A sixth sense

When you have the same driver for that hour-long trip to the airport, you learn a few things about her. This driver tells us she sees spirits. They come to her and give her messages. I am skeptical, but I don't want to insult her, so I just smile. She explains further: "Haven't you ever seen something move out of the corner of your eye? Haven't you thought you heard someone there, only to not see anything? Those are spirits coming to you." She tells me that when the cat suddenly runs out of the room, it's because he's seen a spirit.

I believe that she believes, but I don't believe that she actually sees these spirits. I'm too much of a scientist, too much of a cynic perhaps. On this drive to the airport, she tells me that there is a blond, older woman with us. She asks if there was a relative of mine that was blond. I say, yes, Nana was a blond. She tells me that she's talking about cookies she's made just for me.

I want to believe. I really do. I would love for Nana to visit, to be the one offering me cookies. But I can't. Nana wouldn't be offering me cookies, she'd be buying me a drink and wanting to dish. She'd want to go outside with me so she could grab a smoke. She'd want to see pictures of Andrea's kids and hear all about these past few years. She'd touch my hair and comment about how long it is. She would be smiling. I miss my Nana so much and I'd love for her to be there, so I pretend. But she wasn't there on that ride to the airport.

Later, when we are talking about the drive, he tells me I need to let go of the scientist. I need to believe at least a little bit. I need to welcome the angels. Maybe Nana wasn't there right then, but I need to be ready when she does come. I promise I will try.

How it is, sometimes (most of the time)

I have anxiety. Nothing fancy, nothing that I can't control (well, most days and with varying degrees of success), but it there. If you want to know more, read this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/04/magazine/04anxiety-t.html?pagewanted=all

Reading this article was a kind of relief because it explained a lot about me to me. I always knew I had stuff in my head, but this put it together. It also pointed out to me that not everyone is thinking like me, not everyone's head goes a million different ways when faced with, well, anything. When you have anxiety, it's easy to forget that not everyone else feels the same way.

It's hard to describe what goes on in my head, but it's constant. I try to anticipate every possible outcome, so that I am prepared. What if we're late, what if we're early, what if I spill my coffee? A surprise is no good. Here's the worst part: if something goes wrong that I didn't anticipate, my first reaction is to be kicking myself for not anticipating this problem. There's a vanity in anxiety, that somehow that just by seeing the potential for a problem, I can solve it all. I have a friend who is constantly reminding me that I'm not that powerful but my anxiety tells me that I might be.

Here's an example of how my anxiety works: the bag I carry to work. My bag (and it is a bag; a mere purse cannot contain all I need) has pens (many, many, because one may run out and then another, so I better have ten) and notebooks and cough drops and safety pins and gum and a deck of cards and my phone and an ipod and a Kindle and so much more. Someone once told me that I am the person they most want to be trapped in an elevator with because I would have snacks and a bottle of water and band-aids and a sewing kit and, most likely, games. The crazy thing is not that I carry all of that, but if there is occasion when I don't have something (say, a paper clip), I find that I start beating myself up over that. ("How could I forget paper clips?! How could I be so careless?") (I have since put a few paper clips in my bag.) This is not to say that I'm organized. Hardly. I have a kind of organization but I am always misplacing stuff. when you carry the world in your bag, you might misplace a few things.

Anxiety is not fear. I often need to remind myself of this. That if I can control my anxiety, I can do anything. The anxiety won't go away but it can be managed. I rode a zipline -- it can't be all that bad. I know I'm no fun when I get anxious, but I'm trying to be better.

Chicago Public Art

The streets of Chicago told me a story.

Swag

I'm away at a conference which means one thing: swag! I know that's wrong: conferences are about learning and networking and blah, blah, which, sure, we'll all try to do those things, but we all get the swag.

When I was in graduate school, the only conference I attended was the Annual Crown Gall Conference (yeah, it's a thing!) No surprisingly, it was a conference without swag. Until I joined the pharmaceutical industry, I had no sense of the potential for swag. When I joined pharma (about eight years ago), it was after the hey-day of pharma giveaways, but you could still get things. Pens (my god, the pens!), pads of paper, little flashlights, toys, all with the company's name stamped on them. The first conference you go to, you take everything. It's free! How could you turn it down? And you find yourself with about 25 pounds of cheap pens and post-it notes.

The next conference you try to limit yourself. You won't take the crappy pens. You won't take the stuff you think you won't use. You still end up with a yo-yo that lights up or another ten notebooks. How many tote bags does anyone need?

A couple of years ago, the pharmaceutical industry pulled the plug on swag. Those days are behind us. No more pens, no more pads of paper with the name of a drug engraved on the side. Last year, I went to my first pharma conference after these rules were passed. The reps weren't entirely sure what to do with themselves. They gave away a lot of food. It just wasn't the same.

This conference is near pharma but not actually pharma, so the swag is here. Each company tries so hard to make their swag stand out. It's not just pens and paper and bags, but stuffed monkeys and paper fans and tea and lots of things that light up. There are plenty of raffles (mostly ipads, but some Kindles and fancy earphones and, sadly, one company has a Shuffle.) A couple of raffles are just for cash. I guess that gets to the point.

I feel bad for the companies with the bad swag. I saw at least a couple of places that were trying to give away calculators. Does anyone need a calculator? One company tried to give me this foam penguin. I wanted to be nice, but I'll just throw it away, so I just told her no. I saw lots of purse hooks: does anyone use these?

I am in my hotel room, looking at my stuff (flash drives!) and trying to figure out what's worth taking home. That puzzle ball seemed so interesting when that rep was talking to me. Now I just have regrets.

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah!

I am not a risk-taker. I have back-ups to my back-ups, and then Plans C, D, and E. I like my feet on the ground, and I get nervous walking across rickety bridges. I don't ride roller coasters, and no one will ever accuse me of being outdoorsy. But, for some reason, I wanted to ride a zip-line. Friday I got my chance: a work outing at Go Ape! (For more details, go here: http://www.goape.com/)

I suppose I could have wimped out but I wouldn't let myself. I could do this! It's got to be safe, right? Of course, the first thing they have you do is sign the waiver, which makes it clear that, yes, this is a risky activity, oh, and you could die, but let's have some fun! Seriously, what am I signing here?

A few things you need to know about me: I'm not in great shape. I'm in office-worker-who-walks-regularly-but-not-too-much-more-than-that shape. I've never had upper body strength. (Remember the kid in grade school who couldn't do a single pull-up or climb the rope at all? I'm that kid.) I'm also not the best in the heat, and it was upper-80s and humid. And I hate ladders. They move! That is not cool with me.

I have to give huge props to the way they have everything set up. You start out with about 15 minutes of instruction. Then they put on your harness, they teach you how to use all the equipment, and you literally walk through your first set of cables to get comfortable with everything. If you mix up the order of your hooks and pulley (as I did the first time), it's better to do it with your feet on the ground. Then they take you to a bite-sized version of a course with a rope ladder, a tightrope about four feet off the ground, and a short zip-line. Everything is set up in a way that helps you build your confidence.

