Ah, 40 years ago today. Man lands on the moon. And what do I remember?
It was a muggy summer night, dusk actually. I was 11 years old and playing a very rough version of what might be called badminton on the street in front of my house with my friend, Isa Campinile. Missing the birdie more often than not, but we were having fun and that's all that mattered.
Suddenly, my mom appeared on the front porch. "Hurry girls!" she cried out. "Man is about to land on the moon!"
Uh, okay. Sure. Maybe later, mom. We're playing badminton here, can't you see?
That wasn't quite the answer she was expecting to hear. Or would accept, for that matter.
"GET IN HERE NOW!" she screeched at the top of her lungs. "History is being made and you're going to watch WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!"
And in the house we went. Meekly. Obediently. To watch Alan Shepard take one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind".
Whether we liked it or not.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
A Week of Pins and Needles
The other night I stuck a safety pin through my tongue, just to see if I could feel it. I've accepted the fact that the lower half of my face is permanently numb thanks to nerve damage from my jaw surgery 16 months ago. Still, I remain hopeful that one day some feeling will return. And that Johnny Depp might call.
But I didn't feel a thing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. All I got was grossed out seeing a safety pin in my tongue. So Sid and Nancy-ish. I would have definitely flunked as a punk fashionista.
Later in the week I experienced a jab of another kind: my first bee sting. Now that I DID feel. Having never been stung before, I was concerned about a potential allergic reaction, especially since my heart started race-race-racing. I called my HMO's medical advice line.
"Can you breathe? the nurse asked.
"Uh yes, bu...."
"Please hold."
When she returned 15 minutes later, I snapped that my concern about an allergic reaction had pretty much been addressed because after waiting one quarter of an hour, I was still alive, thank you very much. I swear, for an organization that claims they want me to thrive, they sure are getting on my last intact nerve.
How fitting that the week ended with another unnerving experience: Layoffs. A subject scary enough to get anyone gasping for air. When my manager called me into his office to discuss a brochure I was writing, I thought it safe to deviate from my usual policy of avoiding management when rumors of layoffs are afloat.
After all, they can't fire me if they can't catch me.
But then he shut the door and launched our conversation with the subject of layoffs and my heart leaped to my throat. Duped by the old "bait and switch" routine! And clever man that he is, he stood between me and the door--there was no escape.
However, he just wanted to repeat what had already been shared during an impromptu meeting earlier that day: our organization's current state of affairs, which are actually quite good in light of the economy, and the fact that the whispered rumors were indeed just that - rumors that resulted from the elimination of one position.
Whew.
All things considered, I can live with a tongue as a pin cushion. There's so much worse to worry about...like wondering why Johnny hasn't called.
But I didn't feel a thing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. All I got was grossed out seeing a safety pin in my tongue. So Sid and Nancy-ish. I would have definitely flunked as a punk fashionista.
Later in the week I experienced a jab of another kind: my first bee sting. Now that I DID feel. Having never been stung before, I was concerned about a potential allergic reaction, especially since my heart started race-race-racing. I called my HMO's medical advice line.
"Can you breathe? the nurse asked.
"Uh yes, bu...."
"Please hold."
When she returned 15 minutes later, I snapped that my concern about an allergic reaction had pretty much been addressed because after waiting one quarter of an hour, I was still alive, thank you very much. I swear, for an organization that claims they want me to thrive, they sure are getting on my last intact nerve.
How fitting that the week ended with another unnerving experience: Layoffs. A subject scary enough to get anyone gasping for air. When my manager called me into his office to discuss a brochure I was writing, I thought it safe to deviate from my usual policy of avoiding management when rumors of layoffs are afloat.
After all, they can't fire me if they can't catch me.
But then he shut the door and launched our conversation with the subject of layoffs and my heart leaped to my throat. Duped by the old "bait and switch" routine! And clever man that he is, he stood between me and the door--there was no escape.
