How Tired Do You Get?

I just worked two back to back eighteen hour days. In between I got five hours sleep.

I got another five hours sleep and went to a meeting on another project this morning. I am so tired I could go to bed for the weekend.  Now, here's the point of all this.

There are medical interns who work 36 and 48 hours straight.  No sleep except for catnaps here and there if they're lucky.

In my case no lives were endangered because I was getting punchy from inventing new foods for your family pets.  But tired doctors begin to suffer from a disease called the "FUKITS."  

They get so tired they just don't give a F**K.  And what they don't give a F**K about is your life, basically.  Not that they wouldn't care under ordinary circumstances, say with some sleep, but when hallucinations are beginning to close in, bad things can happen to sick people.

Which brings me to something you need to mark on your calendar:  DO NOT BE HOSPITALIZED FOR ANY REASON ON JULY 1st.  

That's the day when last year's interns, who have learned enough to finally be useful, turn everything over to this year's interns who don't know a fever from a hot flash.

In fact, while you're at it, avoid going to the hospital for the whole month of July.  Let the interns break in their stethoscopes before you call the ambulance.

And don't say i didn't give you fair warning.

An Open Letter to Patrick of Patrick's Place

Patrick --

I've been thinking about AOL, journals, TOS violations, Armand's deleted journal, his quest to get to the root of the evil, your very well reasoned remarks and subsequent questions about the subject, Remo's corrosive satire on same, the comments from the community, and what it all means. Big picture. And here's what I see in my mind's eye:

We are gnats buzzing around the gonads of a huge dinosaur.  We need to get bigger.  Or we need to have more sting.

However, despite my petulance, I have learned that the most effective course of change in any community situation is thoughtful discourse.  And did I mention good ideas?

So I would like to nominate you as the journal community's representative to AOL.  And hope that everyone else will agree with me.  Including Scalzi, who may have already been working on something like this.

Just a thought.

Mrs. L

 

 

Not My Journal

There's a feeling I have that there are people among us who think their journals' shit don't stink.  So they are staying out of the Armand fray because they don't think anything like THAT would ever happen to them. 

And they don't want to call attention to themselves in any way that might queer the deal they think they have by not coming forward. 

Let me assure them -- and anyone reading this -- that if a TOS violation -- out of nowhere -- for no reason -- can happen to someone out of town on vacation or asleep in bed [to cite only two examples], it can happen to you.  So get your head out of the sand and get on board.

 

 

Patrick's Saturday Six TOS Violation Edition

1. If you could ask any question of the head honcho of AOL about the recent journal concerns, what would your question be?

Can we delete your job the next time your people delete an entire journal by mistake and refuse to put it back up?

2. How many journals do you visit regularly in an average week...or...if you use a blog aggregator service like "Bloglines," how many journals do you have in your subscription lists?

I read five to ten journals a day.  I don't use a blog aggregator because someone at AOL might think I was referring to an unnatural act with an alligator and delete my journal.

3. Back in July, I asked which of the Seven Deadly Sins (pride, envy, gluttony, anger, greed, sloth, and lust,) you were most guilty of. Now, it's time to pat yourselves on the back and figure out which one you are the least guilty of.

I haven't been angry since I don't know when.  Pissed off and ticked off, but never angry. I let my prescription drugs take care of that.  

4. Recent reports indicate that some pharmacists are refusing to sell their customers the controversial "morning-after pill" when the customer prevents their prescription. Should pharmacists be allowed to refuse to sell a medication for which a customer presents a valid prescription based on their own religious beliefs?

Let's take this stupid idea to its conclusion.  If pharmacists can refuse to fill prescriptions for a morning after pill because of their religious convictions, then it would seem logical that these same phamacists should also refuse to fill prescriptions for Viagra, the night before pill, since it is used for acts of fornication, adultery, and onanism, behaviors which, last time I looked, are are also punishable by religious conviction.   Oh wait. Like that would happen. Last time I looked, most pharmacists are men.

5. Take this personality test: What type of personality does it say you are? Then go back to this page, click the link that matches your results. Read the description: how accurate do you think it is about you?

I am an OWWPJM.  Older Woman Who Prefers Junger Men.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #50 from SpringsNymph: You've received an unexpected windfall of $50,000. What home improvement would you spend it on?

Facelift.  Buttlift.  Forklift.  Anything that improves my experience around the house.

VEGETATING

We've had the warmest, driest April in decades, maybe since they started keeping records.

Last Saturday, a week ago, I was sitting in a lawn chair under a beautiful blue sky in 75 degree weather watching a doubleheader.  

Last Sunday we had more of the same. You could make toast on the hood of my car. The whole week was summery in fact.