The course is divided into sections: each section has a series of ladders and bridge-like crossings, which take you higher and higher. All end with a zip-line down to the ground and two of them have a "Tarzan swing" into a cargo net. I started out fine; it was more work than I expected, but I was doing it. I was crossing up high, one step at a time. As high as it was, I was okay with it.

Then I got to the Tarzan swing, which was actually thrilling, into the cargo net, which was not good at all. I was in the net and simply could not climb out. The cargo net had a lot of give, which made it really difficult to climb. I just couldn't do it. I tried and tried and just could not get anywhere. At this point, the adrenaline kicked in which did nothing for me but make me shake. Here I am pretty high in the air, and I genuinely feel like I have nowhere to go. (My work group was so great through this whole thing. Totally supportive and just so very nice.) I tried to regroup by just hanging from the harness for a while (and, seriously, how bad must I have been to just hang in the air from a harness?) I tried again, but all I had in my arms and legs were jelly. Eventually, they rescued me by sending up a pulley which allowed them to help me to the platform.

Even though I was on the platform and "safe", I was overheated and shaky, but I was still way in the air. I had to complete that leg of the course. I had more ladders and bridges. I had to do it. One step at a time. The funny thing was, by the time I got to the zip-line, which was the end of that leg, I was actually relieved. Yay! It's the ground! Who cares how high I am? I needed to get back to earth.

Going down a zip-line is the exact opposite of what I am 99% of the time. You have to just step off and trust. You have to just let go. When you land, you have to not care if you get a back full of wood chips or if you look graceful. You just have to dig your heels in and fall to the ground.

As we headed for the next leg, I thought about walking the rest of the course. But the next leg didn't have a Tarzan swing (and therefore, no cargo net), so I decided I could do it. This was probably a bit unwise. I was overheated at this point. As I went through the course (which went higher and higher), I got shakier and hotter. I tried to take breaks (but, seriously: I was 40 feet in the air), and at one point, yeah, I got sick (sorry to all the critters below.) Everyone tried to be reassuring, telling me I could do it, but, truly, it was more about being overheated. It did, however, pull me into this zen-ish place. At one of the highest points in the course, the crossing was a series of swinging platforms, and if I wouldn't have been so physically spent, it would have scared the crap out of me. Instead, I was just determined to concentrate on walking from one to the other, willing them to swing as little as possible.

When I got to that final zip-line, I was so happy! All I had to do was slide. At first I was just going to go, but then I took a moment. At this point I knew it would be a mistake to push myself further, so this would be the last one. I needed to take it in. It was a nice long one; long enough that you could actually process what was happening. It was great. It was everything I hoped and even more.

Overall, it was more physically demanding than I expected. It's not like I thought there would be an elevator up to the treetops, but this required some muscle. I faced some fears and did some things I never thought I'd do. And, I really want to do it again!

Making a change

I am planning on moving the blog soon. Details will be coming, so keep your eye on this space. The reasons behind this have to do with a few things: annoyance with Blogger (the server that hosts this blog), my need to edit, just wanting a change.

Most of you are probably unaware of this, but Blogger was down for quite a while for a few days mid-May (around Friday the 13th which explains my missing posts from that time). Here's the thing: I know that there needs to be occasional maintenance, and computer issues happen and all that. And I know that I get the services of Blogger for the low, low price of free. But it's crossed from the occasional annoyance to the unacceptable.

Blogger's always been a bit sensitive. It freezes up on a semi-regular basis, losing my edits. If I pay attention, I can usually notice it in time to cut and paste into another place, and I won't lose what I've been working on. But when I miss that window, it incredibly annoying and much cussing occurs. The obvious work-around for this is to write in another program (such as Word), then cut-and-paste it into Blogger. Except that touchy Blogger always makes this behave oddly. If you look back on this blog with a critical eye to things like font size and spacing, you'll notice the occasional weird one. This is from when I cut-and-paste from Word and, try as I might, I can never quite fix it. And I'm insane enough to have things like that bother me.

The thing that pisses me off the most is that it's not like Blogger is some small bog-hosting site. It's Google! Shut downs of more that a couple of hours are completely unacceptable. If it gets to that point, they should have sent out an email. We all have to have an email address to register our blogs; they can reach us. Especially when it acts fine in one window (where you compose), then won't publish and that work is gone! I hate redoing a post; it feels fake, like reposing a picture you missed.

At this point, I'm still living here, but trying to decide how and when to switch. Don't worry; I won't let you miss it.

Stepping backwards

Yesterday, I watched "Terms of Endearment", one of those movies that I always seem to catch the last half hour or so (spoiler: Shirley MacLaine freaks out about Emma's pain every time, but she dies of cancer anyway. No, I don't cry every time, you do! It's allergies!!) This time I watched because I caught the beginning. The movie is almost 30 years old, and, inevitably, there are some parts that feel dated (although I'm always surprised as to how well it does hold up). In fact, when I think about it, we were more progressive then compared to now.

Just a quick reminder of characters: Emma is married to Flap, a struggling academic. Aurora is her insanely-close mother who does not approve of the marriage for both valid and selfish reasons. Emma is a stay-at-home mom, following her husband's career to various posts around the country, away from Aurora. It's not clear why Emma is a stay-at-home mom: they clearly need the money and, despite her best efforts, Emma is not the greatest mom. She shouts, she threatens to hit the kids, she and Flap fight often and loudly in front of them. (I'm not saying that Emma didn't deserve to shout: Flap cheats and lies and seems to be without direction.) I have to say that it's refreshing to watch a movie that doesn't idolize Saint Mom.

How was it that there seemed to be more choice and acceptance back then? Why does it feel that we've stepped backwards? When Emma visits NYC with a childhood friend, she is asked when she's going back to work after the birth of her third child, and it's actually met with disapproval that she has no plans to do so. This isn't a statement about being a stay-at-home mom or a working mom and which one is better. Emma just sort of owns her choice. There is no right or wrong way, just the way that feels right for her.

The movie is just more open to choice or non-traditional families than current movies are. Aurora wants Emma to leave Flap, even though her kids are fairly young. At one point, she actually encourages Emma to get an abortion when Emma thinks she "might" be pregnant again, asking her how else will she be able to get on with her life. Emma probably should have left Flap, and, in her way, does at the end, when she has her mother raise the children rather than him. She even considers having her single friend raise her daughter but decides against it, not because her friend is without a man, but because she wants to keep her kids together.

It's sad to me that we're in more boxes now, that there are more, not less, labels and expectations. How did we let this happen?

Blocked

There are days that I simply can't write. I look at the blank scene and nothing good can come of it. A few days ago, I had one of those days: the intention and the time to write were there, but there was nothing. Actually, that's not accurate. There was nothing worth writing. I often find that the days I can't write are the days with the most thoughts. There are so many bouncing around that I can't focus. They swarm but nothing actually lands.

What do you do on these days? Is it better to push, perhaps to only add to the frustration, but perhaps to break through? Or is it better to view this as a sign that today isn't the day for the words? I suppose if I were simply writing for myself, I'd probably just push myself to write something. But when it comes to posting something, I don't really want to put just anything out there. Yes, I care about you, dear reader.

