It's New Years' Eve and I can't find anyone to be nice to. No one is around. Even the homeless people I want to give my recycling to are not hanging out at their usual spot by the dumpsters in back of the corner liquor store. Mr. Foxypants and I will be ringing in the New Year by watching a marathon of MAD MEN episodes and eating Chinese take-out like the crabby shut-ins we are.
Okay. I admit it. I'm too lazy to find someone to be nice to today. I just want spend all day in relaxed contemplation.
Oh, why is it that I cannot talk about self-reflection without sounding like a self-involved twit?
*sigh*
I am a failure. As far as my 2008 pledge to be nice every day...well, I didn't do it. Finding 365 new and inventive ways of being nice for no good reason is much harder than I ever anticipated. That, and I'm a crappy memoirist, so even when I was nice, there were many days that I just didn't get around to writing stuff down.
But even though my resolve was shoddy, and my follow-though haphazard, being consciously and actively nice had many unintended positive consequences:
1. Not only did I pay down my debt, but unlike everyone else I know, I can actually say that I am better off financially than I was last year.
2. My charity allowed me to downsize my material possessions by a whopping 85% without feeling a sense of deprivation or guilt. In fact, I found the entire process liberating. Less things = less things to dust. Duh. Simplifying my life by getting rid of my stuff has brought me a level of mental peace I've not had in years.
3. Being nice has brought me new friends and strengthened my relationship with the friends I already had. There are many ways to be rich that don't involve money!
So, the experiment was a success?
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Umbrellas of East LA
She looked miserable.
Selling fruit as a curbside vendor in this city has to be a terrible job to begin with. All day long you face the rejection of hostile LA drivers, car exhaust, and a multitude of other annoyances that come with using a traffic median strip as your workplace.
I drove past the fruit seller on my way to the video store. She looked like a grumpy toadstool, squatting on a parched strip of parkway lawn, hunched under a small black umbrella that didn't even shade her feet, behind cardboard flats of mangos and sweaty bags of oranges. Today was one of those freakishly hot December days in Los Angeles that just makes me want to slap everyone who doubts the reality of global warming. The sun beating through my windows had turned my car into a sauna, so I knew that the fruit seller was not having a good time. She had perspiration stains that dipped halfway to the hem of her shirt.
Back at the house, I pulled a large nylon umbrella that I use to shade my chair on set out of the garage and put it in my car. I drove back to the fruit seller's corner and bought a flat of mangos before giving the fruit seller the big umbrella. "I thought this might give you better shade and it's very light" I said as I passed it to her. She took the umbrella exactly how she took my $5 bill for the fruit, without a word and without changing her sullen expression.
As I drove away, I watched the fruit seller in my review mirror. She tossed the big umbrella aside unopened and crouched back under her black umbrella. At that moment I realized that I had unintentionally insulted her dignity by bringing her unasked-for charity. I should have asked her if she wanted a larger umbrella before assuming I could just solve a problem for her. Or, maybe she's just rude. But the nice thing to do in this situation is to just assume responsibility so I don't repeat the possible offense to anyone else.
As I unpacked the mangos in my kitchen I discovered a surprise hidden in the bottom of the cardboard box:
A dozen cockroaches.
I spent the next 30 minutes, shoe in hand, staking out the corners of my kitchen and pantry, having visions of what horrible poisons I am going to have to bring into my house to conquer my possible future roach infestation.
That fruit lady sucks.
Selling fruit as a curbside vendor in this city has to be a terrible job to begin with. All day long you face the rejection of hostile LA drivers, car exhaust, and a multitude of other annoyances that come with using a traffic median strip as your workplace.
I drove past the fruit seller on my way to the video store. She looked like a grumpy toadstool, squatting on a parched strip of parkway lawn, hunched under a small black umbrella that didn't even shade her feet, behind cardboard flats of mangos and sweaty bags of oranges. Today was one of those freakishly hot December days in Los Angeles that just makes me want to slap everyone who doubts the reality of global warming. The sun beating through my windows had turned my car into a sauna, so I knew that the fruit seller was not having a good time. She had perspiration stains that dipped halfway to the hem of her shirt.
Back at the house, I pulled a large nylon umbrella that I use to shade my chair on set out of the garage and put it in my car. I drove back to the fruit seller's corner and bought a flat of mangos before giving the fruit seller the big umbrella. "I thought this might give you better shade and it's very light" I said as I passed it to her. She took the umbrella exactly how she took my $5 bill for the fruit, without a word and without changing her sullen expression.
As I drove away, I watched the fruit seller in my review mirror. She tossed the big umbrella aside unopened and crouched back under her black umbrella. At that moment I realized that I had unintentionally insulted her dignity by bringing her unasked-for charity. I should have asked her if she wanted a larger umbrella before assuming I could just solve a problem for her. Or, maybe she's just rude. But the nice thing to do in this situation is to just assume responsibility so I don't repeat the possible offense to anyone else.
As I unpacked the mangos in my kitchen I discovered a surprise hidden in the bottom of the cardboard box:
A dozen cockroaches.
I spent the next 30 minutes, shoe in hand, staking out the corners of my kitchen and pantry, having visions of what horrible poisons I am going to have to bring into my house to conquer my possible future roach infestation.
That fruit lady sucks.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Cinnamon
I found a random rubber stamp in the garage that says "cinnamon."
Where did this come from and why do I have this?
Today I walked it down to my local vegan restaurant, which just happens to be called CINNAMON, and gave the stamp to the very startled counter girl.
Where did this come from and why do I have this?
Today I walked it down to my local vegan restaurant, which just happens to be called CINNAMON, and gave the stamp to the very startled counter girl.
Friday, December 26, 2008
I Wish I Had Thought of This!
In addition to a rash of people leaving presents and thank you cards on the doorsteps of fellow freecyclers, Leslie, a woman on my local freecycle group, has taken Christmas spirit one step further:
"Hope you all had a Merry Christmas. If you didn't get all the chocolate you wanted in your stocking, I have two Trader Joe's Milk Chocolate bars imported from Belgium.
Why Day 7?
Freecycle has been very helpful and generous to me over the years, so in the spirit of the season I am going around my house to find little presents that might brighten your day and give me the joy of giving it away...I will be offering 12 days of Christmas."
Wow! What a great idea. I wish I had thought of this!
I wrote Leslie a fan letter:
"Leslie-
I'd just like to say you are awesome! What a great idea to pass along to other freecyclers! Thanks! I think I'm going to have to steal this one for next year."
She wrote me back:
"Yes, please feel free to freecycle the idea!! Spread the love...a ripple effect is awesome!
Leslie"
Here I am, spreading the love.
"Hope you all had a Merry Christmas. If you didn't get all the chocolate you wanted in your stocking, I have two Trader Joe's Milk Chocolate bars imported from Belgium.
Why Day 7?