Then somebody messed with the thermostat. Made it colder than Ann Coulter's lips in January. Today it was snowing at Wrigley Field. Nothing you could make a snowman with. But those were flakes falling.

So I stayed in bed. Didn't move all day. I was so ticked off at the weather. Watched kid programming, which consists of Jack Hanna and those Zaboomafoo guys -- and took a nap. I never got out of bed. Until nature called. Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Linklater. Over here.

Eventually hunger pains got the best of me and I succumbed to the siren sounds of Raisin Bran Crisp, which required getting up and getting some milk.  I still went back to bed again. Did I read a book?  Listen to music? Watch the last season of Sex and the City?

No.  I was a vegetable. A rutabaga. A cabbage.   

It was so cold I stayed in bed for 24 hours. I even set up my computer so I could use the keyboard with my head propped on the pillow while I was wrapped up in a comforter.

I'm up now. sitting on the edge of the bed writing this. It's getting close to midnight and I'm wide awake.  It's still cold, too. Freezing outside. Thirty degrees. Colder than Condi Rice's brass. . .buttons during her tour of Europe.

Think I'll brush my teeth and go to bed.

TOILET TALES

kinda like this with more accordians and a pointier nose

There's a new plunger out there in toiletland.  Without going too deeply into the details regarding the need for one, let me just say that the one I have used for years wasn't working. The line was clogged and needed industrial strength power to clear it.  Or a plumber.  And I didn't want to call the plumber.  I just paid Elaine to break into my car after all.

But there's a new style plunger around these days. Only seven bucks, next to the snakes and other paraphernalia for climbing through pipes at the hardware store.

Perhaps this plunger is only new to me.  Perhaps it's been around for awhile, since I haven't clogged a toilet in ages -- amazing how that stops when your children go to college.

After talking to all my friends who suggested a plethora of contraptions, my brother -- the Stanford attorney who now fixes cars, but that's another story -- called and said to get this new plunger. 

It has an accordian pleat and a narrow nose that can get down father into these new jet flush toilets they make us use now.

Instead of a bulldog, it's a collie. 

Needless to say after several days of trying to move a 500 pound gorilla through a two-inch pipe, this new plunger was an eye opener.  It cleared the line with one plunge.

I almost wanted to clog the toilet up again just to see that baby do its thing.  That was FUN!!  Not like the old plungers where you had to stand over the bowl and work the thing up and down to create suction and hope somehow you could make enough force to drive the offending obstacle out of the way.  The difference between the old plunger and the new plunger was the difference between blowing out a match with a puff of air and blowing out a match with a jet engine.

BLAMO!!  I think I may have cleared the line to Nebraska.  

Well, enough about my morning.  What crises have you averted today?

My Name is Elaine and I'm Here To Help

I was sitting on the hood of my Jeep outside the grocery store where it had spent the night with the keys locked inside.

The cops had come yesterday and, after several efforts, failed to pop the car locks.  Meanwhile, I tore up the house looking for my spare key, which may actually be in the glove compartment of the car.  I checked on a locksmith, but I didn't want to pay $140 for an after hours guy to come last night.

Instead I called in the morning and agreed to the locksmith's day rate and waited for a red panel truck from AAA Lock and Key -- that name is so generic there has to be one in every town across the country.  

I expected some guy with a butt crack to get out of the truck, rip the bejesus out of the inside of my door until he unlocked it, and then charge me an arm and a leg for his services.

Well, up drives the panel truck.  And out jumps the wiry, tan, effervescent and crisply turned out master car door opener, Elaine, a trained professional at opening locked car doors without using a key.

I wasn't expecting a woman.  Professional lock picking seems like one of those jobs that a guy would fall into because they generally have more practice heisting cars in high school.  But Elaine actually went to a special school to learn her craft.  And boy was she crafty.

After about twenty minutes of trying to make her assortment of curved metal "tools" pull up the lever that would release the lock, she came up with a completely different solution.

Taking a narrow bend rod, she wiggled it through the rubber trim around thetriangular side vent window of the Jeep.  Using a second metal rod, also bent, she worked the two together, using one to press the button that released the handle holding the window shut and the second rod to turn the handle itself. The whole process took less than five minutes.  Watching through the window on the other side of the car, I was mesmerized by her skill in working those two metal rods in tandem with each other.  It was like watching a xylophone player holding four sticks.  You can see their hands moving and hear the sound, but you have no idea how they know what they're doing.

Presto the window was opened.  She reached in and unlocked the door.  I was in.  I had never seen anyone perform a feat of manual dexterity quite so well. Man or woman. I told her I wished I had been able to videotape her efforts.  She was that fast and that good. 

That's the good news.  The bad news was that locking the keys in the car had just cost me $85.00. 

