The Faces of J-Land

 

 

Patrick of Patrick's Place has created a new journal -- The Faces of J-Land. Stop by and find out how your face and a link to your journal can be included, too.

 

Mrs. L

 

Bet you didn't know this --

I got curious.  I wanted to see how many hits were added to my counter since I removed it from view.

It was on 61 [which would actually be 4135 plus 61 = 4196] when I removed it.

I only removed it so I wouldn't always be looking at it, especially since it decided to start over. 

I tried to think of removing it from sight as a zen thing.  I was too attached to it.  Okay, addicted. And letting it go was the zen part.  So I could be free of whatever it was that I was holding onto.

Mrs. L, your karma is calling collect.

Way down deep, and this is hard to admit, the real reason I hid the counter was that I was embarrassed. 

I didn't want people who came here to think that only 61 people had read Mrs. Linklater's guiding thoughts since March 17th when her cosmic journaling began. 

I have decided I'm over it however. 

Think whatever you want.

Here's the punchline.  Apparently when I removed the counter from sight, it stopped counting.

So when I turned it on just to get a peak at how many more hits were on it, expecting at least 40 or 50 more, I couldn't believe what I saw.

The counter read 62. Only one more than when I removed it from view.  I had more comment alerts than that.

*sigh*

Not That I'm Paranoid

First my counter goes ka-blooey.  Now my journal isn't listed when I click on UPDATE YOUR JOURNAL at the Hometown page. 

Did THEY remove my journal and take it someplace to torture it for information?

I'm getting a tiny hint of what it must have felt like to live in a communist bloc country.

Or what's it like being an Iraqi in the US today.

Or a journaler on AOL.

Oh, Mrs. L, you're such a drama queen.

We'll see.

 

Dan Wheeler is Hasta la Bye Bye

Ah, the irony.  Here's Dan profiled on Music Talk even as we speak, just after his journal's execution. Thank you Danielle for the screen capture.

 

One of the most entertaining blogs in AOL J-land has been 86'd by the powers that be. With no warning. And no discussion. 

Dan Wheeler's entries consisted of simple stick figure cartoons about relationships, mostly the I love you and I hate you parts.  Yep, stick figures.  Triangles with circles on top for the females.  Squares with circles on top for the boys. 

Geometry class is more offensive.

Five days a week he posted a new and wonderfully cynical cartoon. Along with some amusing comments about his life. [Link to his new blog from my Other Journals list under Dan Freakin Wheeler -- and buy his book while you're there].

Then one day, AOL swooped in and removed almost every single one of the cartoons, effectively shutting him down. This move was so disturbingly indefensible that even Pattboy92 from Patrick's Place -- a bastion of good taste and moderation -- was moved to write an entry about it.

True to their ill-defined, nebulous Terms of Endearment, sorry, Service, there was no specific reason given for turning out the lights at Dan Wheeler's blog. Except that he violated the TOS.

How can you violate something that doesn't tell you what it is that you can't violate except in the most non-specific language?

Clarity would be helpful, don't you think?

"Mrs. Linklater, Line 4, word 7 violates our Terms of Service.Or at least, it really pisses off Al in the mailroom." 

Or "Paragraph 5 was offensive to two teenage boys who usually surf for porn, but happened upon your journal and couldn't believe what a smartass you are."

Why isn't there a warning system? We've got it for hurricanes. "Come on, Mrs.L, this is your last warning. If you decide to ignore this warning, we can be pretty arbitrary with our punishment."

And what about journals that violate MY terms of service. "Sorry, sir or madam, if you post one more elf I will scream."

Dan Wheeler had no recourse. The cartoons were gone. Period. He had no opportunity to defend himself.  No opportunity to challenge the charges.  No opportunity to be defended by those who find nothing about his blog offensive.

Those of us who journal on AOL are easy targets for judgment. We post our pictures and spill our guts to the world.  We invite people to leave comments and rate our work.  BUT, and herein lies an important difference, we can go head to head or email to email with those people.

But not with AOL. We are monitored by faceless, nameless content police who hide behind a wall of vague and ambiguous rules, making life and death decisions about our journals without impunity. Or fear of confrontation. 

Which makes me wonder -- Are the AOL Terms of Service part of the Patriot Act?

 

Who's Messing with My Counter?

You know, I should be above this, but I'm not.

My counter was at 4122 or so when it just decided to start over at 11 for no reason, recently.

Then it went back to 4135. Now today I notice that it's back to double digits again.

WTF.

It's not that 4122 was some kind of huge number, but it was MY number. Capeeche?

I like to check the counter to see how far behind everybody else I am. LOL.

I'm way behind Albert for instance. He hit five digits awhile ago. [And if you want to link to him you have to go all the way over to my Other Journals and look for Albert's Artsy Fartsy whatever the name of his journal is and find it yourself -- I refuse to pimp him today.]

And I am way behind lots of others who started journaling after me. That's okay, she said, trying to be magnanimous. I'm not to everyone's taste.  *sigh*

But I also used to use the darn thing to check to see who was stopping by, but not leaving a comment.  That ratio is something like 20 to 1.

Which buoyed my spirits a little. [Time to get a life, Mrs. L]

Whatever.  Now the thing is useless.  I can't trust it at all.  So it may not be there the next time you stop by.  I'm going to blow it up.

Or put gum in the gears.  Hm-m-m. Double Bubble or Bazooka?