Freecycle has been very helpful and generous to me over the years, so in the spirit of the season I am going around my house to find little presents that might brighten your day and give me the joy of giving it away...I will be offering 12 days of Christmas."
Wow! What a great idea. I wish I had thought of this!
I wrote Leslie a fan letter:
"Leslie-
I'd just like to say you are awesome! What a great idea to pass along to other freecyclers! Thanks! I think I'm going to have to steal this one for next year."
She wrote me back:
"Yes, please feel free to freecycle the idea!! Spread the love...a ripple effect is awesome!
Leslie"
Here I am, spreading the love.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Paying (The Difference) Forward
December 19, 2008
I'm splitting the cost three ways on a $100 gift certificate for a journalist who has been indispensable to one of my projects this year. Yesterday, I sent the screenwriter, who is in charge of procuring the House of Pies legal tender, a check for $34.
I had a college room mate who ALWAYS shorted me on the extra penny whenever the bills were an odd amount. During the time we lived together, I probably spent only 80 cents more than she did on bills, but still...it's the principle!
What irritated me most about that situation was that I never felt like I could confront her about her pettiness, without being, well, petty myself.
Since graduation, I've probably spent $8000 in extra one dollar increments on odd numbered payments because I was that annoyed by that extra three or four penny gouge I felt every month.
Today I received an email from the screenwriter: "You get extra points for sending the 100th dollar by sending in $34, not $33."
I'm pleased that he noticed my gesture, but sad that paying the difference is so unusual that he had to thank me for it.
*********
December 20, 2008
Today I ran into Helen, a really old friend who I haven't seen in years, at Trader Joe's. She tells me that Pablo, the five year old son of two of our mutual pals is fighting cancer. Which is just the worst news. My heart just breaks as she gives me the horrible details of his chemotherapy.
Helen is running the direct donation blood bank for Pablo. Pablo is Type O. I am Type A+. I'm totally bummed I'm not a match, even though I'm too anemic to donate whole blood anyway.
Helen tells me that she's also short on platelet donors. "Oh my God!" I yell as I yank up my sweater sleeve, "Check out my track marks!" The two annoying women who were trying to shove by me to get at the German Wheat Beer, turn abruptly and skitter away before I can add, "I donate platelets twice a month!"
(Because there are no red blood cells in platelets--the clotting element in blood--it doesn't matter that I don't have the same blood type as Pablo).
I feel strangely honored to be able to donate my sticky blood product.
Go here for details on how to donate platelets to Pablo or another kid:
http://www.childrenshospitalla.org/site/pp.aspx?c=ipINKTOAJsG&b=4742721
Go here to find out how you can help Pablo fight cancer:
http://getwellpablo.blogspot.com/
I'm splitting the cost three ways on a $100 gift certificate for a journalist who has been indispensable to one of my projects this year. Yesterday, I sent the screenwriter, who is in charge of procuring the House of Pies legal tender, a check for $34.
I had a college room mate who ALWAYS shorted me on the extra penny whenever the bills were an odd amount. During the time we lived together, I probably spent only 80 cents more than she did on bills, but still...it's the principle!
What irritated me most about that situation was that I never felt like I could confront her about her pettiness, without being, well, petty myself.
Since graduation, I've probably spent $8000 in extra one dollar increments on odd numbered payments because I was that annoyed by that extra three or four penny gouge I felt every month.
Today I received an email from the screenwriter: "You get extra points for sending the 100th dollar by sending in $34, not $33."
I'm pleased that he noticed my gesture, but sad that paying the difference is so unusual that he had to thank me for it.
*********
December 20, 2008
Today I ran into Helen, a really old friend who I haven't seen in years, at Trader Joe's. She tells me that Pablo, the five year old son of two of our mutual pals is fighting cancer. Which is just the worst news. My heart just breaks as she gives me the horrible details of his chemotherapy.
Helen is running the direct donation blood bank for Pablo. Pablo is Type O. I am Type A+. I'm totally bummed I'm not a match, even though I'm too anemic to donate whole blood anyway.
Helen tells me that she's also short on platelet donors. "Oh my God!" I yell as I yank up my sweater sleeve, "Check out my track marks!" The two annoying women who were trying to shove by me to get at the German Wheat Beer, turn abruptly and skitter away before I can add, "I donate platelets twice a month!"
(Because there are no red blood cells in platelets--the clotting element in blood--it doesn't matter that I don't have the same blood type as Pablo).
I feel strangely honored to be able to donate my sticky blood product.
Go here for details on how to donate platelets to Pablo or another kid:
http://www.childrenshospitalla.org/site/pp.aspx?c=ipINKTOAJsG&b=4742721
Go here to find out how you can help Pablo fight cancer:
http://getwellpablo.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Do Nice Gestures Make Up For Mean Thoughts?
I know I sound like a jerk when I say this, but Margaret is dumb.
She's that person who asks you for directions, but never writes them down, insisting that she'll remember them and then calls you in a panic when she can't find your house...even though she's been there a dozen times.
Maybe she's had a stroke that I've never heard about or was in some terrible accident that damaged her brain. No. Really. If I found out that she'd been lobotomized as a young girl...well, that would explain a lot.
I hate it when Margaret shows up to book club. She never reads the right chapter or, on occasion, even the right book. But, that doesn't stop her from asking endless questions about what happened in each book, because she can't be bothered to finish any text. She appears startled every time someone suggests that she actually read the book that is up for discussion. And by every time I mean EVERY ding dang time.
This evening, I packed a bunch of my knitted hats into my book bag. I was hoping to get some last minute holiday sales from my fellow book worms who are fans of my needle work.
Then I left them, by accident, in my trunk.
My own personal dumbness made me slightly more tolerant of Margaret during the book club meeting, even though she fell asleep for about ten minutes, woke up with a start, and proceeded to ask the exact same question that someone else had asked during her nap.
I was on my way out the door when Margaret walked up to me. She usually accosts me on the way out the door, generally with a question about what I thought of x, y, or z. She usually tries to argue some point that I made during the meeting, even though she didn't read book.
"I'm collecting hats and scarves for children who are going through chemotherapy," she said. "Would you make one for charity? Their bald heads get cold easy."
Margaret, who makes me crazy with her dumbness, is collecting knitted hats for children with cancer. I stand there with my mouth agape as I try and gather up the pieces of my blown mind.
Then I give her my three softest hats.
*****************
December 15, 2008
Today I heard the most delicious gossip. The Fat One, a producer who has been pure evil to me, cried every day on the set of his last movie. He just couldn't take the pressure.
I try and rid myself of the pleasure I feel in the small, petty little lump of coal that is my heart. Knowing that he suffers really does make me want to clap my hands with glee and jump around.
But it doesn't make me a nice person.
Fail.
She's that person who asks you for directions, but never writes them down, insisting that she'll remember them and then calls you in a panic when she can't find your house...even though she's been there a dozen times.