But it was worth the price of admission to watch such a great show of legal breaking and entering.

Being Blond

it's not easy being blond. Well, once you get past the sexist insults and puerile innuendo, I'm actually kind of glad I can fall back on it.

Before the blond jokes started I had nothing to blame my absentmindedness on. Now, when I'm deep in thought, trying to figure out how to revamp the healthcare system, or find new uses for Bucky Fuller's geodesic dome, and I do something like, say, lock my keys in the car, I can throw up my hands and blame it on being blond.

I'd rather have people thinking I lost my focus because I was worried about what nail polish I was going to choose for my manicure, rather than what was really distracting me -- figuring out the G-forces on my underwire bra in the third turn at the Indy 500.

People seem to feel more comfortable with me when I fit into a cubby hole they have handy. I'm blond, so I must like purple. I began my blondness after forty, so I was imprinted on reds to that point. Lately I do find that purplish red is becoming a favorite though . 

I'm blond, so I must shop at Victoria's Secret. You'd think so, judging from the hat I have on in my picture over there. But I only shop there for my daughters, both of whom have dark hair. I'm a TJ Maxx girl myself. 

I'm blond, so I must like to party. Okay, you got me. I'm hooked on cake and ice cream.     

Actually, the reason for all this philosophy is that I really locked my keys in my car today. Despite all the preventions in place to keep me from doing that.

There is a very loud buzzer that rings when I open the door with the keys in the ignition, so you might think I could hear it.  But I didn't.  I was re-structuring the World Bank in my head and didn't notice the noise. Jeeps treat you like an adult. They think you're smart enough to know what all that buzzing means. But, as we've established, I'm blond, remember?

Now, my old Audi -- that car wouldn't let the door close at all if the key was inside.  And I can't tell you the number of times I forgot about this feature and almost broke the door trying toget it shut.  Blond.

Okay, the truth about today is I had my cell phone in my pocket and thought the ear piece was my car key.   I could have checked by taking it out of my pocket, but NOOOOOO.  That would have been too easy.

So the key was left in the ignition and the car is still parked in the parking lot of the grocery store.  I hope it's there tomorrow. The police couldn't open it with their thingy that does that sort of stuff.  And I couldn't find my spare key at the house, after taking a cab home.  And the after hours locksmith charges a minimum of $140 dollars to get into the car.

At least I'll have plenty of time to contemplate the nature of the universe in the meanwhile. 

After I do my roots. 

 

Okay, Back to Important Things Like Sex

FROM MedicineNet.com these words to live by:


Fend Off Dementia With Sex, Crosswords and A Run

Last Updated: 2005-04-07 9:42:26 -0400 (Reuters Health)

CANBERRA (Reuters) - Sex, cryptic crosswords and a good run could help ward off dementia and other degenerative conditions by stimulating new brain cells, an Australian researcher said on Thursday.

Perry Bartlett, a professor at the University of Queensland's Brain Institute, said mental and physical exercise helped create and nurture new nerve cells in the brain, keeping it functional and warding off diseases such as Alzheimer's and Parkinson's.

"Perhaps one should run a long distance and do the cryptic crossword, " Bartlett told Australian radio.

He said a chemical called prolactin appeared to promote new cells in the brain and could be found in high levels in pregnant women.

"Prolactin levels also go up during sex as well. So one could think of a number of more entertaining activities than running in order to regulate the production of nerve cells," Bartlett said.



Mrs. Linklater plans to do whatever it takes to regulate her prolactins today.  Gotta keep producing them nerve cells.

WE HAVE TO BACK EACH OTHER UP

Who knows what effect any of our journals may have had on this whole mess with Armand.

Any other company that treated its customers with the same reckless disregard for service would be out of business.

Has AOL become so powerful that challenging its practices is just an exercise in futility.  For me it was.

For Armand, it wasn't.

I don't think most journalers have an appreciation for what he has done to knock down a huge barrier intended to keep members from confronting the zero tolerance policies they have in place. TOS causes the most outrage when you know you haven't done anything. When they refuse to tell you anything. When there is no opportunity to know what the evidence is.  And when there is no challenge to the accuser.

This wasn't just  the Berlin Wall that Armand took down. It was the Great Wall of Indifference.  

We need a group of journalers -- not attached to Scalzi, with all due respect -- to make recommendations to AOL for making our experience as good as it can be. To investigate TOS complaints.

Remember how we wanted to have ratings for our journals? M for mature to protect sensitive readers? AOL could help with techs who specialize in Journal problems. Who speak English as their first language.  And who are aware that there is, in fact, a HUGE journaling community at AOL.