Mrs. L

P.S. I removed it with one carefully aimed shot of napalm.

The Hidden Dangers of Focus Groups

People don't realize the myriad dangers which can occur while observing focus groups.  The room behind the two-way mirror is very dark.  You could fall asleep, hit your head on a bowl of M&M's, pretzels, or trail mix and put an eye out. 

Last week I was part of a group of people observing focus groups for three long days.  I left my house around 6:30 in the morning.  And I finally got home around midnight.

The dangerous part isn't sleeping while you drive. It's after you get home so late. You crash on the bed in your clothes, wake up and have to cut your feet out of your shoes. There's also the phlegm that drips out of the corner of your mouth and sticks your cheeks to the pillow. Then rips your face off when you roll over.

Basically, there are two batches of observers for the groups. The client, who has products or services they want to test qualitatively.  And the marketing services company doing the research for them. Sometimes the ad agency comes along. Usually for the free food and the well-stocked, often libation-loaded, refrigerator.

I was part of the creative team working for a marketing services company. While everybody else is thinking strategically and operationally, we have to put their jargon into something that makes sense for real people. In short sentences. With words that aren't too big.

Then we simplify it.

The team writes and draws the original product or service concepts based on ideas developed in an earlier ideation session. "Remember there are no bad ideas." [Until this meeting is over.]

The ideation happens about a month before the groups convene, so the words and pictures can be fine-tuned before they are shown to the respondents. "Do you really think anybody's been longing for the convenience of turkey, mashed potatoes, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans and gravy that you can squeeze out of a tube?"

The number of concepts varies. We developed more than forty this time. Before it was over we probably wrote and drew over seventy. And the ones pictured aren't the illustrations we used, if you're trying to figure out just what you're looking at. 

During the focus groups we continue to write or re-write and draw additional concepts, depending on what the respondents/clients/marketing services people are saying.  Things like "Kill it!"  Or, "I don't know who we're kidding, we can't make that product for another ten years."

We come up with clever names too, because sometimes that can make or break an idea. Like Woolly Bullys. Can you guess what that was for? Don't bother, if I told you, I'd have to kill myself.

After each focus group we de-brief and start making changes. Or adding new concepts. We have between one and three hours to get everything ready for the next group. Words, pictures, and production. Two hours is about average. No napping on our watch. Although when the lights are out. . .

During this drill, I find myself writing faster than I think. Which is probably a good thing. The illustrator draws even faster -- the ones pictured took him about twenty minutes each, start to finish.  That's old fashioned drawing. Pen to paper. In case you're wondering, twenty minutes is world class speed. It's during this intense writing, re-writing and drawing that paper cuts and inkstains become our constant companions. I'm telling you, danger is everywhere.

A third person -- actually the busiest one -- handles all the production, waiting for us to make changes so he can print out the words, put them with the pictures, then glue them to boards to show to the groups. Finally he prints 8-10 fifteen page decks of all the concepts. 

He also goes into the focus group room later on to whisper to the moderator that the headline on the concept he's presenting right now actually belongs to the copy on a completely different board.  

You think bringing in a message like that isn't dangerous work?

Or he might be asked to bring in questions from the people in the back room. "Ask them whether they would feed this to their children if we held a gun to their heads."

The decks are small versions of the concepts. They are handed out to all the observers in order of presentation so they can follow along.  Each focus group is different.  The concepts the respondents are shown vary. The number of concepts changes. So does the order they're presented in.

It gets pretty busy, so you have to eat and go to the bathroom while you're doing other things. I eat during the groups. And go to the bathroom when I'm checking voicemail. No, I do not make calls in the bathroom. In fact, I hang up on anybody who does it to me.  Okay, anybody I can hear who does it to me.

Eating in the dark often means putting potatos on your plate when you thought you were getting tortellini. Or eating something sweet you thought was salty. Or drinking a can of beer you thought was A & W. 

Of course, nothing takes place without the respondents.  White, black, hispanic [I've hardly seen any Asians or men BTW], married, not married, working, not working, with kids, without kids, pregnant, menopausal, you name it.

There were the usual interesting moments.  A couple of vegetarians were somehow recruited for these recent focus groups, when the products being evaluated were so NOT vegetarian. But the ladies were allowed to stay.

If they had started shouting anti-meat slogans or spraying paint on people's clothes, someone from the staff at the facility would have been chosen to come into the room and tell the offender that she had a phone call. Then she'd be given a check and sent on her way. 

You know respondents get paid, right? 

One very attractive woman, wearing a power suit, opened her mouth and talked like John Gotti's daughter. That was topped only by her smile, which was missing several front teeth.

But, an even stranger phenomenon took place.  As the first group began to convene and take their seats, I was in the back of our room, feeling my way through the breakfast buffet.  I heard a man's voice and wondered why there was another man besides the moderator in this group. When I sat down I saw it wasn't a man;  it was a woman with a voice like a man's. 

And her name was "Pat."

When it was time for the next group, I heard another man's voice. And I noticed it was another woman. She was sitting in the same seat as the first woman with a man's voice. Keep in mind there are nine seats to choose from. 

And her name was also "Pat."

During one of the later groups, a woman sat down where the other two had been sitting. She didn't have a man's voice.

But her name was "Pat."

Finally, we lost one of the clients after the first day. She was hospitalized.  I am not kidding.

Then we lost one of the marketing services guys -- the one in charge, in fact.  He had to leave suddenly for a hospital emergency, too.  A family member. 