Maybe she's had a stroke that I've never heard about or was in some terrible accident that damaged her brain. No. Really. If I found out that she'd been lobotomized as a young girl...well, that would explain a lot.
I hate it when Margaret shows up to book club. She never reads the right chapter or, on occasion, even the right book. But, that doesn't stop her from asking endless questions about what happened in each book, because she can't be bothered to finish any text. She appears startled every time someone suggests that she actually read the book that is up for discussion. And by every time I mean EVERY ding dang time.
This evening, I packed a bunch of my knitted hats into my book bag. I was hoping to get some last minute holiday sales from my fellow book worms who are fans of my needle work.
Then I left them, by accident, in my trunk.
My own personal dumbness made me slightly more tolerant of Margaret during the book club meeting, even though she fell asleep for about ten minutes, woke up with a start, and proceeded to ask the exact same question that someone else had asked during her nap.
I was on my way out the door when Margaret walked up to me. She usually accosts me on the way out the door, generally with a question about what I thought of x, y, or z. She usually tries to argue some point that I made during the meeting, even though she didn't read book.
"I'm collecting hats and scarves for children who are going through chemotherapy," she said. "Would you make one for charity? Their bald heads get cold easy."
Margaret, who makes me crazy with her dumbness, is collecting knitted hats for children with cancer. I stand there with my mouth agape as I try and gather up the pieces of my blown mind.
Then I give her my three softest hats.
*****************
December 15, 2008
Today I heard the most delicious gossip. The Fat One, a producer who has been pure evil to me, cried every day on the set of his last movie. He just couldn't take the pressure.
I try and rid myself of the pleasure I feel in the small, petty little lump of coal that is my heart. Knowing that he suffers really does make me want to clap my hands with glee and jump around.
But it doesn't make me a nice person.
Fail.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Ex-Deadbeat
Yep. That's me!
Today, Chase restored my $100,000 line of credit.
Ah! It's so nice to be out of financial quarantine.
Maybe I will be able to fix up my house enough to rent it out next year and not be so reliant on Hollywood for my main source of revenue.
Today, Chase restored my $100,000 line of credit.
Ah! It's so nice to be out of financial quarantine.
Maybe I will be able to fix up my house enough to rent it out next year and not be so reliant on Hollywood for my main source of revenue.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Happy Holidays! You're Fired.
My friend Elle called this morning to ask me for help on getting fired.
No. Not on tips on how to get fired, but for advice on how to deal with the production company you've given five years of your life to when they decide, two weeks before the holidays, to downsize your entire department.
They are offering her $25,000 in severance, which sounds like a lot of money, until you take into account the fact that they are trying to give her this in lieu of paying her a producing fee on a 100 million dollar feature film she set up.
Hollywood, the happiest place on earth.
I hooked her up with my lawyer, who's commonly referred to as "that terrorist," to work things out for her.
Apparently, things are already looking up for her. She just called to compliment my taste in lawyers. "Wow! He is so scary!"
It's good to be nice to others, but having a mean-ass attorney assures that others will be nice back to you.
No. Not on tips on how to get fired, but for advice on how to deal with the production company you've given five years of your life to when they decide, two weeks before the holidays, to downsize your entire department.
They are offering her $25,000 in severance, which sounds like a lot of money, until you take into account the fact that they are trying to give her this in lieu of paying her a producing fee on a 100 million dollar feature film she set up.
Hollywood, the happiest place on earth.
I hooked her up with my lawyer, who's commonly referred to as "that terrorist," to work things out for her.
Apparently, things are already looking up for her. She just called to compliment my taste in lawyers. "Wow! He is so scary!"
It's good to be nice to others, but having a mean-ass attorney assures that others will be nice back to you.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Not So Secret Santa: Part 2 a.k.a NSSS:2
December 8, 2008
My friend from Bakersfield emailed me today. She's decided to take me up on my offer and allow me to give her my old VCR and treat her to the postage too.
Phew!
My friend from Bakersfield emailed me today. She's decided to take me up on my offer and allow me to give her my old VCR and treat her to the postage too.
Phew!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The Producer As Future Decamillionaire
Thomas J. Stanley, the best selling author of THE MILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR was interviewed about what common traits decamillionaires (for those of you who didn't grow up in the seventies and experience the metric system that means people with at least ten million dollars) have. The number one trait of really rich, self-made people?
Integrity.
Which is apparently rich person lingo for the word "nice."
I was so excited when I heard this that I had to call my producing partner and tell her that Thomas J. Stanley, who is like the Jane Goodall of rich people, has shown in his expert research that people get really rich because they are really nice.
Nice guys do finish first!
At least the ones outside of Hollywood do.
I am thinking about my future integrity-driven wealth today in an effort to be less angry with one of my friends.
My friend, whose initials are Tom, is currently on unemployment. He divides his time lying on his sofa watching the Hitler, I mean History Channel and the Starbucks around the corner from his apartment where he has been writing the Great American Short Story that is sure to be published in McSweeneys whenever he gets around to finishing it. I've been able to look beyond his pretentious writing asperations, along with his propensity to bow and say, "Namaste" instead of "Thank you," and not think he sucks until now.
I have an annoying document that needs to be signed by a city employee whose office is 30 miles from my house. The city office is, however, conveniently located in the same building as Tom's Starbucks. I called Tom and asked him if I could mail him the document and would he then be so kind as to run upstairs and get the document signed by the city employee the next time he's over at Starbucks.
He said no.
Yep. He's that lazy *cough* busy. So busy that he can't take ten minutes out of his day to save me a two-hour drive.
As I write this I realize that I'm really mad at him. And disappointed.
I'm not disappointed in him, I'm disappointed in me. The niceness experiment has had an unintended side effect: it's forced me to realize that I chosen some lousy people to be friends with. Tom being a prime example of the self-involved twittery of many of the members of my social group. He has no problem asking me for favors all the time, often citing his extreme poverty. Can I loan him my car while his is in the shop? Can I bring an extra bottle of wine to his party?
For the last five minutes I've been thinking of all the favors I will deny him in the future because of his refusal to help me today, but I just now realize that Tom has another thing in common with a lot of my friends: Tom has ridiculous credit card debt. Tom is really poor.
Tom's need for immediate gratification has left him with so much credit debt that he's actually considering going home to England, so he can walk away from a $70,000 debt...which means that if Tom were a subject of Dr. Stanley's studies, Dr. Stanley would discover that Tom is part of the no integrity control group.
We are all the architects of our own destruction.
I am struggling not to think of ways to punish Tom, because he's already in Hell. He lives a hideous, boring, debt-ridden existence. And wishing bad things on people who I am angry at isn't, well, nice.
My nice act of today will be letting go of my anger toward Tom as I drive through traffic across town to deal with city bureaucracy. Believe me, this is proving to be much harder than playing not-so-secret Santa.
