NOT a marketing strategy

As if massive parts of the country being under ice and snow isn’t bad enough, this story from NPR came out yesterday: apparently there’s a shortage—or a projected shortage—of Velveeta.

I was not aware that January is a, erm, peak time for consumption of industrially-extruded plasticized cheese-like products; but evidently the run up to Super Bowl plays a part in this. Which is probably why this trend has passed me by.

Also—I don’t do industrially-extruded plasticized cheese-like products.

However, if you scroll down the NPR story to the comments, several readers have helpfully supplied recipes/ingredients if you want to extrude your own.

God bless the Internet.

The sum of the parts

I came across pictures of this sculpture installation memorial to Nelson Mandela this week, and I just have to share it with you. It’s located at the place where he was taken into custody by South African authorities in 1962.

I love this entire concept by South African artist Marco Cianfanelli, because the sculpture comprises 50 laser-cut steel poles that individually represent prison bars (and symbolize the 50^th anniversary of Mandela’s capture).

But as you approach the site, at one point the columns “merge” into a flat portrait of Mandela’s face.

It’s really stunning—beautiful and meaningful; exactly how art enriches our lives. Have a look at this site, and see what you think.

Not the Gospel truth, I hope

A friend gave me a book of devotional readings, and I’ve got one that I need some help with. It’s to do with the story of Martha and Mary, as told in Luke 10:38-42. If you’re unfamiliar with it, here’s the deal:

Jesus and his cohort come into a village where a woman named Martha invites him into the house she apparently shares with her sister Mary. Mary sits down with the men to listen (not to speak, of course), while Martha is in a whirlwind of hospitality-related bustling—hanging up their coats, stirring up the fire, getting a meal ready, maybe giving the downstairs loo a quick wipe, and other suchlike. But Mary just sticks with the guys.

Finally, Martha drops a word in the Lord’s shell-like generally encompassing, “Hey—I’m doing all the work, here, while my sister just sits there like a slug. Why don’t you tell her to get up and help?”

And Jesus replies (as per NKJV): “Martha, Martha—you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Well, I have to say that I’ve always been a little troubled by this.

Yes, fine—it’s swell that Mary’s apparently felt called to Jesus, and is soaking up what he’s got to say (even if she’s apparently not allowed to contribute). I get that.

But if both the women just pitched up in the living room and hung on every word, everyone would be sat there in a cold room, with rumbling tummies and mice scampering across their feet. Because you know it would never occur to one man among them to get up and throw a log on the fire, much less slice up some bread for the hummus.

No—it would take a miracle on the lines of the wine at Cana (and even then, there were servers involved) to make that sort of thing happen.

So I’m really puzzling about this. There’s no one likes a good intellectual discussion more than I, but to basically dis the person who’s making the necessities of life work seems not only counterproductive, but potentially life threatening.

If what he in fact was telling Martha (and us) was, “Hey, we need both the contemplative and the active principles in our life,” then I get that. But what he (reportedly) says isn’t “horses for courses, honey”, it’s, “Your sister chose better than you did, so put a sock in it.” And that gets right up my nose.

So what’s going on here? What am I missing? Because as it stands, I’m not finding it either enlightening or encouraging.

Gratitude Monday: Music to my heart

I don’t often give thanks for a particular film, but this weekend I was in a bit of a ratty state, and I swear that Quartet pulled me out of it. So today I’m truly grateful to whoever it was who recommended it to me, and that I had it out from the library to watch this weekend, just when I needed it.

I confess that I could watch Maggie Smith eat a ham sandwich, but it wasn’t just her. And I certainly didn’t care that Dustin Hoffman directed it. It was adapted by Ronald Harwood from his play, so there wasn’t too much that Hoffman could do to it. (And listen, if the movie were crap, the credits would still be worth sitting through the rest. But it isn't.)