Then the client got news that something terrible had happened at one of their plants.

And you thought focus groups were for sissies.

 

The Republican Convention is here

[Picture: Richard Mullane]

What's a pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-environment, pro-stem cell research not limited to the four cells left over from the 80's, pro-let's get our soldiers home, pro-pretty much everything the Republican party is against woman going to do during the Republican convention?

 

Read what ScreaminRemo [Remo*], Armand [Un-Common Sense*], and Patrick [Patrick's Place*] will be saying and laugh my ass off.

Mrs. L

 

*See Other Journals for the links -- I'm too exhausted from uploading the AOL poster to put them in here.

The Right Reverend Paul Elliott, Primate? As in I'm the 800 lb. gorilla and you're not? Or Primate as opposed to Inmate? Nothing like a barf bag that raises more questions than it answers.  Mrs. L

We're having some fun now!!!!!!!!!

Wow -- it's getting even BIGGER!!  You can almost see Madame Glinka!!!

Slightly Bigger AOL Poster

Hey, it's getting bigger.

Eeensy Weensy Poster

Well, here's a teeny view of the poster I made for the First Anniversary Celebration with the faces of 80 or so of the people in our community.   A couple of dogs and cats too.  The new pictures haven't been added yet.

SloMo [{{{{{SloMo}}}}}] made me a jpg version of the original 11 x 17 PDF poster.  The PDF could be viewed on a web site, but a lot of people had a hard time getting it to download.

Unfortunately, when I tried to upload SloMo's jpg to Hometown, I got a message saying the file was over 500 kb and couldn't be uploaded. 

So I copied a small version ofr the jpg file she sent me and pasted it directly into the text area.  

My mission, if I can achieve it, is to get the 11 x 17 version of the AOL JOURNALS posted here. 

Some people want to be president.  Other people want to be in the Olympics.

I want to get this poster uploaded to my journal.  IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK YOU PEOPLE AT AOL?

Apparently.

 

Mrs. L

On the Road

Mrs. L went on a stroll through J-land. What the heck, it's raining and my hair frizzes, so I'm indoors today. Besides, the next three days I will be working for sixteen hours at a crack observing "respondents" in focus groups, so I'm trying to store up energy by sleeping a lot ahead of time.

I bet most of you had no idea that marketing and advertising could be so strenuous. We earn our money, I'll have you know. 

For instance, I practice for the groups by eating large bowls of M&M peanuts, drinking a couple of cases of soda pop and throwing the cans across the room into a waste basket.

I also practice laughing quietly at the things people say, while simultaneously sitting behind a one-way mirror and taking notes in the dark. Ya gotta stay in shape.

So on my journey through J-land, my respite before I have to actually start working this week, I visited some new journals, read a bunch of entries in each one, left a well-written, thoughtful, almost poetic comment, if something struck me, then clicked on one of the Other Journals listed and moved on. Kind of like Johnny Appleseed. Ah, what a wonderful way to spend the afternoon!

This all went pretty smoothly for the most part, although a couple of folks didn't have Other Journals listed so I had to backtrack.  I accidentally went to some journals I forgot I knew a couple of times, because I hadn't been there for a bit and didn't remember their names.

The surprising part was that most of the journals I visited turned out to be journals of the boy kind.  Not that I'm trolling, okay? I'd rather do that in my car, leaning out the window and shouting to guys on the street.  They really like that. Especially when it's a woman over fifty.

Anyway, it occurred to me that maybe there aren't as many girl journals as I thought in J-land.  Phew. Nothing against women, but it's nice to have balance. Heterosexual and Gay. Balance.

My fave of the day was Moondawg or Mr. Moondawg as I like to call him. I actually used to visit his place, but lost track of him a long time ago and didn't even remember his unusual name. So it was a nice surprise to find him again.

The Dawg is a Jerry Garcia reincarnation. Separated at birth perhaps? Or maybe he really IS Jerry. No one ever saw them together, did they?  

Anyway, you'll see the well-coiffed beard, the aviator glasses, the big smile. But, I'm sure the Dawg doesn't wear Jerry's ties. 

Moondawg is one of several J-Land long haul truckers who share their incredible stories of life on the road. But it wasn't his hauling ass through the heartland that got me.

Nope, it was his recipes. Yep, the Dawg had some great recipes posted that I thought were too good not to share. Real quality trucker coozeen.  

So, here's Mrs. Linklater sharing Moondawg's tasty menu [she thinks his directions are suitable for framing]:

 

Jerry or Moondawg? You be the judge.

 

Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich  
*********************************  
3 jars peanut butter  
2 loaves light bread  
1 bunch bananas  
2 pounds margarine, melted  

Mix soft peanut butter and mashed banana together. Stick  
right hand in peanut mixture, lick fingers clean.  Begin  
toasting bread lightly.  Dunk toast in pan of melted  
margarine, then drink half of remaining melted margarine.  
Stick left hand in peanut butter mixture, spreading peanut  
butter and mashed bananas on toast.  Place sandwiches into  
melted margarine; brown on both sides. Drink any remaining  
melted margarine, belch, and break into resounding chorus  
of "Love Me Tender".  