Integrity.
Which is apparently rich person lingo for the word "nice."
I was so excited when I heard this that I had to call my producing partner and tell her that Thomas J. Stanley, who is like the Jane Goodall of rich people, has shown in his expert research that people get really rich because they are really nice.
Nice guys do finish first!
At least the ones outside of Hollywood do.
I am thinking about my future integrity-driven wealth today in an effort to be less angry with one of my friends.
My friend, whose initials are Tom, is currently on unemployment. He divides his time lying on his sofa watching the Hitler, I mean History Channel and the Starbucks around the corner from his apartment where he has been writing the Great American Short Story that is sure to be published in McSweeneys whenever he gets around to finishing it. I've been able to look beyond his pretentious writing asperations, along with his propensity to bow and say, "Namaste" instead of "Thank you," and not think he sucks until now.
I have an annoying document that needs to be signed by a city employee whose office is 30 miles from my house. The city office is, however, conveniently located in the same building as Tom's Starbucks. I called Tom and asked him if I could mail him the document and would he then be so kind as to run upstairs and get the document signed by the city employee the next time he's over at Starbucks.
He said no.
Yep. He's that lazy *cough* busy. So busy that he can't take ten minutes out of his day to save me a two-hour drive.
As I write this I realize that I'm really mad at him. And disappointed.
I'm not disappointed in him, I'm disappointed in me. The niceness experiment has had an unintended side effect: it's forced me to realize that I chosen some lousy people to be friends with. Tom being a prime example of the self-involved twittery of many of the members of my social group. He has no problem asking me for favors all the time, often citing his extreme poverty. Can I loan him my car while his is in the shop? Can I bring an extra bottle of wine to his party?
For the last five minutes I've been thinking of all the favors I will deny him in the future because of his refusal to help me today, but I just now realize that Tom has another thing in common with a lot of my friends: Tom has ridiculous credit card debt. Tom is really poor.
Tom's need for immediate gratification has left him with so much credit debt that he's actually considering going home to England, so he can walk away from a $70,000 debt...which means that if Tom were a subject of Dr. Stanley's studies, Dr. Stanley would discover that Tom is part of the no integrity control group.
We are all the architects of our own destruction.
I am struggling not to think of ways to punish Tom, because he's already in Hell. He lives a hideous, boring, debt-ridden existence. And wishing bad things on people who I am angry at isn't, well, nice.
My nice act of today will be letting go of my anger toward Tom as I drive through traffic across town to deal with city bureaucracy. Believe me, this is proving to be much harder than playing not-so-secret Santa.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Maureen 2: Electric Boogaloo
The son-in-law of my recently departed neighbor called me this morning. I have a ridiculously productive kiwi vine that has overtaken my front porch and he was calling for permission to pick some for himself. I was actually really happy that he called me about this. His mother-in-law, bless her, had been a crazy food hoarder. Her house was always full of cases of past-sell-by date salad dressings and withered vegetables that she'd gotten from her friend at the grocery mart for free or pulled from the dumpster behind the corner bodega. Her last conversation with me, the week before she died, was about me bringing some kiwis around to her, so his request gave me an odd sense of closure to my relationship with his wife's mother.
My late neighbor was a nut. But, as a gardener, she was kind of a good nut to live next door to. She was constantly bringing me fresh tomatoes seedlings that had sprung up all over her yard (yay) and almost moldy bread (bleh) in trade for tiny apples from my tree or cuttings from my roses. I'm only too happy to continue my fruit-giving ways to a second generation of nutty neighbors.
This afternoon I found a sack of oranges on my front porch from the son-in-law's backyard tree. Sometimes being nice has immediate, and delicious, repercussions.
My late neighbor was a nut. But, as a gardener, she was kind of a good nut to live next door to. She was constantly bringing me fresh tomatoes seedlings that had sprung up all over her yard (yay) and almost moldy bread (bleh) in trade for tiny apples from my tree or cuttings from my roses. I'm only too happy to continue my fruit-giving ways to a second generation of nutty neighbors.
This afternoon I found a sack of oranges on my front porch from the son-in-law's backyard tree. Sometimes being nice has immediate, and delicious, repercussions.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
I Don't Believe in Santa Claus
I'm not Christian, so a fat guy delivering presents for Jesus was alway a difficult concept to wrap my head around as a kid. What's the deal with the North Pole? Jesus was from the Middle East. There were no reindeer in any of the manger pictures or lawn displays I'd see. Is the flying sled motorized? Christmas spirit? So Christians are only good in December when they're worried about some list that involves getting coal? What? What!
None of the kids I asked seemed to have answers to my questions that sounded at all reasonable.
I sat on Santa's lap only once when I was five. I pretty much decided he was bogus when I had to wait in line for 40 minutes to talk to him and he then didn't make good on my requests for a pony or a talking dog.
As an adult, I do believe that I have a friend in Jesus, but the whole Naughty or Nice secular aspect of the holiday continues to bug me. Is there any wonder why Christians continue to behave horribly if Santa's punishment for being bad is coal and onion-filled socks? If that's all there is to having no Christmas Spirit then I say bring it on, fat guy.
Bring it.
Recently, I discovered the joys of adult pen pals. I have sent books, Star Trek figurines and a pocket guide to the mercury content in common sushi fish to several people who I've met through my internet travels. In return, I've received Bakelite buttons, trash-picked yarn and a vintage sink from people who would be strangers to me were it not for our shared love of saving the planet from an over-packaged consumerist culture.
Today I'm sending the entire series of SISTER WENDY'S STORY OF PAINTING on videocassette to my pal in Bakersfield. For those of you who don't know who Sister Wendy is, she's a Consecrated Virgin (as opposed to all those nuns who are, apparently, getting action), who also happens to be a brilliant art critic. The two hours every day that she doesn't spend in monastic solitude and prayer, are spent enthusiastically lisping through her English bucked teeth (I know, "English bucked teeth" is redundant) about such things as "the wonderfully fluffy pubic hair" in one of Stanley Spencer's paintings.
I heart Sister Wendy.
My pal in Bakersfield is loyal to her VCR. She doesn't own a DVD player. She's also, by her own description, a "conservative Christian." It's these two reasons why I think SISTER WENDY is the perfect surprise gift for her. She really is a nice, Christian lady who is devoted to her grandkids and her church. But we really are very different. If I'd met her on the street, I doubt that we'd be friends. So I'm glad we didn't meet there. In cyber space we were able to put aside our generation gap, our religious differences, and our politics and have great conversations about environmental issues every day. So I think it's only appropriate, that on Black Monday, retail's biggest internet shopping day of the year, that I send my friend a not-so-secret Santa gift of lightly used videos. She's got Christmas Spirit year around.