However, he just wanted to repeat what had already been shared during an impromptu meeting earlier that day: our organization's current state of affairs, which are actually quite good in light of the economy, and the fact that the whispered rumors were indeed just that - rumors that resulted from the elimination of one position.
Whew.
All things considered, I can live with a tongue as a pin cushion. There's so much worse to worry about...like wondering why Johnny hasn't called.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Best (snort) Year Ever
So the year is already half over. Thank God, I say. Not that I've held any particularly high expectations for 2009, although I have to confess I was just a wee bit hopeful it might be better than previous years. But I’ve discovered that harboring such a desire is akin to wanting a new hairdo and trading in your blow dryer for a blow torch.
Both leave you burned and wondering what the hell just happened.
The economy's still tanking, the unemployment rate is at an all time high, and inflation is going through the roof. Now, to add fuel to the fire, people all around me are dying. Especially unsettling are the ones my age that are dropping dead from undiagnosed heart disease. This leaves me paranoid every time I so much as burp after gulping a Pepsi.
Besides, I can't afford to die just yet. There are still six months left in which to make 2009 my Best Year Ever. It has to be.
My horoscope said so.
Yeah, I scan my horoscope every Sunday, but with my usual horoscope attitude: If it's bad, I ignore it and if it's good, I believe it. Fair enough, dontcha think?
So here's the thing - every single Aquarian horoscope in 2008 predicted things like:
But I remain hopeful that 2009 will redeem itself. This might explain why one friend always refers to me as Pollyanna. I'm an eternal optimist, she says, always seeing the good in things. I wish that were so, but know better. I'm really a closet pessimist who is always expecting the worst, like a burp turning into a heart attack.
Still, I can hope that the second half of 2009 holds something bright and happy. After all, "the new moon is shedding a light of opportunity...."
My horoscope said so.
Both leave you burned and wondering what the hell just happened.
The economy's still tanking, the unemployment rate is at an all time high, and inflation is going through the roof. Now, to add fuel to the fire, people all around me are dying. Especially unsettling are the ones my age that are dropping dead from undiagnosed heart disease. This leaves me paranoid every time I so much as burp after gulping a Pepsi.
Besides, I can't afford to die just yet. There are still six months left in which to make 2009 my Best Year Ever. It has to be.
My horoscope said so.
Yeah, I scan my horoscope every Sunday, but with my usual horoscope attitude: If it's bad, I ignore it and if it's good, I believe it. Fair enough, dontcha think?
So here's the thing - every single Aquarian horoscope in 2008 predicted things like:
- "...if you ever wanted to make changes in your life, this is the time."
- "...your already well-known communication skills will be showcased..."
- "...the best year of the rest of your life takes off..."
- "...something wonderful is going to happen, but you don't know what."
- "...Better believe that you'll be in a very difference place come 2010."
- "...the next 10 months are a cosmic gift."
But I remain hopeful that 2009 will redeem itself. This might explain why one friend always refers to me as Pollyanna. I'm an eternal optimist, she says, always seeing the good in things. I wish that were so, but know better. I'm really a closet pessimist who is always expecting the worst, like a burp turning into a heart attack.
Still, I can hope that the second half of 2009 holds something bright and happy. After all, "the new moon is shedding a light of opportunity...."
My horoscope said so.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Does Anybody Really Care?
So while I've been busy blogging my little fingers out, blogging has been upstaged by this new kid on the block. Something called "Facebook."
"Be my friend!" I kept hearing.
"You dork, I'm already your friend," I'd respond.
And then I'd get "the look," the one that told me who the dork really was. Because obviously, they were referring to the Facebook-type-of-friend and could I possibly be any more of a Luddite?
Uh, yeah. Have I mentioned my turntable lately?
But I finally caved in and opened a Facebook account to see what the fuss was all about, and suddenly started getting all these "friend" requests. Okay, sure. I'll be your friend. And yours. And yours. Oh, but good gawd, not yours.I believe that restraining order is still in effect, dude. Go away.
Okay. So now I've got friends.