Ham Bone Dumplings  
******************  
1 large ham bone or leftover ham  
2 quarts water  
salt and pepper  
A whole messof dumplings  
2 1/2 cups flour  
1 teaspoon salt  
2 cans Crisco shortening  
1 cup cold water  

Simmer ham bone in water for 15 to 20 minutes. Season with  
salt and pepper.  If ya feel like it, take a bite out of  
the chunk a ham bone.  Combine dumpling ingredients to  
make dough.  Add more flour if needed to make dough easy  
to handle.  Taste dough--if ya feel like eatin' raw dumplin'  
dough, go for it.  Place whatever dough remains on floured  
board and roll very thin. Cut dough into small pieces and  
drop into pot with ham. Cook about 20 - 25 minutes more.  


Baked Apple And Sweet Potato Pudding  
************************************  
4 large sweet potatoes  
3 medium apples  
1 cup water  
2 cups brown sugar  
2 jars ground cinnamon  
2 apple pies  
2 pounds butter -- melted  
2 bottles vanilla  
4 boxes graham cracker crumbs  

Wash and peel sweet potatoes and apples. Cut into slices.  
Put some slice on fingers, lick off.  Cover bottom of pan  
with graham cracker crumbs. Lay hands in pan, lick off  
whatever sticks to hands.  Layer potatoes and apples in  
dish.  Mix brown sugar with water and pour over each layer.  
Grab apple pie, shove down throat quickly.  Season each  
layer of potatoes and apples with cinnamon, butter, and  
flavoring.  Dip face in mixture, use tongue to lick face  
as clean as possible.  Then, spread a few graham cracker  
crumbs over the top. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.  
To make time pass more quickly, have four peanut butter  
and banana sandwiches with a diet Coke.  Letpudding stand  
for 4 or 5 minutes, then serve.  

 

Jesse's Journal

 

[Picture from Patrick's Place, who got it from, surprise, Jesse]

This is Jesse. His journal, Kool Aid and Ramen, is a wonderful chronicle of his remarkable, young life. He's fighting cancer and he approaches it with the maturity of someone much older than his twenty-one years.

He has a lot to teach us all. And he writes eloquently. http://journals.aol.com/riddlinatari2/KoolAidandRamen/

Tomorrow he has to start another round of chemotherapy.  And it's sure to be difficult.  But we can all make it a little easier for him.

So, take a moment to think good thoughts about him during the day. Say a prayer, if that's your preference.  Read his journal and meditate on something he wrote. Write him a note.   

His story will steal your heart.

Mrs. L

 

The Trouble with Reading Other Journals

One of the nice things about The Saturday Six and The Weekend Assignment is that they become an easy way to find some new journals to read.  Or ones to avoid like bathtub rings.

Sometimes when I go to a new journal from one of Scalzi's or Patrick's links, I last for less than a minute because something in that first sentence takes my breath away.  And it ain't anybody's good looks. 

For instance, bad grammar drives me batty.  [ See The Grammar Lady at http://www.grammarlady.com/ ]

We all make mistakes -- hello, that would be me -- but when someone uses "went" instead of "gone" it's like snagging my last good pair of stockings. Or my date getting a big pimple on his nose when we're out to dinner.

[This actually happened once.  I watched the thing begin growing during the appetizer and it was nearly the size of a bowling ball by dessert, which, because of the unpleasant view, I skipped. And the guy hadn't been a teenager since Elvis fit in leather pants.]

On the other hand, I'm willing to cut some slack for folks who screw up "lay" and "lie" and "i before e except after c".  Although that last one is an easy spellcheck. 

It's also becoming abundantly clear that nobody seems to know where or when to put an apostrophe anymore.  My recent favorite is "your's."

I was going to suggest Googling "grammar" or "spelling", but I think the people making these mistakes have no idea they're making them.

Frankly, my comma usage tends to be haphazard at best. Please accept my apologies.

Recently I've discovered a couple of other journal types that drive me away faster than a '69 Chevelle with a Corvette engine.

[These are all real life metaphors for anybody who thinks I'm just pulling them out of the air. Driving from Chicago to Notre Dame football games used to only take an hour and fifteen in that car.With Eric Clapton's "Badge" playing full tilt on the 8-track. Your average Riviera needed at least an hour forty-five, sometimes two.]

Some of you may recall that I'm not partial to elves and faeries journals. A while back, I tried to make amends by posting a couple of faeries on my own journal in an attempt to assuage any feelings I might have hurt by revealing my lack of enthusiasm. I'm sure none of the elf and faery people were impressed.

Lately I've discovered that I can't wait to get away from journals that preach about "The Lord." This is not to be confused with discussions about God and faith. Or spirituality.

There was a wonderful journal I found unexpectedly fascinating, until one day I went to visit and there was a whole entry on Jesus is my Saviour.  Jesus can be your Saviour, but witnessing for Christ in your journal is a sure way to put you on my DO NOT RETURN FOR A LONG TIME list.

Here's the point of all this -- not that we all have preferences, because that's a given. Or that my preferences are better than yours, because they aren't. But recently I followed one of the links from Patrick's Place or John Scalzi's and I found a journal that bothered me profoundly.

The first entry I read made it seem like the writer had found the love of her life. They sounded like they had been high school sweethearts who went their separate ways and found each other again. They had a baby together and were getting married shortly. How nice, I thought. 

[However, the mother in me said since you don't have a job/career that allows you to fend for yourself financially, you might not want to do things in that order.]