None of this will happen, because AOL makes so much money treating people however they want, that nothing's going to change until we figure out a way to hurt them in their wallets.  

Anybody want to buy the place? 

Armand Beats The System

ARMAND LEFT THIS COMMENT IN THE PREVIOUS ENTRY. IT IS WORTH REPEATING.  Mrs. L


Thanks for backing me on this...

There was an unbelievable amount of Bovine Scat to dredge through before I could finally reach an English speaking person at AOL.  She managed to coerce someone from the executive office to call me back who basically told me 'tough luck' and left me to continue my plans to find another service.

Finally, someone from Integrity Assurance calls and tells me there never was a TOS violation and they're sorry they can not reinstate my journal, although I am free to re-create it.

What's a year and a half of work?  Just re-post it...  easy!

The only consolation is... I lost a year and a half of work - so they're giving me a free year and a half of service.

I'm certain that the wave of support from other journals, like yours, must've caught some eyes...

Lemme know if I can ever go to bat for you!!

~ Armand
http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense

Armand Versus TOS

John, J-Editor(s),

The "offending" link on my journal was a "pro-bulimia" link - according to Mark Gurmmond at the corporate office.  He called from 703-334-0012.

Fellow Journalers,

I encourage EVERYONE to call Mark Gurmmond (703) 334-0012 or anyone else at the Corporate Office [(703) 265-1000 or -8452] and register your complaints regarding this brand of service.  Further, if you don't see other Journaler's e-mail on the CC line, I encourage you to forward this message to them!

If we don't get the word out and hold AOL accountable, then you are next... and AOL doesn't even have to tell you what they claim you did wrong.  They'll simply yank your journal.

No doubt, it hackles them that I can prove I did NOTHING wrong with the google-cached copy of the entry in question.

The only bulimia related link that appeared on my journal that day is an AOL-WebMD supported link.  This one:  http://aolsvc.health.webmd.aol.com/hw/health_guide_atoz/hw49747.asp  ..  I entered it into comments that you can see on this google cache'd webpage: http://66.102.7.104/search?q=cache:bJJt7mp5n-UJ:journals.aol.com/armandt/sense/entries/531+ArmandT+Schiavo&hl=en

Mark refused to identify the specific link; however, being the only link - as you can see for yourself - that has anything to do with bulimia, it's clear that the "objectionable" link is a link to AOL's own WebMD service.  The page, by the way, is not pro-bulimia.  It's a medical information page.

I understand AOL Employees can not give your personal opinion.. but it seems rather clear that AOL considers links to its own sites to be TOS Violations.. and it ought to be your jobs to run Un-Common Sense up the ladder when your executives wont listen to it from their paying customers.

Show me the violation or show me my journal.

Regards,

Armand

The Saga Continues

To my friends in the AOL Journal Community,

http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense1/entries/175

Without resolution from AOL, I will be closing my near ten-year old AOL account as soon as I find another service provider.  In the event my account is closed before I'm ready, I will return with a bogus screen name and I will let you know how to reach me.

Currently, I not very happy with blogger, but my hardly-kept journal page, there, is at http://armandt.blogspot.com/ and my tentative AOL Journal can be found at http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense1  (same as before, just with a "1" after "sense").

Armand


The "Executive Office"


Please cross-post this throughout Journal Land.  Cut, paste, and add to your journals.

After speaking with Karen at the Executive Office, a Mark Gurmmond called me back with a clear explanation, but refused to elaborate.

The TOS Violation is a "pro-bulimia" web link which was entered into my journal on a Terri Schiavo posting.  Google-cached website here.

The only problem is, Mark can not... no.... Mark will not tell me which link in that entry consitutes the supposed violation.  He simply states that another reader wrote-in and complained, that the Community Action Team determined that there WAS a violation, and they decided to pull my journal - entirely.

Several attempts to explain to Mark that they pulled my journal for a link they refuse to identify were fruitless.  They "don't give out that information"... apparently to prevent me from finding out what link I entered.  It's simply easier for AOL to yank a year-and-a-half old journal that had no other TOS violations.

Mark then suggested that I could take this further... as in legal action.  So I asked him how can I legally complain about a weblink that I can not identify?  He said I couldn't.

Mark continued to tell me how there was nothing more that AOL "could" do.  Clearly, there's nothing more AOL "will" do.


My take is that they're pissed off that I nailed them to the wall for piss poor customer service - across the board - and they came up with a link they refuse to identify as the problem.

The only other possibility is - and you'll love this - is that I linked to an AOL supported webmd page which discusses bulimia nervosa.  Clearly, being the ONLY link to anything regarding bulimia nervosa, this MUST be the "pro-bulimia" link that Mark wouldn't identify for me.