There are times I'm walking and these amazing ideas come to me. I start composing in my head. I know I should take the time to write myself a note or two, but the ideas are just rolling and it's so easy, and I can't believe that I won't remember it all for later. It's obviously brilliant and it's fitting all together so nicely as I walk. However, later, I am in front of the computer and: nothing. Sometimes I can't even remember what the topic was in the first place.

I am getting better about notes to myself. I still have a ways to go until I'm as clever on the page as I am in my head, but I keep at it. And so, dear reader, bear with the occasional post that seems forced into the world.

Ode to Toy

After much resistance and some budget justifications, I finally got a smart phone. An iphone, to be specific. I thought I would be one of those people who get one, played with a few things, then I'd just treat it like a phone that lets me read my email when I'm in line at the grocery store. But truly, I've fallen in love.

I'm still in that "I'll download this even though it seems kind useless because it's free!" stage. Do I need the golf clap sound effect or the Lego camera? Of course not, but they're fun! (I did draw a line at the fart piano, so it's not like I'm out of control. I have standards!) I try to clean up on a regular basis, so it's not like I have pages and pages of apps I never see.

With so much available for free, I find I suddenly turn into the cheapest person in the world when it comes to getting new apps. "Ninety-nine cents for the upgrade!? Outrageous!" I say, drinking my $2 coffee. Unfortunately, in some cases, it does seem you get what you paid for, and a lot of the free apps are useless or difficult to use. I now read more reviews instead of just downloading something because of a cute name and icon.

I tend to grab multiple versions of the same types of apps: list-making apps, travel-planning, diet and exercise, the search for the app that will solve it all. For as many of these that are out there, I haven't found one that really works for me so I'll keep at that. I've been surprisingly frustrated at the map functions. It seems like they take forever to download and then they're not very helpful. I'm not much of a game player, so I keep that page pretty clean.

The photo apps are the most fun. I still take most of my pictures with my camera, but I have a handful of apps that let me play with my pictures: I can doodle on them or turn them into black and white with a pop of color. I have a panorama camera and a bunch of special effects that make pictures look like ink drawings or cartoons. I have an app that lets me take videos that look like silent movies, including an old-timey soundtrack. I blow kisses into the camera, pretending to be Lillian Gish.

My iphone brings me joy. It allows a certain level of silliness, which pleases me to no end. And I can't begin to tell you have much I love the photo app that puts Obama in my pictures.

Rapture, be pure

So, we all missed another rapture. Yeah, we all were so cool, laughing at it, making the jokes, all of that. We shook our heads at the folks who sold their houses, quit their jobs, got in a camper, and drove to the middle of nowhere. Why would they believe all of this? Who could believe that idiot and his predictions?

Here's the thing: whenever one of these religious crazies gets serious about the apocalypse talk, there's a part of me that gets nervous. Of course, I know that these end-of-the-world guys are either delusional or grabbing for attention, but I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, one of these guys are serious. It's possible I've seen too many movies with that one scientist insisting that the signs are all there and everyone laughs at him, but, sure enough, here comes the asteroid or aliens or whatever is destroying us all this summer.

You might think that because I'm a scientist I wouldn't believe these things, but it's because I'm a scientist, I will take in all theories. There are a hundred stories of that person with a crazy theory that turns out to be true. You have to keep an open mind. The problem with an open mind is that nagging doubt you get when you actually dismiss something.

Do you ever watch horse racing? If you want to take big chances and win some serious cash, bet on a superfecta (the first four places, in order.) There are times long shots come in and you see these huge pay-outs. The superfecta for this year's Kentucky Derby was close to $50,000 (for a $1 bet!) What does this have to do with the apocalypse? At the Kentucky Derby, the betters who could look at all the factors: the horses, jockeys, post positions, track conditions, all of that, and pull it together figured it out. Maybe some day, there will be someone who actually does see those signs of the apocalypse and will announce that the end of days is coming.

No, I didn't really believe the world would end this weekend, no more than I believe it'll end next year. But do me a favor: don't talk about it too much in front of me because it really does kind of freak me out.

Taking what they're givin'

As often happens, The New York Times picked up on my blog post and had this interesting article on the job market and recent college graduates:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/19/business/economy/19grads.html?_r=1&src=rechp

There are some interesting points here, including that college graduates are pushing out non-graduates for lower-level jobs (which, in its sad way, actually speaks to the value of higher education, although it's a bit wrong to thing, "Yay! I'm more likely to get that job at McDonald's now that I have that engineering degree!") I don't like the idea of assessing the value of something based on the group that had it for the shortest period of time. They touch on this point later in the article, that a college education (and beyond) should help you in the long run, but it's buried pretty far down there.

I hate the idea of college being viewed as simply a job-training program. This isn't the deal when you sign up. If that's what we want out of our colleges, then the whole system needs a big change: contracts between students and employers when they enter, promises of specific coursework, GPA's, all that. I dont' think we want to go there just yet.

The point that needs to be made is that the real reason college grads aren't getting jobs easily is because no one is getting a job easily these days. Times are tough and it's gonna take a bit more work to get something going. This doesn't take away from the "value" of the degree. It's not like there's a better alternative out there.

Sometimes you have to take a step back to move forward. Here's my story: after graduate school, after I had worked a few years in academia and decided it wasn't what I wanted to do, I started the job hunt. Admittedly, the only plan I had was "not academia" and my timing wasn't the best, so I was out of work longer than I had hoped. I finally got an interview for a temp job at a non-profit where they said they'd love to have me but could only pay $14/hour. I pointed out that it was more than I was currently making, and we had a deal.

Fast forward a few months (shortly after the temp job ended) to a job interview at a big pharma. Turns out, the guy interviewing me had worked at the same non-profit years earlier. I ended up landing that job (with a very nice boost in salary). He told me later that one of the main reasons he hired me was because, if I was willing to work at the non-profit, I would work super-hard now that I was getting a decent salary.

Sometimes you have to take that not-so-great job to get the good one. If I had taken my snapshot of "Is grad school worth it?" when I was at the non-profit, the answer would have been, no way. But less than a year later, the answer would have completely changed. Whether or not college is worth it (if it's only about the job-getting) needs to be examined down the road: once the economy changes, over a lifetime.

Why did/should you go to college?

With it being college graduation season coupled with an iffy economic status, there have been a lot of "Is college worth the price?" sort of articles in the news lately. There are some good points. A college education has gotten very expensive and there's more and more data out there that what you get with a diploma is a hunk of "not much."

There is an obvious concern about the mountain of debt one gets handed along with a diploma that may or may not translate into a decent job. College costs are crazy-high these days. The average cost for a public, in-state institution is $7605 for tuition and fees. That translates to over $30,000 for in-state, 4-year college education -- and this isn't including food and housing and all that. If you want to hit the private college scene, well, that number will just hurt your soul.

The question is: is it worth it? You may have heard the statistic suggesting that a college graduate earns, over their lifetime, approximately a million dollars more than a high-school-only type. There are plenty of errors with this argument, as shown here:
http://www.forbes.com/forbes/2009/0202/060.html

That said, there is a question of getting your foot in the door. If you're applying for a position, how many resumes go in the "no" pile just because you don't have certain letters after your name? And, more importantly, what is your level of control over the type of job you can get? You may be able to get that entry-level position, but you may be passed over for those manager-type positions.