There’s something about the notion that age doesn’t have to have the absolute final word about how you live your life that made me feel better. Plus—all that gorgeous music; I’ve been scrabbling around YouTube for two days, drinking up Verdi, Boccherini, Bach and Haydn.

If you’ve not yet seen it yet, do. You’ll be grateful, too.

Your time is worth it

Technically, of course, we’re past Christmas. But, also technically, we’re in the Christmas season (until 6 January), so I’m going to get this one off my editorial chest:

A tacky holiday sweater builder from those madcap Coke people. It’s very like the unpardonable turkey builder I wrote about a couple of months ago.

I will confess that I spent a couple of moments trying to see how ugly a sweater I could make. For example:

  

And then there’s:

Well, you get my drift. if you’re not back at work, give it a go. But if you are back at work, you may really need it. And you can safely do this during meetings, as there are no sound effects.

Total eclipse of the heart

An interesting story from Wired: scientists predict that they’ll be able to print a human heart within ten years, using 3-D printers.

I wonder if someone could kidnap, say, Larry Ellison and implant it in him?

No, that wouldn’t help. He’s probably got a blood pump already; but he doesn’t have a human heart.

It's all in the basket

Ah, the New Year. It may be clichéd, but I’m looking forward to playing 2014 for everything it’s worth, and I have high expectations for it.

I cleared the decks last night by burning el Año Viejo. And my list of crap to leave behind wasn’t nearly as long as my list of things to be grateful for—the “keeper” list, if you will.

Anyhow, this idea came past me on social media, and I decided I’m going to follow through on it:

It’s a variant of the notion of living in gratitude, and I really like it. Every day I’ll note on scraps of paper the good things of the day and toss them into a basket. Periodically during the year—maybe at regular intervals, or perhaps when I’m feeling rather cranky and ill-done-by, I’ll dip into my stash for a little spiritual top-up. And at the end of the year, I’ll have a complete orgy of goodness.

As far as I’m concerned, a “good thing” could involve me, could be observed by me or just be something I hear about. I’m open to all manifestations of “good”. And it could be as small as finding a parking space when I’m late for an appointment or as large as having peace break out somewhere in the world. Catching a Chopin Nocturne unexpectedly on the radio, watching a child play with a dog, receiving an email from a friend, nailing an interview; they all count for me.

By 0800 this morning, I already had two in the basket, including coming out to a dining table full of gifts a friend and her daughter brought me before we went to lunch yesterday. I mean—it’s covered with lovely things, including a bottle of Downton Abbey claret and one of the tackiest Christmas sweater ever.

And just now there was an IM from a friend in Virginia who has a job interview tomorrow for a great opportunity!

See how easy this is?

Happy New Year!

2013--The wrap-up

Well, 2013 was an interesting year, wasn’t it? What—you can’t remember?

I’ll let Dave Barry remind you. I’m getting myself another glass of bubbly. See you in 2014.

Gratitude Monday: the whole blessed year

Since it’s the last Monday of 2013, I thought I’d take a bit of time to think about all the things I’ve had this year to be thankful for. And it turns out to be quite a robust list.

First of all comes the category of friends, of which I have the absolute primo finest-kind. I won’t recount all the evidence of that this year, or else I’d be writing well into 2014; so just a few highlights.

I’m really grateful that my BFF has received very good news from her oncological radiologist. So happy and grateful.

Also very thankful that when I spoke with her early this month in distress, she invited me down to Palm Springs so I could meet up with family, basically dropping most of her holiday social plans for the weekend to accommodate me. It was a gross imposition on my part to call her on a Wednesday afternoon and then be there by 1000 on the Friday, but it was a wonderful solace to me, and I’m so grateful that she was there for me in all senses of the word.

Also—seriously grateful that her husband was making an apple pie for a party they were going to on Saturday; because when I declined their invitation to go, John made me a rustic apple tart all for myself. I’d show you a picture, except I ate it before it occurred to me to take one. Your loss, totally my gain

I did get some shots of their Christmas lights, though—it was a completely lovely, peaceful evening; a much appreciated gift from the two of them to me.