So, the TOS Violating link is AOL's own website.

How's that for Terms of piss-poor Service?!

Please cross-post this throughout Journal Land.  Cut, paste, and add to your journals.

ARMAND'S NEW JOURNAL

http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense1/

That's is the link to Armand's new journal, Un-Commonly Senseless at AOL, which chronicles his attempts to find out what exactly he did to deserve a TOS violation.

GOOD LUCK, ARMAND. I never got an answer.

He has already discovered that he's not going to get an answer through regular channels, which mirrors my own experience.  i still don't know what happened in my case, but it seems to be a glitch in THEIR system or someone has hacked in.

If it happens to your journal, you will never experience such a complete sense of frustration and helplessness against the nameless, faceless and very smug people who seem to act with impunity and are not accountable to journalers in any way.

In fact, many of the tech people have no idea what AOL Journals are.  That's a good feeling.

I was told that the alleged incident took place via my COUNTER in the middle of the night.  BUT I WAS ASLEEP, I said.  Like they care.

You know how often we have glitchy problems with our journals -- we can't access them, or we can't use certain fonts, or any number of other annoying events?

Well, the TOS alarm seems like it may be susceptible to a similar affliction in our Journals. It gets set off accidentally or turned on by mistake in our FTP space.

Unfortunately, the person whose journal is affected is assumed to be guilty with no other recourse than to accept AOL's punishment, whatever that is this week, because it isn't consistent.

My journal wasn't deleted.  Armand's was. Same TOS violation as near as I can tell. WTF?

Hmmm -- Ann in Florida's journal can't be accessed any more, just like Armand's.  Perhaps she suffered a similar fate.

UPDATE:  Just heard from Ann.  She deleted her journal voluntarily for personal reasons.  But she is aware of Armand's plight and fully supports him.  How could you not?

A Letter from Armand of Un-Common Sense

How interesting that the phantom TOS violation which happened via my FTP space [ironically JUST mentioned in my previous entry] has happened to Armand, who writes a great journal exposing the bullshit of big business, government, politics and anyone else who deserves it.  It's called Un-Common Sense and you can link to it over in my Other Journals list. Well, you used to be able to link to it.  Not anymore.

Guess what?  He is having the same kind of trouble finding answers to the problem as I did.  In the end, I gave up. I was talking to a wall. I just took the TOS violation and hoped my FTP wouldn't get hacked again. Or suffer one of the many glitches which plague our journals.

But Armand is trained in weapons and tactics. Why do I think he won't be deterred?

Rip them a new body part for the rest of us who have suffered at the hands of the TOS Titmice, please, Armand.

If there is anyone who would NOT commit a TOS violation, it is he. After reading his insightful, laser sharp dissection of all things stupid and absurd, I'm sure TOS has finally met its match. 

Here is the letter he has asked us all to post -- feel free to copy it from here it you want. 


JOURNAL FRIENDS,  
Please post my letter (below) exactly as I have written it - into your journals. 

AOL "Service" has gone beyond the point of ludicrous .. LUDICROUS .. and until they give a flying-rip about their customers, this will only get worse. 

If the wheel doesn't squeak now, AOL will have no incentive to solve the problems they are creating for the people who pay their bills.  

Also, please forward this to other journalers.  I just don't have time to run through old comments to grab-up screen names as I try to get my journal back on line. 

I did NOT take it down.  Apparently, AOL has done this over a supposed TOS violation.

I guess beach pictures from Cabo are questionable by TOS standards.  

Thank you,   Armand
_________________


EDITORS(s),   I can no longer reach my primary journal at http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense.

I returned from vacation to find out that there was an apparent attempt to up-load improper files to my ftp space. 

I loaded cute beachand bird pictures, not TOS violation trash.   My screenname was locked.  When this was corrected, I could no longer reach my primary journal; however, I can reach my other journals.  

Attempting to deal with the Community Action Team is extremely .. EXTREMELY .. difficult. 

Several .. SEVERAL .. times, I have to repeat .. REPEAT .. what I had already stated in very clear and uncertain terms.   

I simply want my main journal put back where it was and with all of my past journals as they were - and I don't want to be transferred to 17 more people who have to struggle .. STRUGGLE .. through their communication skills to accomplish a simple task.  

As I stated in my journal while I was featured at the top of your list, I would be more than willing .. MORE THAN WILLING .. to pay extra for every single call where I can speak to someone who understands English.  

I am having to spell, re-spell, and re-spell, and re-spell my journal name - screen name and URL to people who continually "re-assure" me that they are going to help me... and that I should worry about anything.  

This is ridiculous.  RIDICULOUS.   What do I need to do to get my journal back?  