A bigger question is: what is the purpose of a college education? If it's simply to get a certain type of job or earn a specific salary then you do need to crunch the numbers as to the worth of a college education. Personally, I think that college is more than a job-prep program. I am still enough of a romantic to think that there is an intellectual value in a college education, that there is something valuable about an environment dedicated to learning. In this economy with these costs, the decision for higher education has to come from a love of the experience of going to college.

Back when I was working at a university (oh so many years ago), I used to advise my students about whether or not they should go to graduate school. I told them that if it was simply a next step then they should probably not go. But if they just really loved biology, the they should go. For a lot of people, going to graduate school would have little impact on the financial level. (On a personal note, I left a $35K/year job to go to graduate school and, after I finished, I was earning $33K to teach at the college level.) College now falls into this bucket. Is this a required piece of the puzzle of your life?

This is a complicated and expensive thing. I think we've reached the point where a kid shouldn't go to college just because it's the next step. I hate saying this because I think education is truly a big deal. But I don't know how much of an education kids are getting these days, at a very high cost.

Give me the news

Today I have a doctor's appointment. Just a check-up and that's all the specifics you need. This is not where you get the details of my anatomical in's and out's. But I am anxious about it. Not for any specific reason, but just the general anxiety of going to the doctor. Because, in my mind, it's either status quo, which is a neutral outcome, or bad news. The doctor just doesn't come in with this news: "hey, that extra 10 (or more) pounds you're carrying? Let me do this painless procedure that will not only get rid of it but convert it to GOLD. Yeah, it sucks for those skinny bitches that don't have that extra to convert!"

The fact is I have general anxiety. I overthink everything. It shouldn't be a shock that I have this nervousness about going to the doctor. I try to talk myself out of it (believe me, I argue), but there's still a jumping in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I understand that if there's an issue (don't say that; knock on wood!) it's best to know sooner rather than later. But that doesn't mean I really want to know. Ignorance is bliss and all of that.

I'm sure there's nothing wrong here. It truly is just an annual check-up. I think my body is just keeping watch: if we act like it could be something, then it won't be. Anxiety is not about logic. Nor is it your friend. But it's always there for you.

Dear Kitty, Take two

Blogger restored the post! How about that! Here's the "Dear Kitty" post in its complete version.
I started regularly writing in a diary about a year and a half ago. I use a large, red Moleskine calendar. I write exactly one page a day. No more, no less. I paste in fortunes from cookies, flower petals, lottery tickets, notes from the Universe. I've kept diaries before, with varies degrees of loyalty and production. Th elongest stretch was for a couple of years when I was in grad school. This current set-up works for me. I get a page a day, and I just go.

I write in the morning. I want the complete day behind me before I write about it. I try to not edit myself when I write in my journal. Not that I go completely free-form. I do write complete sentences and try to have a bit of a narrative. But I try to let my thoughts just flow. Sometimes it surprises me what ends up on the page. I'll be upset or bothered about one thing and, as I write, it morphs into another thing. I'm not writing a story; I'm just releasing. It's a chance to open my head up, to not care about the exact way I'm presenting it all. Sometimes I solve problems. Sometimes I ask more questions.
This diary is for me and no one else. I haven't reread older entries, nor do I plan to, at least not for a while. Maybe I need a five-year rule or something before I go back. Maybe ten. For now, it's where I cleanse, where I let go. I wonder what should become of these books. I wouldn't want it to be read wrong. I sometimes just vent or write things I wouldn't say out loud.
I write my hopes; I write some of my dreams (some dreams are too big to leave me just yet.) Every day, a letter to myself, pushing me forward.

About a girl, part 2

Do you still talk to your best friend from high school? Unfortunately, I do not. And this makes me sad. I'm still in touch with a number of people from high school, but the person I would have said was my best friend in high school, I have not talked to since college.

Did something happen to cause this? Yes. When people ask, I give the short answer: she stole my boyfriend. Which is true, but that's not the real reason we don't talk. It's an easy answer, and people nod and kind of laugh at it. But, truly, I am not heartbroken over the loss of this guy (but, oh yeah, it hurt at the time.)

Here's what happened. I met a guy and we started going out. Guy had a group of friends, I had a group of friends (including former best friend [FBF]), we all started hanging out. We went out that summer between high school and college; Guy was attending same local college as me and friends, it was going to be such a great summer! But then in early August, with no warning, Guy dumps me. I did not see that coming. And, wow, it really hurt. It wasn't until months later that I found Guy had dumped me to be with FBF.

Look, I understand hormones. I get that sometimes attractions wander. These are forgivable. But once it happened, once Guy chose FBF, they should have told me. Tell me the truth! It would have sucked, but I needed them to come clean. At least then I'd get why Guy dumped me. And, FBF, don't hang out with me for months while you're dating Guy on the side and not tell me. Because that's what cuts my heart out. That she couldn't tell me. That I would ask her if she met someone, now that we were at college, and she'd tell me, nope, no one there. I had to find out by accident.

I thought we were close. I thought we were best friends since the eight grade. I thought we could talk. I thought we didn't hurt each other. And the thing that really hurts isn't that FBF hooked up with Guy or even that they kept it a secret, but that, once I found out, FBF never ever said she was sorry. Not once. She just avoided me, disappeared from my life. Even Guy took the time to write a letter trying to explain (I wrote back something like nine pages of hurt and anger, but, really, it was less him than her.) (And nine pages -- what was wrong with me?!)

Why don't I talk to my best friend from high school? Because she thought so little of me that she couldn't take the time to say, "I'm sorry." Because I was that easy to set aside. Because she could break my heart and not care.

(A shout-out to Tracy, who inspired this post.)

Dear Kitty,

A few days ago, I wrote a post about the journal I keep. Alas, Blogger had its issues (those details coming soon), and it is gone, nothing put electrons in the atmosphere. I'm really bummed about this, as I thought it was a pretty good post. That said, I'm not up to rewriting it. There's something about that that just feels artificial to me.

At any rate, here's what I had started with. Let's be experimental: you can fill in the rest...

I started regularly writing in a diary about a year and a half ago. I use a large, red Moleskine calendar. I write exactly one page a day. No more, no less. I paste in fortunes from cookies, flower petals, lottery tickets, notes from the Universe. I've kept diaries before, with varies degrees of loyalty and production.

My personal work-life balance

As much as I may grumble about it, personally, I feel I have a pretty good work-life balance (WLB). Yeah, I'd love more vacation time, but, really, who wouldn't? That said, I have to work to get it. There will always be a pressure to do more: from work, from home, from your own ideas of personal growth. You have to (to a point) go after the balance on your own.

In a previous job, not so long ago, I was issued a Blackberry. At the time, I thought it was a good thing. I thought that I had hit a certain status. I didn't have any direct reports, but I liked the idea that I was important enough that I could be reached if they absolutely needed me. (I know, ego is an amazing thing.) The truth was, it messed with my own WLB. Was I at the Air and Space Museum on a Saturday checking my email? Yes, I was that jerk. The Blackberry kind of obsessed me. "I'm just checking!" became a regular statement.