NOVEMBER 30, 2009
I just got a thank you email for my pal in Bakersfield for the SISTER WENDY videos that arrived today! Those guys at the post office are on it. Unfortunately, her VCR now appears to be broken so she won't be able to watch the videos. And because she's a nice person and a good environmentalist, she asks if it is okay to send the videos to a friend with a VCR.
Of course this is okay. But I also happen to have an extra VCR in my house which I immediately offer to mail to her. And because she's a nice person, she insists on paying for my old, unused VCR. I flat out refuse. "Don't be ridiculous," I write back, "It's my treat." She refuses to back down. "Let me pay for the postage then. I INSIST." She fires back.
I'm sure the all caps is not a typo and this is my pal putting her foot down. Which I imagine makes a satisfying clacking noise as she stomps her sensible, low-heeled church shoes that I'm certain she wears.
Luckily, we're communicating via email so she doesn't notice the odd pause in the conversation while I contemplate her footwear and have the following tweaker conversation with myself:
TWEAKER SELF: "Well, if I let her pay for the postage for the VCR then that really does negate the whole point of the not-so-secret Santa gift of the SISTER WENDY videos. It's not a gift is she has to pay for it. "
TWEAKER SELF: "But if she feels guilty that I'm spending too much money on her, then it really takes the fun out of the gift too. Why does she have to be such a nice Christian lady?"
TWEAKER SELF: "Also she wrote "I INSIST" in all caps which means that arguing with her will also negate the gift so it will no longer be a nice gesture to her, but an annoying one.
TWEAKER SELF: "Why does my mental image of her include a red pant suit and white patent shoes? She's not Mrs. Clause. Or James Brown."
TWEAKER SELF: "At least the phrase "Conservative Christian" still evokes for me an image of Tammy Faye Baker and not Sarah Palin. What was I just thinking about? Oh yeah, the VCR."
TWEAKER SELF: "I can't count the not-so-secret Santa gift of the videos as a nice gesture because her nice gesture back to me about the VCR makes my nice gesture not so nice."
TWEAKER SELF: "I can't believe I just had that thought. Just having that thought means the videos don't count as my nice act of yesterday because I'm arguing with my pal just so I can still count it. That's so lame.
I email my pal in Bakersfield back and tell her that I'm going to mail her the VCR and have no idea what the postage will cost until I get to the post office (which is true). So, she will just have to wait until the package arrives to see how much she owes for postage, even though she totally does not have to reimburse me. Or anything.
I'm hoping at the post office they'll have a way of franking the package so it's impossible to tell how much the postage cost.
Is it still nice if I have to resort to devious ways of ensuring that I'm not out-niced?
None of the kids I asked seemed to have answers to my questions that sounded at all reasonable.
I sat on Santa's lap only once when I was five. I pretty much decided he was bogus when I had to wait in line for 40 minutes to talk to him and he then didn't make good on my requests for a pony or a talking dog.
As an adult, I do believe that I have a friend in Jesus, but the whole Naughty or Nice secular aspect of the holiday continues to bug me. Is there any wonder why Christians continue to behave horribly if Santa's punishment for being bad is coal and onion-filled socks? If that's all there is to having no Christmas Spirit then I say bring it on, fat guy.
Bring it.
Recently, I discovered the joys of adult pen pals. I have sent books, Star Trek figurines and a pocket guide to the mercury content in common sushi fish to several people who I've met through my internet travels. In return, I've received Bakelite buttons, trash-picked yarn and a vintage sink from people who would be strangers to me were it not for our shared love of saving the planet from an over-packaged consumerist culture.
Today I'm sending the entire series of SISTER WENDY'S STORY OF PAINTING on videocassette to my pal in Bakersfield. For those of you who don't know who Sister Wendy is, she's a Consecrated Virgin (as opposed to all those nuns who are, apparently, getting action), who also happens to be a brilliant art critic. The two hours every day that she doesn't spend in monastic solitude and prayer, are spent enthusiastically lisping through her English bucked teeth (I know, "English bucked teeth" is redundant) about such things as "the wonderfully fluffy pubic hair" in one of Stanley Spencer's paintings.
I heart Sister Wendy.
My pal in Bakersfield is loyal to her VCR. She doesn't own a DVD player. She's also, by her own description, a "conservative Christian." It's these two reasons why I think SISTER WENDY is the perfect surprise gift for her. She really is a nice, Christian lady who is devoted to her grandkids and her church. But we really are very different. If I'd met her on the street, I doubt that we'd be friends. So I'm glad we didn't meet there. In cyber space we were able to put aside our generation gap, our religious differences, and our politics and have great conversations about environmental issues every day. So I think it's only appropriate, that on Black Monday, retail's biggest internet shopping day of the year, that I send my friend a not-so-secret Santa gift of lightly used videos. She's got Christmas Spirit year around.
NOVEMBER 30, 2009
I just got a thank you email for my pal in Bakersfield for the SISTER WENDY videos that arrived today! Those guys at the post office are on it. Unfortunately, her VCR now appears to be broken so she won't be able to watch the videos. And because she's a nice person and a good environmentalist, she asks if it is okay to send the videos to a friend with a VCR.
Of course this is okay. But I also happen to have an extra VCR in my house which I immediately offer to mail to her. And because she's a nice person, she insists on paying for my old, unused VCR. I flat out refuse. "Don't be ridiculous," I write back, "It's my treat." She refuses to back down. "Let me pay for the postage then. I INSIST." She fires back.
I'm sure the all caps is not a typo and this is my pal putting her foot down. Which I imagine makes a satisfying clacking noise as she stomps her sensible, low-heeled church shoes that I'm certain she wears.
Luckily, we're communicating via email so she doesn't notice the odd pause in the conversation while I contemplate her footwear and have the following tweaker conversation with myself:
TWEAKER SELF: "Well, if I let her pay for the postage for the VCR then that really does negate the whole point of the not-so-secret Santa gift of the SISTER WENDY videos. It's not a gift is she has to pay for it. "
TWEAKER SELF: "But if she feels guilty that I'm spending too much money on her, then it really takes the fun out of the gift too. Why does she have to be such a nice Christian lady?"
TWEAKER SELF: "Also she wrote "I INSIST" in all caps which means that arguing with her will also negate the gift so it will no longer be a nice gesture to her, but an annoying one.
TWEAKER SELF: "Why does my mental image of her include a red pant suit and white patent shoes? She's not Mrs. Clause. Or James Brown."
TWEAKER SELF: "At least the phrase "Conservative Christian" still evokes for me an image of Tammy Faye Baker and not Sarah Palin. What was I just thinking about? Oh yeah, the VCR."
TWEAKER SELF: "I can't count the not-so-secret Santa gift of the videos as a nice gesture because her nice gesture back to me about the VCR makes my nice gesture not so nice."
TWEAKER SELF: "I can't believe I just had that thought. Just having that thought means the videos don't count as my nice act of yesterday because I'm arguing with my pal just so I can still count it. That's so lame.