Then I began to read her earlier entries. And the farther back I went, the worse this guy behaved. He was clearly emotionally abusive to this woman and neglectful of their infant child. He was very critical and verbally abrasive, constantly chipping away at her self-esteem. He often made her cry with his insults and chose to spend hours on the computer over spending time with his young child.  

She wrote how his meddling mother [a certified broom-riding witch] was also creating terrible tension between them, criticizing the young woman for all kinds of perceived transgressions, usually about the quality of her housekeeping. [Which is none of the old crone's beeswax.] And the young woman was just plugging along everyday thinking things would be better.

I started to write a comment after one of her difficult entries.  I think she wasn't speaking to him because he had been a total jerk.  No argument from me.  But everybody was giving her a hang in there, buck up message.  And I wanted to tell her to get out and get as far away from him as she could.  Because this schmoe and his mother were only going to make her life worse.

I was having a deja vu experience. After five years as a certified battered women's phone counselor, I quit.  I got tired of the women who had to be pounded into dust [emotionally and/or physically] before they finally said, "Gee, maybe he isn't a nice guy after all. Maybe this isn't good for my children." 

When a woman called the hotline I could always -- not sometimes -- always describe her relationship with her partner without her saying anything except "I think my boyfriend [husband, whatever] is abusive." 

You feel like you're walking on eggs everyday.  He isolates you from your family.  He belittles you in front of other people. He says you couldn't survive without him. He won't let you have a job. He is jealous and possessive. And you're the one who's making him say/do all these mean things. Everything is your fault, not his.

I could go on and on.  The pattern is there. It never changes except to get worse. Unless he gets counseling.  And that often doesn't go very well, since these guys usually don't think they're doing anything wrong. Mostly they just don't get it.

Actually, I think these guys go into an emotional brown out.  Their abusive behavior feels like it's at the end of a long tunnel and they're watching it from far away. So it seems removed, distant, from their actual ferocious, frightening, up close and personally horrid behavior.

Ultimately, I didn't write a comment. I couldn't.  It was one of those things where I was at a total loss over what to say. She didn't ask my opinion.  So it wouldn't be appropriate. And I sure wasn't going to sanction what was happening.

But I know there is danger for her and her child down the road. And a life of emotional misery if she marries the guy. Especially with his mom in the background whispering her evil thoughts into his ear.

I have had several friends in abusive relationships. College educated.  Upper middle class. Smart, highly paid professional women. But, as everybody knows by now, there are no cultural or gender bounds for abuse. 

Two of my friends used to arrive at my house at midnight with their kids in tow. They'd always go back.  Another one listened to me, got divorced and remarried a wonderful man. One of the midnight callers has developed a fortunate relationship where her husband is gone all week to another state for his highpaying job and she only has to see him on weekends.  They've been doing it this way for ten years. And it seems to work.

Another friend used to call me with tales of physical abuse, only to call back and say he'd changed, only to call back with more tales of woe.  Until I told her she was as nuts as he was if she didn't get out of the relationship. We didn't talk for a year.  The next time she called she had left him.

I can't be so blunt with people I don't know. I guess I could go back and leave a bunch of hotline numbers for her to call if things get really bad, but I think I'll just check in from time to time.  

You know something?  It's going to be a long time.

 

Mrs. L

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Saturday Six

Thank you Patrick for another good batch of questions. [Click on Patrick's Place over in Other Journals if you want to play, too.]

1. Last week's first question was about the "Favorite Gadgets" item in the member profile.  While we're on the subject of gadgets, which gadget are you next most likely to buy?

I've been trying to find two things. A good portable convection oven that doesn't cost $1000. And a portable dishwasher for the counter.   My kitchen is very small and the last portable dishwasher I had came from my bigger house.  So it sat in the living room until I sold it.  Why the living room? Well, it had a nice butcher block top so I pretended it was a very tall coffee table.

2. The late Julia Child once said her "ideal meal" would be red meat and a bottle of gin.  What's yours?

When I was young I loved steak steak steak. Grilled marinated and tenderized chuck was a college fave. As I grew older the steak quality improved. But always with a baked potato, BUTTER, sour cream. Also a tomato, cucumber and lettuce salad with creamy dressing.  With a peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwich and chocolate milk chaser before bed.

Then I switched to salmon salmon salmon.  Grilled, poached, out of the can. Okay, not out of the can. Boiled red potatoes. [Wait a minute Dan Quayle -- POTATOS]. Grilled veggies Caesar salad.

No booze, never liked liquor. [Okay, once in a very blue moon, maybe a Bailey's or Kahlua and cream for dessert. On the rocks.  In a small glass. And I wouldn't finish it.]

Now my favorite meal is sushi sushi sushi. Yellow tail, eel, California rolls, any and all of it. [Thank goodness most menus have PICTURES, because I can't tell Tekki Maki from  Kawasaki.]  Washed down with a bottle of San Pelligrino.

3. How many hours of sleep do you regularly get each night?  Where do you sleep most of the time:  regular bed, water bed, air mattress, army cot, couch or dog house?

If I sleep uninterrupted [rarely] I wake up after six hours exactly.  On my Stearns and Foster nine-inch-hard-as-nails mattress. I also sleep with six extra pillows.

4. You go to a coffee shop and order a cup of java...they tell you they're out of the regular house blend:  all they have left is various flavored coffees, but you have an unlimited selection there.  What's your favorite flavored orspecialty coffee?