Yes, I know that was on me, but if it's there, I'll check. That's my head. When I took this new job, I was offered a Blackberry and I refused it. As long as I don't have direct reports, I can think of no medical writing emergency. Whatever goes down can wait until I come into work the next morning. I have learned to say "no" every so often. I have to allow myself to ask for flexibility.

I think that some people get away from WLB because of ego. There is a feeling that if they don't do it themselves -- and quickly -- somehow the company will crumble around them. That's not to say it's not important to hit deadlines, etc. But when your coworkers can compare which teeth have been broken off due to grinding while sleeping (true story, by the way), maybe it's time to take a hard look at what you're doing to achieve balance. The company will somehow be able to push on if you don't respond to that email at midnight.

There are people out there who do want work to be the center of their lives. I get that. But if you need better balance, you have to work to get it. It's not always handed to you. It's scary to tell your boss that you need more time. Sometimes your boss will say no. You might even have to change jobs. But if it's what you need, you have to try.

Work policies

Hey, look! It's Part Two of my Work-Life Balance rant!

When committee such as this WLB group are formed, it's always an odd thing. The group was formed because some upper-management type has decided, based on this survey, that this is An Issue! Of course, upper management type doesn't actually have the time to be on a silly committee like this, so he appoints a leader gathers a few minions (I am a minion). You now have a group of about 10 people, all wanting different outcomes.

I would like to state for the record that this group has some really smart folks on board. There have been some spot-on statements and observations. The problem is that we don't actually have any power. We don't set policies and most of us aren't even managers. And our policies: oh my! One of the first tasks we did as a group was evaluate the WLB policies and they are a piece of work.

The first question is: What, exactly, is a WLB policy? My company has decided that WLB policies primarily deal with time off (okay) and gym memberships (not so much). HR gathered all the WLB policies and sent them out to the group. There is a total of 14. I found that two of them were no longer applicable (one was about a bonus day off we got last year and one was for a Sprint discount that expired. In 2008.) There were three about specific gym memberships, and the rest were about things like sick time, paternity leave, etc.

The HR rep shows up to these meetings and assures us that there is flexibility within the policies. Really? The sick leave policy is so specific, it reads almost like a joke. If you are sick, you need to call in and talk to your supervisor within 30 minutes of the start of the day (no, that's not exactly defined. The start of your day or your supervisor's? It's not clear, but it is 30 minutes, dammit!) No, you can't email and you can't leave a message. No, you can't have someone else call for you. This is spelled out very clearly in the policy. Technically, if you email your boss that you've been throwing up all night and won't be in, not only are you breaking the policy, but if your boss accepts this, s/he is also ignoring policy. And HR sort of stating that they can be flexible at some small group meeting doesn't exactly erase this.

Another thing: how is a gym membership WLB? It's a health benefit, sure. But the issue I have is that it is a membership to a specific gym. I applaud any company to acknowledges that people want to do more than work. But shouldn't they be funding everyone's hobbies? If you are demanding that people get in shape, then they should be paying for at-home exercise equipment, new tennis shoes, Weight Watcher's membership, any of that. It's not like they keep track of your visits to the gym. Not only that, you have to join certain gyms. If you have a gym a block away from you and it isn't in our policy, too bad. You have to pay for it on your own. So much for flexibility.

I suppose the good news is that there is so far to go here, it should be easy. I just hope that we're allowed to do something. That this committee isn't just for show.

Work-Life Balance

This will be the first in a series of posts, just as a warning to those of you expecting the usual stuff about "American Idol."

I have recently joined/been recruited to be part of a work-life balance (WLB) group. Here's what happened: they did some surveys at my place of work and the one thing that came back is that our WLB is not good. I don't think my place of work is that unusual in that most of us think we're overworked and want more time for our lives. And, as all typical corporate-type places like to do, they formed committees, and I got to be a part of one.

The first thing that's obvious about WLB is that everyone has different needs and wants. This makes companies crazy because what they want most of all is for us to all want the exact same thing. They want the easy fix. "Free soup on Tuesday!" "Yay!" The good news is that when you boil it down, most workers want more time off, a better working environment, more flexibility, and less work. The bad news is that companies don't really want to give that to them.

Being on this committee has gotten me to think about what I want. How would I get more balance? How much time off is reasonable; how much time off is crossing into slacker territory? Free coffee is nice, but should I get snotty if it's not Starbucks? What kind of perks help my WLB and which ones are just kind of nice?

If you ran a company, what would you do to give your employees WLB? Should this even be a question? Maybe it's better for a company to just lay down the law and say "suck it" to their employees. As long as people are still looking for jobs, maybe that's the better strategy.

Mother, may I?

Let's pretend you meet someone: maybe at a party, maybe at work. Let's say you start talking about this and that, and you find out they didn't go to college. Would you start saying things like "Why wouldn't you go to college? You seem smart enough?" Would you wonder about their financial situation or if they could cut it. Perhaps you might think some of these things, but you wouldn't say them out loud. You wouldn't be that rude. If later in the conversation, they commented on something, you wouldn't dismiss them with a "oh, you've never been to college; you wouldn't understand." And yet, people feel they can act this way towards people who haven't been parents.

For some reason, plenty of folks think that commenting on someone's status as a parent is fair game. I take that back: commenting about the fact that someone isn't a a parent is fair game. You'd never say to someone, "You're a parent? Good Lord, that must be some sort of train wreck!" And the assumption seems to be that everyone who chooses to be a parent must be amazing at it, and, frankly, I can't think of anything that everyone is good at.

The decision to be (or not be) a parent is a biggie. There's a lot of factors that go into it. Sometimes these factors are out of your control. I had a friend (yes, really; this is not me, so no sympathetic, off-to-the-side emails are needed) who was trying to have a child for years: lots of IVF and other treatments. It was really tough for her and she was pretty private about it. And yet, I saw coworkers go up to her and just flat out ask her when she was going to start having kids. "Oh, you'd be such a great mother!" And, unless she wanted to tell them about the pain she was going through (emotional and physical), she had to just fake smile and sort of shrug off the question.

There are hundreds of reasons someone might choose to not be a parent, many of them private. Maybe you can't afford it, maybe your partner has a secret drinking problem, maybe you think you might not be good at it. Maybe, like my friend, you are trying but not succeeding. Maybe it's just not your thing. Whatever the reason, it's most likely not something you want to talk about over the water cooler at work in front of semi-strangers. And saying things like, "I don't know what people like you do on Mother's Day" probably isn't helping.

I know that you're just making conversation or being friendly. You don't mean anything nasty by asking these questions. But before you comment on someone's status as a parent, ask yourself if you have a couple of decisions you've made in your life where you'd like to keep the reasons behind that choice private.

Sunrise

This morning when I woke up, the room was filled with orange light. Yesterday, it was a lovely shade of pink. And I thought about how much I love the sunrise.

I am an early girl, one of the dreaded morning people. I feel in the groove at about 7:30 a.m. and I'm crashing by 4-ish. I'm the perky girl at the coffee machine, already trying to have an actual conversation. (Dear world: sorry about that.) Because I like mornings, I do end up seeing the sunrise more often than not.

I'm like a little kid, running out to see it. Even though I've seen so many, I am still awed by the beauty of a sunrise. Yes, a sunset can be lovely, but there is something about the start of the day. A new day making its way into the world. Maybe it's a cliche, but when I see a sunrise, I think of all the potential magic that could happen that day.