I email my pal in Bakersfield back and tell her that I'm going to mail her the VCR and have no idea what the postage will cost until I get to the post office (which is true). So, she will just have to wait until the package arrives to see how much she owes for postage, even though she totally does not have to reimburse me. Or anything.
I'm hoping at the post office they'll have a way of franking the package so it's impossible to tell how much the postage cost.
Is it still nice if I have to resort to devious ways of ensuring that I'm not out-niced?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
There Are Three Kinds Of Life Experiences...
1. Good experiences
2. Bad experiences
3. Screenplay material
I have been struggling with one of our projects. I've carried the script around with me for months. To the club. On vacation. If this script were a traveller, it would have enough frequent flyer points to go to Uranus.
(Insert childish snickering here).
I've been carrying the script around with me, as if proximity to the 3-hole punch paper would somehow impart, kabbalah-like, some hidden set of brilliant notes that would fix every problem I can't seem to crack.
Alas, even Jewish mysticism has failed to help me come up with a way to make the jewel thief protagonist a more sympathetic character in the first act.
And now I'm in trouble. Because the writer is back in town, after being conveniently out of the country all summer long, and I still don't know what to tell him about the latest draft, other than his script needs a major overhaul and we don't have the development fund to pay him for a rewrite.
FLASH FORWARD-THREE HOURS AGO-EXT. HIPSTER CAFE-DUSK:
I meet with the writer for coffee, fully prepared to admit that I am the loser producer who can only complain about all the faults in a script, and offer no helpful suggestions whatsoever. For the first 40 minutes of the meeting we talk about Barcelona in the summertime and how expensive the coffee is at Intelligentsia Coffee.
I try and stall the inevitable conversation about the script by asking him what he thinks about the 700 billion dollar bailout. He's angry about it and points to a "Bank Owned" sign on a house across the street from the cafe. "They could have bailed out that guy for a lot less money."
And that's exactly when I figure out how to fix the script.
The jewel thief in the script, isn't stealing because he's trying to achieve the American Dream, he's stealing because he needs to save the family home! (OMG). The writer goes crazy for the idea, spending the next twenty minutes vamping on what else could happen that would drive his now likable hero into a life of crime.
In thirty minutes we figure out how to solve every character and plot problem that have dogged me for the past four months.
I get a creative bailout due to the failing market. Go figure.
2. Bad experiences
3. Screenplay material
I have been struggling with one of our projects. I've carried the script around with me for months. To the club. On vacation. If this script were a traveller, it would have enough frequent flyer points to go to Uranus.
(Insert childish snickering here).
I've been carrying the script around with me, as if proximity to the 3-hole punch paper would somehow impart, kabbalah-like, some hidden set of brilliant notes that would fix every problem I can't seem to crack.
Alas, even Jewish mysticism has failed to help me come up with a way to make the jewel thief protagonist a more sympathetic character in the first act.
And now I'm in trouble. Because the writer is back in town, after being conveniently out of the country all summer long, and I still don't know what to tell him about the latest draft, other than his script needs a major overhaul and we don't have the development fund to pay him for a rewrite.
FLASH FORWARD-THREE HOURS AGO-EXT. HIPSTER CAFE-DUSK:
I meet with the writer for coffee, fully prepared to admit that I am the loser producer who can only complain about all the faults in a script, and offer no helpful suggestions whatsoever. For the first 40 minutes of the meeting we talk about Barcelona in the summertime and how expensive the coffee is at Intelligentsia Coffee.
I try and stall the inevitable conversation about the script by asking him what he thinks about the 700 billion dollar bailout. He's angry about it and points to a "Bank Owned" sign on a house across the street from the cafe. "They could have bailed out that guy for a lot less money."
And that's exactly when I figure out how to fix the script.
The jewel thief in the script, isn't stealing because he's trying to achieve the American Dream, he's stealing because he needs to save the family home! (OMG). The writer goes crazy for the idea, spending the next twenty minutes vamping on what else could happen that would drive his now likable hero into a life of crime.
In thirty minutes we figure out how to solve every character and plot problem that have dogged me for the past four months.
I get a creative bailout due to the failing market. Go figure.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Napoleon and Josephine and Josephine
I met Josephine in a supremely American fashion: she bought stuff from me at a garage sale.
She happened to be jogging by our sale and stopped in just to look around. She bought a vintage silk dress and my grandmother's red, white and blue Skyway luggage set. She told us that the set looked just like what her childhood Barbie doll had carried. We talked for two hours while standing in my neighbor's driveway. She was just this cool girl who was in town to edit her documentary about bisexuality. I had her over for dinner and invited her to all our parties.
Do I have to mention that my guy friends could not get enough of her? Hmmm...I wonder why.
Then she moved to New York City.
Last year, when my computer crashed, I lost all her contact information.
Today I spent an entire afternoon google stalking her across the internet. I was inspired to find her because I unpacked a spare set of luggage keys and an extra organizer pocket for one of the suitcases and, as an OCD tweaker, God forbid I just throw those away. Josephine paid good money ($20) for that three-piece luggage set! Let's just say that the words "Josephine" and "Bisexual" and "Documentary" bring up many more movie titles than you'd expect. Most of them involve Pompadour wigs and tag lines like "Watch Josephine Eat Napoleons! XXX!"
Why do so many roads in my life lead to porn?
I called her as she was leaving La Guardia and we talked all the way until she reached Union Station. Her documentary is done and she's got a distribution deal with LOGO. She's coming back to LA soon so we made plans to hang out.
She loves her luggage and was surprised that I'd tracked her down over spare suitcase parts.
Friendships can be forged out of the smallest moments in life. I love that.
She happened to be jogging by our sale and stopped in just to look around. She bought a vintage silk dress and my grandmother's red, white and blue Skyway luggage set. She told us that the set looked just like what her childhood Barbie doll had carried. We talked for two hours while standing in my neighbor's driveway. She was just this cool girl who was in town to edit her documentary about bisexuality. I had her over for dinner and invited her to all our parties.
Do I have to mention that my guy friends could not get enough of her? Hmmm...I wonder why.
Then she moved to New York City.
Last year, when my computer crashed, I lost all her contact information.
Today I spent an entire afternoon google stalking her across the internet. I was inspired to find her because I unpacked a spare set of luggage keys and an extra organizer pocket for one of the suitcases and, as an OCD tweaker, God forbid I just throw those away. Josephine paid good money ($20) for that three-piece luggage set! Let's just say that the words "Josephine" and "Bisexual" and "Documentary" bring up many more movie titles than you'd expect. Most of them involve Pompadour wigs and tag lines like "Watch Josephine Eat Napoleons! XXX!"
Why do so many roads in my life lead to porn?
I called her as she was leaving La Guardia and we talked all the way until she reached Union Station. Her documentary is done and she's got a distribution deal with LOGO. She's coming back to LA soon so we made plans to hang out.