Please, oh please, oh PLEASE give me a phone number where I can speak with anyone .. ANYONE .. at AOL who speaks English and is capable of solving problems.  

Regards,  

Armand    

The Anti-Editors' Pick Journal

When Mrs. Linklater first started her journal over a year ago she couldn't wait to check her counter each day -- heck almost every hour during the day.  We all do it.

She was checking it as regularly as a baby poops.

Within a few weeks of joining the J-Land community, she was approached for a picture in case the editors wanted to include her in their weekly Top Five. So she began wishin and hopin to become an Editors' Pick.

She soon began to realize they romance almost every newbie. Once in a while an entry of hers was featured at AOL Music, or more frightening -- on the People Connection main page.

Unfortunately that was good news and bad news.  Good news for her counter because there would be literally hundreds of people stopping by for a few minutes.  Bad news for her, because every time she was featured, a spate of IM's would appear that never failed to start out, "Hiya Sexy."  Was being an Editors' Pick going to subject her to similar assaults?

Then something else happened.  One day her counter went kablooey and restarted itself many times. From zero. A devastating event, most journalers will agree.

Meanwhile, in a scenario which has repeated itself many times since, Mrs. Linklater couldn't get answers from anyone about what was going on.

She soon fell out of love with the system in place here, which, except for John Scalzi, is run by people who don't seem to care and never seem to listen. And if they listen they don't seem to believe you. Or understand what you said.

So she stopped trying to figure out how to suck up to the editors to become a weekly pick.  Coincidentally [she thinks not] Mrs. Linklater even got a bizarre TOS violation based on uploading something evil to a stranger from her FTP counter space that was allegedly racist, sexist, or porn -- not only something she wouldn't do, but one that she couldn't do -- since it requires a skill she has yet to master. Even better, defending herself against the TOS accusation became a situation in which she was assumed guilty and had to prove her innocence.

Interesting that her counter went kablooey almost at the same time there was a TOS violation that occurred via her counter.

On a side note, she was also told -- by someone who spoke English as her primary means of verbal communication -- that she had to be careful how she used the word "LESBIAN" since she wasn't one herself and only REAL lesbians could use the word without running the risk of another TOS violation. WTF?

So she took her counter down.  And, truth be told, she hasn't missed it.

It was at that point that she decided she would go out of her way not to be featured on the Top Five. Whatever it took. Sexual innuendo. Swear words. Not having a theme. Not giving a rip. So far she has been quite successful.

Which doesn't mean she wants anybody else to join her in her quest for failure. Many of her favorite journals have had their day in the sun, as it were -- in fact many of the journals listed in her OTHER JOURNALS space have already been featured. After she had decided they were good, it should be noted.

But, and this is more important, there are several journals over there which, like hers, will probably never be featured. So, she'd like to take a moment to feature one or two that will never make the TOP FIVE.  Well, she doesn't think they have so far, at least. And that's a good thing.

Each one of these journals has met the high standards required to be passed over by the Editors on a weekly basis. They're entertaining. They're funny. The writing is great. But, they scare the poop out of the Editors.

Dating Tips for Psychopaths is one of the most entertaining journals Mrs. L reads. It's listed near the bottom of her Other Journals, but it's right at the top of her short list of funny reads. And she defies the Editors' to come up with a cubby hole to stuff him in. Pg-13 at its tamest and gloriously R a lot of the time, Psychopaths won't be seen on the weekly Top Five list anytime soon. Another good thing.

And he'll kill her for mentioning him, she's sure, but our resident security chief, Screamin Remo, writes brilliant, scary funny stuff, sure to make you wet your pants, but even more important, make you think. His take on everything is so scorching that Mrs. L just knows he terrifies the Editors.  That is SUCH a good thing.

Yakvette of Do I Amuse You makes Mrs. Linklater spit milk out her nose.  Yak can do that to ya.  She can take a trip to the ATM machine a snot blowing side splitting laff riot. She also refers to her huge rack and gigunda hooters with such regularity that the Editors wouldn't think of including her in their weekly picks unless the theme is Titillating Topics.

Mrs. L wanted to mention Albert of Albert's World of Artsy Fun, but J-Land's Gaymeister managed to become mainstream long enough to get featured -- okay Albert, you can be more sexually explicit again.  No, really.

Any great journals you want to have Mrs. Linklater include in her Anti-Editors' Pick list?

Patrick's Saturday Six Tax Evasion Edition

Here are this week's "Saturday Six."  Either answer the questions in a comment at Patrick's Place [see Other Journals], or put the answers in an entry on your journal...but either way, leave a link to your journal so that everyone else can visit! 

 
1. If you played last week, did you actually go back to the very first edition of the "Saturday Six" to see what the first set of questions really were?  Were you surprised at the answer?