I am such a dork, that sometimes when I look at the sunrise, I actually say, "Wow!" Out loud. I will just stop in my tracks and look at the sky. Isn't it amazing to live in a world where something so beautiful can happen every day? Yeah, I know: wow!

Working with my hands

Today I put together five bookcases. It was nothing too difficult; these were bookcases from Ikea, meant to be built fairly easily. I had to pound nails and move heavy boards around and screw things together. I'm sore and I'm sure my back will be screaming tomorrow, but I kind of love doing things like this. I don't often have days where I'm just physically working.

I've put together a bunch of things over these years. I almost always have at least one screw-up. It's usually a board put in the wrong way: I pull the whole thing together and there's a strip of pressboard showing. It's usually no big deal and wouldn't be worth the time to take apart and fix.

These bookcases don't have any obvious problems. Well, the first one I put together had a shelf with the wrong side exposed; luckily it was fairly easy to fix. One of the reasons I finished all the bookcases today is that I was feeling the pattern of putting them together: after the first one, the rest went together a bit easier.

A physical day means not so many deep thoughts. But it feels good to see what you did all day.

A love letter

Dear S,

I know we've been together for a while and I don't appreciate you the way I should. In fact, just yesterday, I forgot you completely. But somehow, my body knew. I could feel it; I just didn't feel right about myself. My stomach was upset, I had no energy. And yet, I dismissed that it was you. I blamed other things, I made excuses. But it was you all along.

Oh, Synthroid, you amaze me. So little, so subtle, but you change me completely. Yesterday I forgot to take you and I was tired and cranky (well, moreso than usual) and my tummy hurt. And then I remembered my forgotten friend. One small dose and within the hour, I was a new person. My head was clearer, my stomach was settled, I actually had some energy.

I know I shouldn't be writing a letter to a drug. It seems somehow trivial or dependent. And yet, I simply can't help it.

I promise to be true. I will stay loyal. Thank you for making me feel complete again. Synthroid, we are made to be together.

Love always,

The inevitable American Idol posting

Can we please set aside the idea that the kids on "American Idol" actually chose their songs? I've mentioned this earlier, but last night's show sort of proved it. There is no way they picked their own songs.

Let's talk about Haley's choice of "You and I" by Lady Gaga. You know it -- oh, wait, it's unreleased! How could anyone know it? And why would Haley ever pick it? If I'm looking to reach out to America and get votes, I'm not going to find a song that no one knows. And how does she even know that song unless it was handed to her by the producers? Was it just kicking around Haley's ipod? I don't have an issue with Iovine handing her a song, but let's not blame Haley for song choice, J-Lo.

The other piece of evidence is Jacob's choice of "Love Hurts." Did you see the exchange?
Iovine: You should totally do "Love Hurts"!
Lusk: I am not a heavy-metal guy.
Iovine: No, no, like Gram Parsons!
Sheryl Crow sings very pretty.
Lusk: Okee-dokee, although that's absolutely nothing like the way I sing.

Lusk obviously had no interest in the song, but it was given to him anyway. Sure, he messed it up, but I wonder how he would have done if he had a song he actually liked.

Personally, I don't have a problem with the producers picking songs, especially for the less-seasoned contestants. I get the feeling that Scotty and Lauren might have run out of their own choices around Week 3. ("No, Lauren, you can't do another Miley song.") They're young, and they need direction. But come clean. In fact, it might be interesting to explain why a particular song was picked and how they want to see these kids develop as artists. Let's not pretend some 16-year-old found some deep cut on an Elton John album that was recorded about 20 years before he was born.

The next book

I am between books and ready to pick the next one. It shouldn't be that difficult. But I am overwhelmed at all the possiblities. There is so much out there, too many choices. In this lovely piece by Linda Holmes, you can't help but realize that you're never going to come close to reading all the books you want to read (go here for details: Too many books!) And do I want to waste my time on a book that is just "meh"?

The wonderful, terrible thing about books is that you can't know until you read it. You can listen to critics, read reviews, look at best-of lists, but until you pick it up and read it, you just can't know. There are some books that grab me and sweep me away with their beauty. I don't want them to end but I can't help but read them as fast as I can to see what comes next. These books inspire and intimidate me. I'd love to write something that touches another person so deeply, but I fear that I don't have that talent or ability quite yet. Books like this are never a waste of time. I want every book to be like this. Unfortunately, this is often not the case.

I read "Catch-22" with all these hopes of greatness: after all, it's on all these "Best Books Ev-ah!" lists. I couldn't hate that book more than I do. I hated it so much that when I finished, I was afraid that I no longer liked reading. I though that, like eating too much dessert of some kind, it was too much, that I was finally sick of it. Sure, I had been reading stacks of books since I was six or so, but this was it. I had hit the wall. I kept thinking it might get better. Surely there was something that made it a great novel. But I never found it.

I usually gut books out until the end. I try to have a 100-page rule, but if I get that far, I can often see the halfway point, and then it should be downhill, so I'll make it to the end. I find myself resenting that book even more ("The Finkler Question": I'm looking at you, but that's for another post). But I want them all to have a level of beauty and/or plot and/or interesting characters. I want them all to be worth the time.

I look at my shelves of unread books. Which one do I choose? Which one will make my heart sing?

The Future!

The other day, I was talking to a friend and we mentioned a song as part of the conversation. After the call, I went to my desk and sent her a picture of that song playing on my ipod. Ha, ha, right? (I am hilarious!) But then I realized, this was The Future! In that short bit of time, I did a bunch of stuff that would have been unthinkable when I was in high school.

The friend I was chatting with was in New Jersey. Long distance! Precious, expensive long distance! Surely you weren't going to be calling long distance just to chat about Paul Simon. Then I went to my desk, not home to sort through a stack of albums or cds, and on this box about the size of a cigarette pack, I could pull up a song (out of over 8000! 8000 songs in this one little box! Holy cow!) Then I took my phone (not much bigger than that box of songs over there) and took a picture of the song playing! This would have blown my high school mind on a few levels:
* That music box is actually telling me what song is playing. From what album and by which artist! I don't have to listen for a while, trying to name that tune. How does it know?
* The phone has no cord. And isn't the size and weight of a brick.
* There is a camera in the phone. A camera mixed with a phone! What kind of craziness is this?

Let's talk about picture taking for a minute. Remember when you had to have film? And it was so expensive! You saved those 24 shots on that roll of film for really important stuff. And you had to use up the whole roll before you dropped it off to get developed (another expense) and wait at least a few days (overnight film development? Who am I? Rockefeller?!) Then you'd get the pictures back, hoping that you got a decent shot. Then, if you wanted to send a picture, you either had to give up the one print you have or pay for a print to be made (another expense and wait). Then you have to send it in the mail to the lucky recipient (who has, no doubt, forgotten that earlier conversation), who would look at the picture and wonder what you were wasting film on. At least postage was cheaper.

Do you realize how almost magical it is to snap a picture with a phone and send it to someone else's phone? To have thousands of songs at your fingertips? To be able to call your friend in New Jersey and not worry about how much it'll cost? It's not the future I imagined as a kid, but it's pretty incredible. And, frankly, I'd rather have the ability to carry around thousands of songs or call a friend where ever she may be, than have a jet pack.