I never drink regular coffee.  Sometimes de-caf, but only after dinner.  However, I will order a tall, de-caf, mocha Frappachino with a shot of almond at Starbuck's.  Ask me how many times that order gets screwed up.

5. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #18 from Kasey:  You have the chance to be reincarnated as something other than a human being:  What would you come back as and why?

A polar bear.  I like colder weather and I look really good in long white fur, which I consider very flattering.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #19 from looney4toonees:  Regarding those true loves from last week's edition, has anyone ever tried to find their lost love?  (How did it go?)

Usually, they're tracking me down.  Five years pass and I get a call.  Ten years have passed and I've received a call.  You know why? Dumb reason. Because they were all younger than I am, and I swear, they want to see if I'm still alive.  Or sound like an old person on the phone.  You think I'm kidding don't you.  Well, ask the one that showed up at my house unannounced a few years ago.  "Wow, you look better than I thought." He was napalmed soon after.

I did track down two guys I wondered about.  Turns out both never married. Oh, good, Mrs. Linklater ruined them.  One is dead -- don't know why, but I'm on the case. The other talked to me for an hour on the phone.  I asked if I could call him back and he said, okay.  But he didn't want me to do it right away.  He said he wanted to have stuff to talk about.  [Huh? -- The guy writes for a famous show in Hollywood].  So I decided to wait six months.  That was three years ago.

 

 

 

Gratuitous Girlie Picture

I didn't tell you I was pregnant.  Because that would have been so funny, I couldn't finish this entry. 

My sister-in-law had this darling baby, Ann Marie, not too many weeks ago. I think it only took her an agonizing three days before somebody finally said, maybe we should do a c-section.

Isn't she just a cutsey wootsy cuddle wuddle, though? With such a sweetums poopsie smile! I posted another picture of her when she was born. I'd give you the link, but, being Mrs. Linklater, I don't feel like tracking down the entry right now. 

I haven't had a chance to see her in person yet, because I am so self-absorbed, I just haven't bothered. Since she lives on the right coast and I live on the edge of the middlecoast, it's not like I can just drop in and change a diaper. 

But I'm sure I'll get there before thumbsucking, potty training, crying for no reason, and foot stomping are over. Meanwhile I can just send movies of myself doing aunty-like things such as bleaching my roots and removing that annoying hair from my upper lip.

This warm and fuzzy picture is just one of 7000 that my little brother Dave has taken of Annie Fannie during her first two months. A thoughtful bro, he only sent me the best 487, an admirable amount of restraint for a new father, I think.

She's so brand new I got to thinking about how much she's going to morph as she grows up. From a tiny baby, mewling and puking in her mother's arms [hey Shakespeare wrote that, NOT me] to something that not only eats, sleeps, peeps and poops, but throws food and tantrums. Then starts with the whining. And finally gets pimples, gets pregnant and gets put on probation. Ah, the joys of childhood.

Since both her parents are attorneys, it will be up to me to save her from a life of torts and courts. With my persuasive skills, she'll learn the wonders of a career in professional wrestling. Or perhaps delivering phone books. It's seasonal, but it pays. 

[Meanwhile, I"m saving Remo's journal for bedtime stories and Albert's pictures for fashion tips.] 

I can hardly wait to purchase Annie's first webcam for her twelvth birthday. And show her how to hang it so no one can see it. 

Oh, thank you Auntie Mrs. Linklater -- you shouldn't have!

There's so much I can offer to that lucky kid. Hey, I raised my own children, didn't I! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FINALLY DE-BUGGED

That was totally weird.

The only access I had to my journal was to Google Mrs. Linklater's Guide to the Universe.  Which meant I couldn't do an entry.

But I could IM an entry. Which I did -- badly I might add. 

I could have phoned in an entry, but I still haven't tracked down my password yet.

The best part was that I was operating under an assumed screen name -- dvdduncan. I discovered that when I left a comment in my own journal.

But the goofiness seems to be over. 

Although tomorrow in J-Land is another day.

 

Mrs. L

 

 

I cannot get into my journal to change anything in these entries, so all the typos will have to stay -- sorry if your eyes hurt trying to read through them.

But this is the only way I can communicate with J-Land. Except with comments in other journals. Or at Duncan's Spinning Top, where I can write whatever I want wherever I want.

Wait till he finds out. Think he'll be pissed? Mildly amused. Stunned. Or like I said in the subject of the entry -- CREEPED OUT?

Mrs. Linklater is signing off now.

This is getting even better. I went to UPDATE YOUR JOURNAL and got Dave, Duncan's and Fred's homepages. So, just curious, I clicked on Dave's. And I was IN. I could have done some real damage to his homepage. So, AOL -- WTF is going on?

And is somebody messing with my stuff, too, even as we speak?

Mrs. L

Mrs. Linklater has just created an entry at Duncan's Spinning Top. The subject was "THIS IS GOING TO CREEP YOU OUT."

I mean, how would you feel if some STRANGER wrote in YOUR JOURNAL? Kinda weird huh -- but that's the only way we're going to get this bug out of J-Land.

Go to UPDATE YOUR JOURNAL and see whose blogs come up. Go there and you may discover that YOU TOO can write an entry.

