevent the front half of the house from being flash flooded. We were not close, but we were neighbors and that's what you do for your neighbors. I have no doubt that if my father was struggling with the front door, someone would have come over to see if he needed a hand.

Someone was trying to be a good neighbor by calling the cops. But those good intentions coupled with a lack of information, a lack of relationships, led to a really crap situation because they didn't know their neighbors. It snowballed from there to what it is now.

I think next weekend I am going to have to start buying lemonade from the kids up the street and make it to the block party this year.