You can try to hold the breeze

I slept through the president telling us that bin Ladnn was killed, having gone to bed before the press conference announcement interrupted my viewing of "The Apprentice" documentaries about very intelligent things. I woke to news of a man's death and celebrations of this killing.

I am not saying that he wasn't evil and that he didn't do a lot of really bad things. No, I don't know of an acceptable alternative punishment. And I do hope that there is a sense of some closure for all of his victims and people affected by his attacks. I just find something distasteful about celebrating anyone's death.

I understand feelings of relief or revenge-completed. But celebrating a death, to me, is crossing a line, no matter who the death is. It takes away from our humanity a bit. There's just something gross about choosing to celebrate the end of anyone's existence. It starts to let you draw a circle around the deaths you can celebrate. Did they kill 100 people? Did they kill 10? Did they cut you off in traffic? Were they just kind of annoying? I know that's an extreme, but I don't want to start making those judgments.

I applaud that it's been done. I hope that, as a nation, we can start moving forward and start fixing other things that are broken. But I will not celebrate that someone has died, no matter the person.

Math problems

Today I cleaned my closet. I may have a few pairs of shoes. And by "may", I mean I do and by "a few", I mean more than 50. It's a little embarrassing. If you know me, you know I'm not exactly fashion-forward. I hate the mall and I'm a big fan of comfort. As I try to decide if I should keep the plaid heels or pink slides, I wonder: how did I end up with so damn many shoes?

It's simple math. I have been roughly the same shoe size for over 25 years. Let's say at a minimum, I buy five pairs a year (two pairs for each season and an impulse pair), that's at least 125 pairs. And, let's be honest, ladies, five pairs is definitely the low end. Even when I'm trying to be good, I just need that next pair.

The thing is, there are so many kinds of shoes to have. Heels, flats, casual shoes, boots, sneakers. And they come in different colors! And different styles! I probably have about 20 pairs of shoes that are black: flats, boots, pointy, kitten heels, sweater boots (yeah, there is such a thing), wintery casual things, sandals, pumps...well, you get the idea. And that's just black shoes. Do I need red boots? No, of course not. But I've got some. And red heels and sneakers and flats...

I love that I've stayed the same size for so many years. The downside is that unless they wear out or are terribly uncomfortable or unfashionable, there's no reason to get rid of them, until I run out of space. Do I wear the brown slides with the animal print very often? Not really. But why would I get rid of them? they're surprisingly comfortable and if I need brown, fun shoes (it happens), I'm good to go. They might need a bit of dusting, but I'm ready to roll.

And then there's the pairs that have been barely worn that I tell myself that I could make work. I know if I could stand a day or two in those shoes, they might loosen up, and they would be in the rotation. I also have the shoes that are supposedly made for walking or comfort that I'm sort  of afraid to wear on any serious walk because they feel a little "rubby" and I've had those blisters before. But if I could get past that rub and fix it...

Most boys don't get it. They have it easy: one pair of work-ish/casual shoes, one pair of sneakers, and a pair of dress shoes in the closet for the three times a year they might have to wear a suit. There are times I'm jealous of that. Then I pull out my floral flats and giggle in delight.

Today the closet is cleaner and I have gotten rid of a few pairs (the pink slides didn't make the cut this time), but most of them, I couldn't bear to let free. I swear, the red patent-leather flats would be amazing if I could just loosen the back a bit.

May Day!

Sometimes I like to give myself little challenges. I have decided to post every day in May. It'll be good for me to get into the habit again. These might not be the deepest posts but my goal is to give you something to read everyday. At least a couple of paragraphs.

So watch this space in May. And bring your friends!

Oh, Pia: American Idol, Part 3

The results show has lead to the dismissal of Pia and weren't we all so shocked? Outrage! Unfair! J-Lo weeping openly! How could this happen? Oh, please, if it wasn't for Lusk lecturing America, how was anyone surprised? (I really did think he was going home, even though he is one of the better performers.)

Despite the hollering and cussing, the judges have no one to blame but themselves, and not because they've already used their save for the year. Everybody is not awesome every week. I know that two of the judges are new, so maybe they need to explain to J-Lo and Steven that every week, someone is going to go home. And if all you give us is, "Baby, you know I love you and, once again, you were amazing," or "Be-bop-a-lu-la, I'm shaking a tree!" we're going to vote for our already established favorites and Casey (because we don't want that to happen again.) I'm not saying you have to tear these kids apart or pit them against each other, but Randy hasn't even used the word "pitchy" in weeks and I just find that hard to believe. Start judging!

Pia may have been one of the best singers this year, but she wasn't the best performer. She was pretty but forgettable. Another one of those female belters which "American Idol" usually loves, but she went away from her strength this week. I believe that if Pia had sung either song she sang the night of the elimination ("I Love Rock n' Roll" or "I'll Stand by You"), she would have made it through. I love "River Deep, Mountain Wide," but it wasn't Pia. Pia needs to belt. it. out. Before she sang a note this week, I said, "Pia's in trouble."

I always wonder how much control the kids have in their song choice. This week was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That's a gazillion possibilities! And these were the songs they picked? I imagine song choice often goes like this:
Producers: You can pick any song from the whole catalog of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!
AI Kid: Wow! Look at all these choices! I'd like to sing "XXXX"!
Producers: Hold on there! We made you a list of three songs.
AI Kid: Um, okay. I pick that one.
Producers: Not that one.
AI Kid: That one?
Producers: Good choice!
(Later that week the judges will tell the kid he made a poor song choice. The kid will have to smile anyway.)

I'll bet the producers thought it would be a good week for Pia to "mix it up." That was not the right thing. Pia wasn't established enough to have an off week. And I don't know what she did to Gwen Stefani to make her dress her the way she did. It was not pretty. Let's sum up: a kind of boring girl best known for Whitney-type ballads performs an up-tempo, wall of sound number dressed like a train wreck and trying to work the stage (even Jennifer made a point of telling her she needs to learn how to move.) And why were we surprised she didn't make it through?

Ryan needs to force the judges a bit. Give us a couple of minutes at the end for each judge to comment on the best of the night and who needs help. Push them into picking a bottom one or two. Someone is going home. You can't cry for all of them, J-Lo.

P.S. Can someone teach Scotty how to hold a microphone? And someone tell Haley to stop holding her head to the side? Thanks.

American Idol, Part 2

Just so you know: I wrote this post once and then blogger stopped saving (it happens: I just copy it and leave the window, then paste over the old version.) Not this time: it only copied the picture, I pasted over all that lovely text, realized that it was deleted, tried to recover, but blogger had already saved. I am cranky. Also note that because of this, this post covers a couple of weeks.

Let's talk about American Idol so far. Are we liking this season? I must admit, I'm liking it better than I thought I would. I tuned in just to see how it might shake down with the new judges and I'm sticking around. You won again, Nigel Lythgoe! Curses!