She loves her luggage and was surprised that I'd tracked her down over spare suitcase parts.
Friendships can be forged out of the smallest moments in life. I love that.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Get a Free Lunch on Me (cough) I Mean Kinkos
It's official. I have now been cleaning my office for an entire month. And it's still not done. I thought that I'd been good at getting rid of old documents that I no longer needed, but somehow, every year I find another check register from 1996 and another stack of inter-office memos from a company that I haven't worked for in over a decade.
Sigh.
I also have a big stack of business cards from people and companies whose names I don't recognize that I pulled from various files.
Here's what I just learned about myself:
Apparently, I'm friendly or competent looking enough that people give me their business cards. And, I am bad at following up with them...
At my friendly neighborhood Kinko's where I spend all my hard earned cash making script copies, there that fishbowl by the front door with a sign that says, "Drop in your business card for a chance at a free lunch!"
Today I dropped 20 random business cards into the fishbowl.
Maybe someone I don't remember meeting will get lucky.
Sigh.
I also have a big stack of business cards from people and companies whose names I don't recognize that I pulled from various files.
Here's what I just learned about myself:
Apparently, I'm friendly or competent looking enough that people give me their business cards. And, I am bad at following up with them...
At my friendly neighborhood Kinko's where I spend all my hard earned cash making script copies, there that fishbowl by the front door with a sign that says, "Drop in your business card for a chance at a free lunch!"
Today I dropped 20 random business cards into the fishbowl.
Maybe someone I don't remember meeting will get lucky.
Friday, November 14, 2008
That Sinking Feeling: 2
My friend the Prop Master came over today to replace my disgusting kitchen sink with the vintage sink that Ellen found for me. I was prepared to pay him our agreed "Mate Rate" of $20 an hour, but when he arrived at my house he told me that he would install the sink free of charge because I'd let him stay in my second bedroom rent free during his last commercial job.
Oh how I love traded labor. Especially traded labor that involves me doing nothing but giving my friend a house key.
Did I mention that I have the original, impossible to match 1930's deco tile counters in my kitchen? Did I mention that the porcelain-on-cast iron sink weighs 60 pounds?
Even knowing this horrific combination of facts, the sink replacement was still much worse than anticipated. If the Prop Master were not my friend, I would have had to pay a carpenter, a tile mason and a plumber to get that sink installed. It would have cost me over $1000 and would have taken several days to complete the job instead of merely eight hours.
After the first four hours of grueling labor (during which time the Prop Master built a winch out of some rope, scrap lumber and a shovel he found in my garage which he used to swap the sinks out from the underside of the counter), I took the Prop Master to lunch (At this point I'd offered repeatedly to pay him for his work, but he refused each time).
I was only too thrilled to discover that the Prop Master's fiancee was in need of a television, because I happened to have an extra one that I could offer up to him for free as a tip for all his hard work.
He was super happy to give his fiancee an even better T.V. than she was looking at new.
I was super happy that I didn't have to feel guilty that I was torturing my friend and I got a huge appliance out of my house.
Nice is a much better currency than money.
PS: Not one vintage tile was damaged during the sink installation! The Prop Master = Handiest Man Ever.
Oh how I love traded labor. Especially traded labor that involves me doing nothing but giving my friend a house key.
Did I mention that I have the original, impossible to match 1930's deco tile counters in my kitchen? Did I mention that the porcelain-on-cast iron sink weighs 60 pounds?
Even knowing this horrific combination of facts, the sink replacement was still much worse than anticipated. If the Prop Master were not my friend, I would have had to pay a carpenter, a tile mason and a plumber to get that sink installed. It would have cost me over $1000 and would have taken several days to complete the job instead of merely eight hours.
After the first four hours of grueling labor (during which time the Prop Master built a winch out of some rope, scrap lumber and a shovel he found in my garage which he used to swap the sinks out from the underside of the counter), I took the Prop Master to lunch (At this point I'd offered repeatedly to pay him for his work, but he refused each time).
I was only too thrilled to discover that the Prop Master's fiancee was in need of a television, because I happened to have an extra one that I could offer up to him for free as a tip for all his hard work.
He was super happy to give his fiancee an even better T.V. than she was looking at new.
I was super happy that I didn't have to feel guilty that I was torturing my friend and I got a huge appliance out of my house.
Nice is a much better currency than money.
PS: Not one vintage tile was damaged during the sink installation! The Prop Master = Handiest Man Ever.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Gifts in the Mail
I recently sent some of my online buddies gifts for no good reason. For example, yesterday I sent a chart that shows mercury levels in fish to one of my online pen pals who's been eating a lot of fish recently for health reasons.
Imagine my surprise today when I arrived home to find a large box of trash picked yarn from one of them, which will be used to finish my afghan that I'm making for a veteran who lost his or her legs in combat, and a box of vintage red buttons from another online buddy that I'll use to make a Christmas wreath for the Foxyinlaws.
Wow! How nice is that?
*************
Today, as my nice gesture of the day, I referred my genius travel agent to two film makers who are flying all over the place to promote their new movie. I think I get extra nice points considering that they just passed on one of my projects.
Since I can't afford to travel anywhere this year for New Years, I've been living vicariously through my friends who can. "Oooh! Send me pictures from Thailand!" "I'd love to go to India. You're so lucky! You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back!" "Let me refer you to my excellent travel agent!"
Why am I doing this? I know that I'm going to be so jealous of them when I hear all their stories and see all the pictures.
Not being able to afford to travel is starting to really get to me. Last night I had a dream where I was giving a tour of the Mahon, Menorca harbor to my parents who complained the entire time. Then I dreamt that I was hiding in an English manor house from George Clooney who was trying to cut my fingers off with tin snips.
Imagine my surprise today when I arrived home to find a large box of trash picked yarn from one of them, which will be used to finish my afghan that I'm making for a veteran who lost his or her legs in combat, and a box of vintage red buttons from another online buddy that I'll use to make a Christmas wreath for the Foxyinlaws.
Wow! How nice is that?
*************
Today, as my nice gesture of the day, I referred my genius travel agent to two film makers who are flying all over the place to promote their new movie. I think I get extra nice points considering that they just passed on one of my projects.
Since I can't afford to travel anywhere this year for New Years, I've been living vicariously through my friends who can. "Oooh! Send me pictures from Thailand!" "I'd love to go to India. You're so lucky! You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back!" "Let me refer you to my excellent travel agent!"
Why am I doing this? I know that I'm going to be so jealous of them when I hear all their stories and see all the pictures.
Not being able to afford to travel is starting to really get to me. Last night I had a dream where I was giving a tour of the Mahon, Menorca harbor to my parents who complained the entire time. Then I dreamt that I was hiding in an English manor house from George Clooney who was trying to cut my fingers off with tin snips.