Some hacker's been having a very nice day.
Mrs. L

I haven't tried IM-ing my journal before. So let's see what happens. The only reason I'm doing this is that every time I click on UPDATE YOUR JOURNAL, I get somebody named Bev's homepage. Go figure. Earlier, I tried phoning in an entry when I was on vacation, but couldn't remember my password so that didn't work. And I tried uploading a picture from Hometown, once again, to my journal AND THAT DIDN"T WORK EITHER. You know I'm not THAT STUPID. You would think that AOL could make things work better. Sheesh.
Guess I get to add to my entry -- according to the IM I just got back from AOL Journals, which I know isn't a real person, but some cyberspace robot trained to mollify people like me. So consider me mollified. And when I can get back to my journal again, I'll have more to say.  -- Mrs. L

"Welcome Bevp915" -- that is not my screen name. It is not my journal's name. And I'd sure like to know why Bev's name keeps showing up when I click on UPDATE YOUR JOURNAL. Not that anything else shows up. It's her Hometown Page, but there's no page visible. This is getting really old really fast. Just like me. At least my alerts are working again.  -- Mrs. L

She's Ba-a-a-ack!!

Answer: NOT LONG ENOUGH. Question:  So how long were you gone, Mrs. Linklater?
 Vacation Nourishment
I went down to the Jersey Shore to hang with my college roomie and her family during their annual "you can't believe it until you've seen it" gathering. 
The two week event was shortened to a mere ten days this year. So only 22 people showed up. A comparatively small crowd considering that 40 is not an unheard of number for dinner.  Amazing what two and three houses can hold. The inflatable mattress industry owes them a big thank you.
Despite my advanced age, I'm treated as an extra daughter and pretty much get tossed around like a member of the crowd, which can range in age from 92 to the latest baby. Many of the females are named Euphemia. This tradition got started a long time ago and its origins are fuzzy. The good news is that anyone named Euphemia is always called something else, like Peggy or Bonnie. Normal names. Although we used to call my old roomie, Euph, from time to time.
Meanwhile, there's a female baby due this fall and it will NOT, I repeat, NOT be named Euphemia. Sometimes traditions go down hard. With a loud voice.
There were celebrations almost every night.  Multiple birthdays, a college graduation, and a baby shower. Candle wax quickly became a condiment. Leftover cake turned into an hors d'oeuvres.
I wrote a 13th birthday haiku for one of the kids. And bad limericks for a new dad to be.  And I created a Collitch Diploma for the new graduate, who hasn't actually graduated yet. But you hate to pass up a chance to party.
One of the brothers-in-law is a chief medical resident in Chicago, so we created a special "Office Hours of the Medicustus Doctoralis" sign for him to hang, since everybody asks him about their aches and pains the moment he walks in the door.
A computer room gets set up for those of us who like to say we're on vacation, but keep on working. This time, instead of getting up early and working all morning every day, or flying out and back for a meeting somewhere, which has happened three times, I managed to put everything on hold for once. Except for printing out the bad poems and fake diplomas, etc. Dial up was our only connection, so some people were sending proposals and reports out at night because dial up meant it was going to take a good six hours.
I put my journal on hiatus, too. That was hard -- giving up an addiction for ten days. I haven't written or read any entries in so long my email is about to explode. My guilt, too. It'll pass.
Down at the shore, everyone pitches in. I mixed up quadruple batches of chocolate chip cookies several times.  With and without  nuts. Then some with pecans.  And some with macadamia nuts. And one special batch with nuts and without chips. I drew the line at white chocolate anything.  White chocolate is an oxymoron.  Chocolate comes in one color, brown. White is not chocolate.
The best is dipping the cookies right out of the oven into Cool Whip.
Somebody goes to the bakery at 7:00 AM for crumb cake. I used to ride a bike into town at 6:45 so I could be first in line to get two boxes before it was gone. Then I discovered they made another batch that was ready at 8:00. After a couple of summers, I just slept in. 
Early morning includes a group that goes running or walking before the eating begins. This is usually a sorry attempt to pre-empt any calories that follow.
Sometimes we ALL go to Uncle Bill's, a popular local restaurant, for pancakes and omelettes. That takes an hour to coordinate. Should we take three or four cars?  Is anyone going to ride a bike?  Often someone who slept in gets left behind and pouts for the rest of the day.
Generally, everyone just wanders over to one of the houses for whatever's being made by whoever feels like cooking.  Breakfast tends to be cholesterol rich and health-free. With cereal and yogurt chasers. And a dose of the New York Times.
Lunch is whatever you can find in the fridge after walking the one block back from the beach. The seagulls are so brazen they will go into your mouth after food if you aren't careful, so no picnics on the sand.
Up at the house, there's leftovers, which are better the next day anyway. Later, we take turns cooking dinner. [Except this year, I just kept baking cookies.] Jersey corn and tomatoes are almost a nightly staple. So are melon and pies, especially fruit and key lime. Lots of grilling, too.
This is a family of former high school and college competitors in tennis and football. And a couple of really good golfers who married into it.  So sports activities include many rounds of golf, tennis, beach paddle, throwing a football around, and family games that come in boxes.
Cranium was big this year -- with huge teams competing at the top of our lungs for hours at night. "CLUB CRANIUM!!!!! YAY!! [Stomping and clapping that continues for about a minute]" We had lots of do overs because of alleged ties. "I said it first!" "I said it first!" "Do over."
This year we also watched 35-year old slides many nights after dinner. Just enough to get folks yawning. Or stunned into silence. See people with hair who lost it. See people who were thin who got fat. See people with husbands they divorced. I saw myself in about four different wigs, very short skirts, indescribable shoes, and often looking like a model.  NOT ANYMORE!!!!!!!!! Who's that? Mrs. Linklater.  No-o-o-o-o!! You're kidding!!!
I also went down to Cape May, the charming tourist infested quaint as schitt town about twenty minutes away.  There's a linen store called Cheeks, where I like to load up on outfits for the year. I was never sure whether Cheeks stood for those round pink things on your face, a really big booty or what, until I looked in the phone book for an address. There I discovered a whole bunch of people named, of all things, CHEEKS.Who knew? 
After ten days, most of us left the beach for North Jersey in the rain from Hurricane Charlie. Some headed for Philadelphia airport.  Other's drove to Williamsburg for more vacation.
I spent the entire next day trying to get out of Newark.  My 10:19 AM plane was finally cancelled after three hours of getting on and off. Then my substitute plane ride that was supposed to leave at 3:25 didn't board until after 4:00.  And didn't take off until after five.  And didn't get to the gate at O'Hare until around 7:00, which would be 8:00 PM at the beach, sorry, in Jersey, it's the shore.
Ah, back to real life.
Mrs. L.