And in the process I've learned that while Facebook is great for reconnecting with old friends, it's also a euphanism for exponential minutia. Because now that I'm on Facebook, I'm privy to fascinating, fun-filled facts about how other people spend their days, such as:
9:45 am: "Going for a cup of coffee."
10:08 am: "Ordered a soy latte, extra hot. Burned my tongue."
10:29 am: "Return home. Watching The View. Wassup with Whoopi's eyebrows?"
And so on. Ah, but now even Facebook is passe. This doesn't surprise me because I do seem to have that Midas touch. If only I'd stayed away from Facebook, it would still be the hottest thing since my friend's soy latte. Facebook comments are too long, trend-seekers say. Too lengthy. Too verbose.
Now, it's all about Twitter.
Twitter this. Twitter that. Tweet me, bro. Limited to something like 143 characters, "tweets" are brief little postings meant to capture the immediacy of life. And, perhaps, the mundane?
5:05 pm: "Blink."
5:06 pm: "Blink."
5:08 pm: "Blink, blink" (dust in eye)
5:09 pm: "Kink (owowow cramp in leg!)"
5:10 pm: "Wink" (hey there, cutie!)
5:12 pm: Blink
Gripping commentary, indeed. Tweets make a Facebook posting sound like an excerpt from Les Miserables.
So don't bother looking for my Twitter account anytime soon. I'm not even sure I'll maintain my Facebook site because if my life bores me, I can only imagine what it might do to you. Can we say narcolepsy?
At least blogging allows me to construct complete sentences, convey an occasional opinion and get things off my chest. Like ranting about sites that capture the microscopic details of life. Or maybe announcing to everyone that I'm about to pull a Whoopi and go pluck my eyebrows.
Wink.
"Be my friend!" I kept hearing.
"You dork, I'm already your friend," I'd respond.
And then I'd get "the look," the one that told me who the dork really was. Because obviously, they were referring to the Facebook-type-of-friend and could I possibly be any more of a Luddite?
Uh, yeah. Have I mentioned my turntable lately?
But I finally caved in and opened a Facebook account to see what the fuss was all about, and suddenly started getting all these "friend" requests. Okay, sure. I'll be your friend. And yours. And yours. Oh, but good gawd, not yours.I believe that restraining order is still in effect, dude. Go away.
Okay. So now I've got friends.
And in the process I've learned that while Facebook is great for reconnecting with old friends, it's also a euphanism for exponential minutia. Because now that I'm on Facebook, I'm privy to fascinating, fun-filled facts about how other people spend their days, such as:
9:45 am: "Going for a cup of coffee."
10:08 am: "Ordered a soy latte, extra hot. Burned my tongue."
10:29 am: "Return home. Watching The View. Wassup with Whoopi's eyebrows?"
And so on. Ah, but now even Facebook is passe. This doesn't surprise me because I do seem to have that Midas touch. If only I'd stayed away from Facebook, it would still be the hottest thing since my friend's soy latte. Facebook comments are too long, trend-seekers say. Too lengthy. Too verbose.
Now, it's all about Twitter.
Twitter this. Twitter that. Tweet me, bro. Limited to something like 143 characters, "tweets" are brief little postings meant to capture the immediacy of life. And, perhaps, the mundane?
5:05 pm: "Blink."
5:06 pm: "Blink."
5:08 pm: "Blink, blink" (dust in eye)
5:09 pm: "Kink (owowow cramp in leg!)"
5:10 pm: "Wink" (hey there, cutie!)
5:12 pm: Blink
Gripping commentary, indeed. Tweets make a Facebook posting sound like an excerpt from Les Miserables.
So don't bother looking for my Twitter account anytime soon. I'm not even sure I'll maintain my Facebook site because if my life bores me, I can only imagine what it might do to you. Can we say narcolepsy?
At least blogging allows me to construct complete sentences, convey an occasional opinion and get things off my chest. Like ranting about sites that capture the microscopic details of life. Or maybe announcing to everyone that I'm about to pull a Whoopi and go pluck my eyebrows.
Wink.
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