No, those pants don’t make you look fat.
I only buy it for the articles.
Honey, size doesn’t matter.
You’re the best I’ve ever had.
I’m doing this for your own good.
The check’s in the mail.
He wore a white turtleneck, white pants, white shoes, and white gloves. Taped to his body were dozens of sayings, all heard, many uttered. He was a walking white lie.
The Best Pick Up Line. Ever.
The pilot announced it was a full flight. I sat in one window seat, my co-worker across the aisle in the other window seat. We were prepared to sleep the flight away, sleep deprived as we were after 4 days in Sin City. A young, hip twenty-something with heavy eye make-up sat in the aisle seat in my co-worker’s row. A couple, just married, twenty years difference, sat next to me. At the very last moment, a strung out, sunglasses wearing, Ipod-listening, trendy dressing twenty-something sat in the middle seat next to my co-worker.
Within ten minutes, the hip twenty-something female and the trendy dressing twenty-something male were making out. Hands rubbing, lips touching, tongues intertwining.
He: What do you do?
She: I’m a massage therapist.
He: Really? That’s cool.
She: You know, you are not too firm, not too soft, you are just right. I’d so like to rub you.
Why I Love Las Vegas
The cling, cling, cling of the slot machines as I exit the plane.
Sitting at a table, screaming, “Face card! Face card! Face card!” then high fiving everyone at the table when that king appears.
Going to bed at 5 am, not tired at all, but knowing I need at least an hour of sleep before the next morning’s meeting.
Splitting sixes. Getting another six. Splitting again. Winning with a 13, 15, and 8 at the blackjack table.
“Loose slots and friendly service.”
People watching.
Coming home.
Why I Love San Francisco
It was a perfect morning. The sky was blue, the air crisp and cool. I strolled down Market Street, watching the few people awake and out early on a Saturday morning.
I felt him staring at me and glanced at him as he approached me. With the click, click, click, of an Indian speaking English, he said, “You have a very lucky face. Two gentlemen will love you.”
I smiled, thanked him, and continued my stroll, wondering, “Who are these two gentlemen? Will they be loving me at the same time? Will I know they are loving me?”
For Art’s Sake
It’s happened. I have made the shift from liberal to conservative. People warned me this would happen, but I didn’t believe them. Conservatism hit me like a wrecking ball last night. And I simply let it knock me down.
It began innocently enough. A friend had forwarded me a message about an art opening. The 10th anniversary celebration of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. “Wild… exciting… not-to-be-missed…” these were some of the words used to describe the event.
In addition, I received an email at work. It turns out the company I work for is a sponsor of Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, so all headquarters employees received a special invitation to attend the opening, free of charge. Why wouldn’t I check it out?
I called a friend and asked if he wanted to join me. He was up for it. We entered, watching the people looking at the art as much as the art itself. It was mostly a young crowd, the twenty and thirty-somethings who personify urban hip. Women with short, spiky, bleached hair and heavy dark cat glasses. Men in all black, sporting bowling shirts reminiscent of the 1950s and trainers. Girls with teased raspberry hair, outfits disheveled enough to betray the hours spent getting ready.
The exhibits were disappointing. A sock puppet, recorded, the loop playing over and over, the dvd mounted on brown paint sample chips. Uninteresting photos. Video snippets that made no sense. And the live art. The exhibit that encouraged my new found conservatism to blossom.
We entered the crowded room, making our way counterclockwise from exhibit to exhibit. There were 4 or 5 scenarios, each with live artists. I witnessed shock tactics parading as art. In one a man, poured into a merry widow, stared into a mirror and cried, his mascara coated false eyelashes leaving jagged black residue on his cheeks. In another, a naked woman brandishing a Mexican flag whipped a naked man picking grapes. My friend turned to me, “See, that’s commentary on the trade agreements between the US and Mexico…” Without meaning to, I rolled my eyes and replied, “That’s bullshit.”
We walked to the last exhibit. A woman, clad in nothing but a black silk hooded mask, wrapped strings around her neck, pulling tighter and tighter, attempting to hang herself. A naked man stood erect beside her, writhing in assumed pain. I turned to my friend. My voice, with more sarcasm than intended, produced, “And what would *this* be commentary upon?”
We left the exhibit; I was consumed with both anger and curiosity. How many grants were awarded to these asinine artists? What were they trying to convey? How many homeless people had I passed on the way to the exhibit? How many people would one of those grants feed? Or house? I left the museum angry.
My friend tried to convince me that the exhibits had succeeded. They created a reaction in me, negative as it may have been. I disagree. In order for art to be successful, the viewer must feel a strong affinity for the viewing or the installation. Which did not happen at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.
Making Strides
About 192,200 American women will develop breast cancer this year, and of those, about 40,200 will die from the disease. When you consider how many people live in the US (about 292 million), that original statistic may seem small. But when you know one, or two, or three, or eight women who have contracted this devastating disease, that statistic seems overwhelming.
On Sunday, October 26, I’ll be participating in a 5-mile non-competitive Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk in Golden Gate Park. This walk is as much about raising awareness as it is about raising funds. I encourage you to check out this link, learn a few facts, make a donation, or sign up to walk (no fundraising necessary).
Who Knew?
“Executive coach Dee Soder recently surveyed male CEOs about perceived barriers to female advancement. They said women who had weak handshakes or who couldn’t wear stiletto heels without wobbling weren’t seen as strong leaders.” – wsj online, “Female Executives Use Fashion To Send a Business Message” by Carol Hymowitz
Guess I better start practicing strutting around in my 5 inch heels. What a girl has to do to get ahead these days…
Don’t Think That’s In The Book
Observed:
Overweight couple sharing a platter of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, each reading their own copy of Dr. Phil’s The Ultimate Weight Solution: 7 Keys to Weight Loss Freedom.
Life Imitates Art
Lost In Translation – without a doubt, the best movie I’ve seen in a very long time. It accurately documented the tragic comedy of life as an American, in Asia. At almost every scene I found myself laughing out loud, or tears brimming in my eyes, remembering my own similar experiences in Korea.
Well worth seeing.
Election Day
If you live in California, please exercise your right and privilege to vote today. I strongly encourage you to vote NO on the recall election.
If you don’t live in California, sit back and enjoy the show.