The Ratio of Men to Women

Thank you for your kind words about the poster.  THOSE OF YOU WHO CAN ACTUALLY SEE IT.  Sorry about that.

Unless I send it to you it can't be seen -- except by very few.  I tried to go to the website where it was uploaded [thank you laffinatmysn], but I can't see it even after it downloads.

Frustration.  I wanted to put the poster here in an entry, but AOL makes stuff like that almost impossible.  Especially for MAC users. And my PC doesn't have anything for design stuff.

Anyway, I noticed something.

About 80 folks sent their pictures for the poster.  13 were men.

THIRTEEN.  Or 16.25%..

Women make up almost 84%.

Is that the ratio of men to women among ALL journalers? 

Almost six to one females to males. What's that all about?

Which got me to -- what about the ratio of men to women among AOL journal awards winners?

And the Top Five?

I'll look into it. 

After I get the lint out of my navel.

Mrs. L

 

 

 

MORE GAMES TO PLAY

PICK ONE OR THE OTHER and put a link at laffinatmysn's journal. [http://journals.aol.com/quitlaffinatmysn/HeadinSouth/]

HEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE NUMBERS? ESPECIALLY NO. 2? WEIRD.

3. 'American Idol' or 'Survivor':    IDOL

1. Coke or Pepsi:    PEPSI 

4. Paula Abdul or Simon Cowell:    SIMON

5. AOL or AOL Instant Messenger:     AOL

6. Verdana or Trebuchet MS (fonts):    Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z

7. Cake or Ice Cream:    CAKE

8. Cheating Without Being Caught or Accused of Cheating and Not Actually Have Cheated:   BOTH UNACCEPTABLE -- REFUSE TO CHOOSE

9. Fishing or Hiking:  FISHING [Yo, I'm on crutches, whaddya think?]

10. Eddie Murphy of Cedric the Entertainer:   CEDRIC

11. Movie on the Big Screen or DVD:   BIG SCREEN with BIG SOUND

12. Orange or Peach (the food, not color):    ORANGE, my favorite fruit

13. Porsche or Mustang:   PORSCHE unless it's a 65 MUSTANG like the one I used to have

14. Country or Hip-Hop:    COUNTRY if I have to pick

15. Miss Cleo or Sally Struthers: EWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

16. Baseball Hat or Cowboy Hat:  COWBOY -- I look good in my oily Australian lid -- the rain beads up and rolls off onto my oily duster

17. IMs or Telephone:  IM's for just fooling around TELEPHONE for real stuff                                                                                      

18. Regis or Kelly:  KELLY                                                                                               

19. 'Millionaire' Hosts: Regis or Meredith: REGIS

Digging In The Closet

Do you ever start looking around in your Documents, just to see what's been collecting?  There's stuff in there I know I'll never use.  For anything.  Ever.

In fact, I can't remember how most of it got there -- someone forwarded another bad joke, I'm sure.

I could delete it.

But I just hate to throw stuff away.  I know somebody will be asking for a picture of a dog stuck in a tree [pic No. 9] the day after I delete it, and I would feel so bad.

So I thought, hey I can at least make an ENTRY out of some of this stuff.

Lucky you.

--Mrs. L

NOTE TO WEEKEND ASSIGNMENT PEEPS WHO LINKED HERE FROM SCALZI'S PLACE -- This assignment [No. 20] was easy for me. 

Of all the things I have written, since I began a journal in March, this entry has received the most comments.  As a certified comment-suck, I take that as a sign that shallow and superficial can be a good thing.  So why not embrace it with a big hug. And share.

As for including my favorite picture -- I don't think you can do much better than any of the ones you can view up above. I didn't take them; they were sent to me. Each one makes a clear, concise argument for the power of visual commentary. Plus no lives were lost during the upload. [However, I do wonder what harm came to the "BARSTARD" mentioned in picture 6.]  Enjoy. Mrs. L.

 

Weekend Assignment Whatever Number It is

If my dead kitty could speak, what one sentence would she blurt out?

"Okay, I get it, you want me to sit in this hat so you can take a cute kitty picture.  Whatever."

And if I could ask her a question:

"Remember when I came into the family room and it was pretty clear that the gerbil, which had been alive moments before, was now dead -- did you happen to notice how the cover got knocked off his cage while you were lying there on the couch? Just asking.  Sure, you can get back to me on that."