I’m also grateful for my friend Carol Ann in Virginia, who called me a couple of months ago when she really needed someone to talk with. I was truly glad I could help her—especially considering all the times I’ve called her barely able to talk through the tears. I miss our weekly breakfasts, and I look forward to the time when they can resume.

Thanks to her, BTW, I now have four of the most beautiful wine glasses ever. She gave me the first one before I left Virginia for Washington, and ever since then it’s been the first thing I unpack in a move, so that my first glass of wine in a new place is out of it. I loved that glass with a love that bordered on idolatry, so I was just devastated when about 18 months ago I broke it.

But each Christmas I get another one, so even though that original glass is gone, I could have three people over for dinner and not look like an inhospitable pig by saving the prettiest glass for myself.

(She gave me the little finger monsters, too. Also I get the best refrigerator magnets from her. And articles clipped from magazines. And books about redheads, and about shoes.)

Another friend—dating from my days in Virginia, but out here now—is a staunch supporter. I can always count on Amy to lift my spirits.

Plus—she’s another fan of department store lunch rooms. I love the lunches we’ve had at Neiman-Marcus.

I’m deeply grateful for the friend who took me on a Golden Gate adventure on my birthday. That entire day was a hoot, starting with the most varieties of dahlias I’ve ever seen. Like this:

And this:

And this:

Plus—a ride on a really old carousel:

That day was stellar; what a great gift.

A friend of mine here has taught me a whole lot about social media. Whenever I have a job interview coming up, Mary always gives me perspective and insights. Because of her I talk a much better game than I used to. Plus—I actually understand what I’m talking about, which impresses me no end.

(Mary gave me the key to answering that God-awful “What do you do when you’re not working?” interview question. I’m so waiting for the next interviewer to ask me that.)

Speaking of social media—I have to say that, on the whole, I’m really glad I stepped up my Twitter game. It’s been a half year of thought-provoking, exasperating, illuminating and cringeworthy tweets for me.

I followed an articulate, impassioned ex-con, joined in with the snarkers sticking it to JP Morgan, discovered that there’s a band called Tofu Meatballs (and of course they tweet), and really enjoyed some of the hashtag campaigns—the goofier the better.

I exchange thoughts with (among a whole range of others) British cops, Australian housewives (with really, really big spiders) and people (or entities) of uncertain origin or mental stability.

And very—very—occasionally, one of them actually reads my blog. I was in a frenzy of joy last July when one of them DM’d me—unsolicited—saying (and I quote): “I like your blog.” Most beautiful four words in the English language. Better even than “Will you marry me?” I was doing the happy dance for a week off that.

Seriously grateful for that, Twitter Guy.

This was a year when I drank in appreciation—one of my friends assured me, “No one who writes as wittily and well as you do can possibly be as boring as you allege.” Roo is a guy who knows from wit, so really basked in that. Another friend commented that my post on the battle of Gettysburg “would have graced the NYTimes, or any other publication.” Like Roo, the Pundit’s Apprentice’s opinion on such matters get my respect, even when he’s talking about me.

I’m grateful that I’ve got a couple of very attractive job prospects, with interviews presumably to take place in early January. And that I’m confident that I have a story to tell them about how I can contribute, and supporters who recharge that confidence all the time.

All in all, this has been a most excellent year, and I’m grateful for all the people who tipped it into the positive side. Watch out, 2014!

  

A little flash

Well, I’m not letting the Christmas season get away without a “Hallelujah” flash mob. This one is from Paris. France.

There’s a whole lot of credits at the beginning, so if you want, you can click to about the 60-second mark and start from the actual, you know, heart of the matter.

It’s frankly not the best-ever “Hallelujah” flash mob—those sopranos are straining a whole lot at the top notes. But still—compliments of the season.

Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année.