I didn't place last week because I didn't feel like going back to the very first edition of the Six.  Hey, I'm busy.

2. When you signed on to AOL today, how many new E-mails were in your Inbox?  How many were in your Spam Folder?

None in my Spam Folder.  Twenty-five emails in my Inbox.

3. If there was one childhood friend from your youth that you could meet today to find out what happened to them, who would it be and why?

Ralphie Regabuto. The first boy I ever kissed in first grade.  Trapped him against the fence with my bike so he couldn't escape.  Part of my charm.
Want to see what he looks like now, assuming he survived the sixties.


4. How much weight would you like to gain or lose?  Whose body would you most like your own to resemble?

I'd like to have a female body builder's body.  Truly I would.  If one is not available, I'll take Madonna's yoga enriched version.  And my favorite body of all that I'd like to have back-- my own when I was 34. Would whoever borrowed it please return it to me?

5. What is the last CD or cassette you listened to in your car?

Sonny Landreth -- a great Louisiana blues, zydeco, rock and roll and slide guitar player. Eric Clapton-esque.  Stevie Ray Vaughan-like. I crank his album Grant Street most anytime I'm driving down the highway.

6. RAPID FIRE QUESTION #1:  "The last time."  When is the last time you:
a. ...Lied to someone you care about?
Isn't that the heart and soul of any good relationship?  Oh.  Maybe that's why I don't have one.
b. ...Were tempted to reveal a secret that no one else knows?
There's a big one I have to keep a lid on with a certain person everyday.  But someday it's gonna come out.
c. ...Payed a bill online?
All the time
d. ...Saw a movie trailer that made you want to see the movie it advertised?
I ignore all movie trailers. They lie. 
e. ...Took an aspirin or pain reliever?
Today, like every day.  Because I am a pain.  And need to relieve myself. 
f. ...Hung up on someone?
Can't remember.  Feels like so much drama  I don't hang up on telemarketers. It's just their job.
g. ...Turned down an invitation to a party?
What?  Mrs. Linklater miss a party?  Not likely.
h. ...Filled your car's gas tank?
Last weekend. 
i. ...Had an unexpected knock on your door?
Seems to happen once a week. Kids. Postman. FedEx.
j. ...Ate a meal that left you absolutely stuffed?
My birthday.  We had elk, which I'd never tasted, and I just kept eating it until I looked like a sofa.

MY FAVORITE PLACE

A couple of months ago the assignment for Judithheartsong's Artsy Essay contest was to write about about your favorite place to be.  I'll get the exact assignment after I do this entry.

I thought about my favorite places like the Bozeman Valley in Montana, The Jackson Hole area in Wyoming, The Hawaiian Islands, Northern and Southern California, the whole state of Oregon, the view from an airplane of the huge mountains in the northwest, or cities like London and Paris, or places like camping in the Canadian woods, sitting on a hill looking at mountains, riding horseback in the wilderness, having dinner on a cruise on Lake Michigan with the sun going down behind the skyline of my favorite city, Chicago, blah blah blah.  The usual postcard stuff.

And then I got real. Not that I don't love all those spots. But my absolute favorite places in the whole world are so much closer to home. One of the best places is lying in my hammock at night looking up at the stars with a log on the outdoor fireplace to help keep the bugs away. And a long stick to roast marshmallows from a reclining position.

My other favorite place is spending Sunday mornings at home lazing around in my bed, watching the TV show Sunday Morning on CBS and talking to my daughters on the phone. Or writing in my journal.

The last thing I felt like doing for that month's contest was taking the time and effort to write it up, say like this:

There is a special place where my heart and soul can rest and rehabilitate.  Where my spirit enjoys a respite from the long days of work and the obligations of this life.
Where I can be who I want to be without interruption.  And yet stay connectedto the world.

What B.S.

But I would have written it to try to win the contest. And I wouldn't have won. Because writing the description narrative isn't my strong suite.  Writing the cynical narrative is. More like this:

You can have your Callard and Bowser candies on your pillow in a charming bed and breakfast in Bath, England.  You can have the smell of the salt air and worry about the swans pooping next to the swank table where you are sitting in the dining room of the Hyatt Resort on Maui.  You can have watching the moon at midnight from the back of the Staten Island Ferry as it leaves the tip of Manhattan and all those strange. homeless people in its wake.  

Because you can't top the feeling of pure joy and thankfulness of waking up at home on your own Stearns and Foster pillow top mattress, after a week of staying in Holiday Inns and watching focus groups from behind a two way mirror, in rooms so dark you need a catle prod to keep from dozing off.