Monday, November 10, 2008
A Minion of the Devil Doll
My friend Devil Doll is going on tour next Wednesday. She called me today about doing some prep work for her tour. And by prep work I mean washing all of her dishes because she currently has no clean silverware and picking up her leather pants from the dry cleaner. Ah, the joys of running a record label out of your house. It's almost as simple and easy as running a home-based film production company. Since I'm too busy running my entertainment empire out of my spare bedroom, I referred my friend Kate for the job. Hopefully this arrangement will work out well for both of them.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Live Long and Prosper
Do you feel the rift in the Time/Space continuum? You should, because you are reading a blog post from the future.
As I write this it is 8:47 on November 14, 2008. I'm posting what I did today, November 3rd, 2008, from the future so I don't ruin the surprise for my friend The Non-Consumer Advocate, who has been known to read this blog.
Today I sent seven Star Trek action figures to my friend The Non-Consumer Advocate. I had failed to sell the toys at our fancy garage sale over the weekend, even though they were reasonably priced at $20. And, we couldn't sell them on ebay, even though the figurines are a limited edition, highly collectible, very expensive set, not because Mr. Foxypants had opened the original package so he could play with them, but because he had removed all the weapons and accessories and put them into an Altoid tin "for safekeeping."
And then he lost the Altoid tin somewhere in the garage.
I can't believe how well the last two sentences explain my boyfriend.
But back to my gift to the N-CA and why I just didn't sell the Star Trek toys on Craigslist. One thing that I've learned this year is that giving up things of value doesn't bother me at all if that super-fabulous whatever goes to the perfect home. And who could provide a more perfect home to phaserless Star Trek figurines than the Non-Consumer Advocate?
http://thenonconsumeradvocate.wordpress.com/2008/10/22/everything-i-needed-to-learn-in-life-i-learned-from-star-trek/
(Yes. I know there is technology that allows me to do some fancy highlighted text that links directly to her blog instead of writing out the entire address to that specific blog entry. And I don't know that technology. But get over it, okay? How many of you have mastered time travel like I clearly have)?
At any rate, yesterday, Wednesday, November the 12th, (for those of you not familiar with screenwriting lingo, this is known as a Flash Forward even though I'm writing about something that's already happened because I'm writing this from the future) I received the following email from The N-CA:
"I got home after a long drive (3-1/2 rainy hours) back from the beach yesterday to find your package.
I took it into the kitchen to cut it open, and had to call the boys to join me when I spied the contents. I had a hard time though, as I was laughing really hard.
THANK YOU SO MUCH!
My son (the 10-year-old) has them all lined up in front of his fish tank, which looks cool as they're all backlit. He doesn't like that I told him they were mine to share and not just his.
I want to take a picture of him with them for you to show "Mr. Foxypants." So he can see they went to a loving home. They've been added to our "Guinan" and "Picard." So far they're playing nicely with minimal conflict. Although . . . Kirk and Sulu have been having their issues."
See? The perfect home. Now I'm glad I didn't sell them at the garage sale. That $20 would not have been nearly as satisfying as that thank you note.
As I write this it is 8:47 on November 14, 2008. I'm posting what I did today, November 3rd, 2008, from the future so I don't ruin the surprise for my friend The Non-Consumer Advocate, who has been known to read this blog.
Today I sent seven Star Trek action figures to my friend The Non-Consumer Advocate. I had failed to sell the toys at our fancy garage sale over the weekend, even though they were reasonably priced at $20. And, we couldn't sell them on ebay, even though the figurines are a limited edition, highly collectible, very expensive set, not because Mr. Foxypants had opened the original package so he could play with them, but because he had removed all the weapons and accessories and put them into an Altoid tin "for safekeeping."
And then he lost the Altoid tin somewhere in the garage.
I can't believe how well the last two sentences explain my boyfriend.
But back to my gift to the N-CA and why I just didn't sell the Star Trek toys on Craigslist. One thing that I've learned this year is that giving up things of value doesn't bother me at all if that super-fabulous whatever goes to the perfect home. And who could provide a more perfect home to phaserless Star Trek figurines than the Non-Consumer Advocate?
http://thenonconsumeradvocate.wordpress.com/2008/10/22/everything-i-needed-to-learn-in-life-i-learned-from-star-trek/
(Yes. I know there is technology that allows me to do some fancy highlighted text that links directly to her blog instead of writing out the entire address to that specific blog entry. And I don't know that technology. But get over it, okay? How many of you have mastered time travel like I clearly have)?
At any rate, yesterday, Wednesday, November the 12th, (for those of you not familiar with screenwriting lingo, this is known as a Flash Forward even though I'm writing about something that's already happened because I'm writing this from the future) I received the following email from The N-CA:
"I got home after a long drive (3-1/2 rainy hours) back from the beach yesterday to find your package.
I took it into the kitchen to cut it open, and had to call the boys to join me when I spied the contents. I had a hard time though, as I was laughing really hard.
THANK YOU SO MUCH!
My son (the 10-year-old) has them all lined up in front of his fish tank, which looks cool as they're all backlit. He doesn't like that I told him they were mine to share and not just his.
I want to take a picture of him with them for you to show "Mr. Foxypants." So he can see they went to a loving home. They've been added to our "Guinan" and "Picard." So far they're playing nicely with minimal conflict. Although . . . Kirk and Sulu have been having their issues."
See? The perfect home. Now I'm glad I didn't sell them at the garage sale. That $20 would not have been nearly as satisfying as that thank you note.
Friday, October 31, 2008
That Linking Feeling
Everyone is so mean online these days. Even people on my do-gooder, stinky treehugging sites are being short with each other.
I blame the election. I think everyone is stressed out about the economy and we are all waiting to see how the election goes down before we make any big choices about our future.
The problem with this online grumpiness is that it's never the big jerks who leave in a huff. It's always the nice people, the ones with all the great ideas, who get fed up with the sniping and backbiting who leave that online community for good. I think a lot of great sites are ruined by the people being mean with their comments.
On all my favorite sites I've just been adding helpful links to do-it-yourself demos, feel-good testimonials, and other sites where the atmosphere is less strained.
I was planning on doing this until the election is over, but I may just keep being the Queen of the Links on these various sites until the end of the year.
I blame the election. I think everyone is stressed out about the economy and we are all waiting to see how the election goes down before we make any big choices about our future.
The problem with this online grumpiness is that it's never the big jerks who leave in a huff. It's always the nice people, the ones with all the great ideas, who get fed up with the sniping and backbiting who leave that online community for good. I think a lot of great sites are ruined by the people being mean with their comments.
On all my favorite sites I've just been adding helpful links to do-it-yourself demos, feel-good testimonials, and other sites where the atmosphere is less strained.
I was planning on doing this until the election is over, but I may just keep being the Queen of the Links on these various sites until the end of the year.
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