I like the mix of the new judges. Truly, they could have put anyone in place of Kara and I would have been happier with the judging situation. J-Lo needs to get tougher, but she is getting there. Steven brings a certain amount of random. I could still do without Randy, but he's not trying so hard this year, which makes him better. The best thing about the judges is that they seem to actually listen to each other, nodding at each other's comments. It feels more like a conversation than a group of people waiting to jump in with their opinion, thinking, "Me next! Me next!"

I miss the meanness of Simon, but I don't miss his "you're not pretty enough to make it in the business" comments. That said, the judges need to toughen up. The singers not all amazing every week. Someone is going home. Not every one of these kids is going to have hit records: tell them what they need to know. At this point they all have fans, they have people who will tell them they were awesome, even if they just burp out "The Star Spangled Banner." Give them something they could use. Otherwise, why are you there?

I think it needs some more real criticism by the judges, but I'm afraid they'll bring in someone "mean" next year and that would be a mistake. Three judges is plenty; four judges always felt rushed to me. I think this chemistry is working, they just need to be willing to be honest with some of these kids. They have it in them. I get the feeling that J-Lo isn't all sweetness and light, and Steven just needs to allow himself to be booed a bit. He lets his ego and need to be liked get in the way. Someone should point out to him that they booed Simon all the time, but he was the one they came to see.

More than most years, I think this group has a much better sense of who they are. There's the deep voice country guy, the guy who does gospel-y stuff, the rocker guy who seems pretty sweet, the crazy woman who's gonna try to make everything reggae, the female belter who will only do ballads, etc. On one hand, this is actually a good thing for an artist, but, from an "AI" perspective, it's kind of boring. Sometimes it's fun to watch a kid develop, figure out what they are (or want to be). These kids mostly know (especially the boys), which means you could probably call about half of the songs they were going to do. I really like the one rocker-kid (James), but, of course, on Elton John night, he picked "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting." It would have been cool to see him nail a ballad. Or make something unexpected rock out. (Note: last night he did pick a ballad -- nice!)

Scotty is the country guy. He's got a good voice but, honestly, he does the same stuff every time. Casey's the guy they saved. He's one of my favorites and I was glad they used the save on him. I truly think he got the bottom last week because people assumed he was safe. And with only 11 people (math warning), you get 12%: you're in the top, 8%: bye-bye! I think these early rounds, a lot of people vote for folks they think might be in trouble. Say I've got 3 people I like: Casey, Scotty, and that scared 16-year-old girl. Casey and Scotty do well but the kid struggles. If I were a voter, I might just throw my votes at the kid, assuming the other two will be fine.

Which brings me to my idea of saving the ones that had an obvious good night or had a bad night but are usually consistent. (Or, like on "So You Think You Can Dance", during the first half of the season, the callers pick the bottom 3, and then the judges decide who goes home.) I'd love if, during the Top 11 or less, the judges each get to save three for the night (maybe they each pick one); Top 10 - 8, save two; Top 7 and 6, save one -- Top 5 is all America! They could even use this sort of thing to help promote it when it gets dull in the middle: "The judges can only save ONE tonight -- the rest is up to you!"

There's not enough crazy going on here, and, possibly, having these types of saves might shake that up a bit. You can't help but wonder who Steven would save. And this might let the kids step outside their box for a bit. Let's say Scotty tries a funkier thing and it just doesn't happen. Can you just see J-Lo going, "oh honey, that was not you, so we're gonna have to save you this week because we need you around." I would have absolutely no problem with that. Well, except I don't really like Scotty.

I still have a lot of the same issues with "American Idol": the show's too long (I'd rather they had a Top-18 and do some double eliminations in the early weeks), it's pretty much decided by tweens so the cute guys go further than they should. But I am pleasantly surprised by this year.

Seeing the colors

I watched "Please Give" today, a lovely, little movie about people and emotions and relationships and all that. It was a great movie, one of those films that you find yourself going over again and again in your head, little bits of scenes coming back to you. (Ahead is not so much a spoiler, but a bit about a scene -- you may not want to read about it if you plan to see the movie.)

The movie takes place in New York City in the fall, and everyone is talking about seeing the colors of the leaves changing. About midway through the movie, Rebecca, her grandmother, her date, and his grandmother drive out of the city to see the autumn leaves. Rebecca's grandmother is a bit, well, cranky. She's 91 and just not having fun anymore. They get to the park where they've been told there would be a wonderful view, and they look out and no one sees much of anything. The whole group is so disappointed. Rebecca's grandmother is looking off towards the park benches and just really upset at the whole thing. The rest of the group makes a slight shift from where they are standing, and they look out and: amazement! They gasp; they go on and on about the beauty. But grandma is still looking in the wrong direction, still mad at the world.

You have to remember that sometimes if you just shift a few steps, you can see something amazing. But if you just keep looking in the wrong direction, it just never gets any better.

Wondering about literature

There are times I wonder about my reading ability. Obviously, I get the words and the sentences and all that, but sometimes I read a book that some would consider a classic, and I just don't get it. Not even a little bit. Which makes me wonder if maybe I just don't have the tools to fully understand certain literature.

I'm not trying to get people to come around and convince me that I am smart or educated or deep. The fact is, I'm not a trained reader. Besides a couple classes in high school and the world's greatest bookclub, I'm mostly self-taught, exploring books on my own, and while there's really nothing wrong with that, it does have limits. (After all, you wouldn't want a self-taught surgeon taking out your gall bladder.) I am trained as a scientist, and although I am sure you could pick up the latest issue of The Journal of Bacteriology and make comments, I'd like to think that I would be able to read it at a different level. We all bring different skill sets and tools to the table.

When I read these so-called classics and I just don't get them (not that this happens all the time, but it does happen), I start to wonder if it's my lack of training  that is getting in the way. I'll read passages full of description and details, and instead of loving the words, I am thinking, "just spit it out, already!" Or I'll miss some symbolism. ("What do you mean that the fish represented his long-lost brother? I didn't even know he had a brother!")

A few years back, I read "Catch-22" and I can't tell you how much I hated it. In fact, as I was reading it, I started to worry. Let me explain. You know how you might love a certain food, but you don't get it as much as you would like. Say there was a certain type of cake you loved, but you only got it for special occasions. But then a bakery who specialized in that cake opened right across the street from you, so you could get it whenever you wanted. So you got that cake once a week, maybe more. Then one day, you went to get a piece and you thought to yourself, "I am really tired of that cake. In fact, I'm not sure I like it anymore." And you really never do want that cake again. What does this have to do with "Catch-22"? When I was reading "Catch-22", I hated it so much, I was actually afraid that I was tired of reading. That, after all these years, this was the breaking point: I no longer even liked reading. (Luckily, this was not the case.)

But I do wonder: what am I missing here? This novel consistently shows up on those "great books" lists, and I simply did not get it at all. Do we really need a book to tell us that war is bad and ridiculous? The characters were all so unlikable and boring. I didn't really notice any great writing or interesting turns-of-phrase. I had to push myself to finish (I kept hoping it would get better or there would be some clever thing that got me in the end, but no such luck.) There is a part of me that thinks maybe I should try again, but then my soul starts weeping.

How much training should one have to have to enjoy "great" literature? Should it need that much explaining? Should it be easy? I won't stop reading and I won't stop pushing myself, but I'm staying away from Joseph Heller.