Yep. Lying in my own bed with all the pillows and blankets to myself. With nothing I have to do and no place I have to be all day. That is truly my all time favorite place.

Thank You Scalzi!!!

Every day I get a ton of alerts from By the Way, our Blogmeister's journal, with advice, good links, great, stuff to watch and listen to, fantastic pictures, fun assignments, etc., etc. 

But of all the things he's done, explaining how to use the Firefox browser to fire up my journal and make entries from my MAC so I can use COLORED TYPE and different FONTS in different  Sizes was the best!.

YAY, I'm so happy!!!!!
You people on PC's have no idea what a pain it was.

Well, now you do.

Words of Wisdom

Scalzi Speaks:


Weekend Assignment #54: Tell us all a single piece of wisdom you've learned from personal life experience. It can be a small thing, it can be a big thing, a simple tip or trick or the most important thing you've ever learned from life. But whatever it is, you should be able to state it in one sentence. That way people will remember it easier.

Extra Credit: Tell us: Would you have listened to your own bit of advice as a teenager? Be honest, now.



Listen with your third ear.


Did you know that we all have three ears?  The two on either side of your head process the sounds of life and the words we hear  The third ear picks up the background noise. The longing behind the smile.  The sadness people try to hide.  The fears they cannot share. The evils they have endured.  

Listen with your third ear and you can hear the tears that have been shed during long, lonely nights.  The nightmares of childhood trauma.  The emotions torn asunder by the loss of a marriage. The scars you can't see from internal wars.  The humiliation of abuse.  

The third ear comes in handy when children can't sleep. When spouses are angry.  When a friend seems adrift. Or your boss is disgruntled.  

Listen and you can hear the melancholy in someone's hysterical laughter.  The envy and the jealousy in their comments.  The despair in their anger.

My former mother-in-law had always been described as a saint. She once considered becoming a nun. But she was a lawyer too.  First in her class when she was the only woman among all the men in her classes. The first time I met her I remember thinking how short she was compared to me.  And what enormous breasts she had. Again, compared to me.

I was six feet. She was barely five.  I had been a model. She had once been beautiful. I towered over her. She was stooped from the weight of her chest pulling on her shoulders.  

After spending a day getting to know each other, she summed up our first encounter by saying,  "Well, I think it's about time we had someone flatchested in the family."

Ah, those lefthanded compliments.  That's what two of my ears heard.  But the third one had been listening, too. So I honored her need to cut me down to size.  And I always made sure that I was sitting down in her presence after that. Now she wouldn't feel so intimidated by me any more.  

A friend of thirty years called to chat and our conversation meandered all over.  He revealed that he had become a volunteer for a woman's charity that provided babysitting for single moms trying to return to the work force.  Many of them had been leaving their kids alone, and unsupervised. He had signed up as a babysitter.  I could hear how happy he was caring for children who were at risk.  But I also heard a cry for help that may have gone unheard when he had been vulnerable.

What was it exactly that I had heard?  A year later in another wideranging conversation, I found out that he had been molested by a beloved cub scout leader.   And despite his protestations to the contrary, "It didn't affect me," it was clear that it had left its mark on his life.  

Two ears help you listen.  The third ear can really hear.

EXTRA CREDIT:

My mother taught me to listen with two ears but to hear the deeper meaning with the third.  When I was a teenager she saw how much I enjoyed being in school shows along with writing and performing skits at the dances. One day, some time during my senior year in high school, when I was contemplating going into medicine, she said, "You know, you'd be good in advertising."  I poo poohed what she said, of course. In college, even though I was taking courses like zoology and microbiology, I was in the school shows just like high school, writing and singing for competitions between the dorms and sororities. It became pretty clear what my passions were. And when I graduated I knew where I was going.

My mom had heard my voice long before I did.  She not only listened to me, she heard what I said.  

Like nobody else.  Before or since.  Thanks, Mom.

We'd Like It To Be A Surprise!

What's with pregnant couples who don't want to know what the sex of their baby is?  "Oh, we'd like it to be a surprise." 

Mrs. Linklater can only smile in astonishment at the reality check that's coming. 

Surprise? You want a surprise? How about pushing a watermelon through a straw, or a sofa through the mail slot. There's a surprise for ya. 

How about no sleep for the rest of your life? Let's talk about surprises at 2:00 AM, when you're trying to nurse with sore nipples that feel like they're being poke poke poked by a thousand tiny needles, attached to a suction cup that won't burp or go back to sleep. Repeat at 4:00 AM and 6:00 AM for eternity.

How about no sex either? Ha!! Any baby born less than two years later has been conceived at gunpoint. Wait until the words "Touch me and you die!" leave your lips for the first time. 

How about poop that looks like curdled mustard? Or scrambled eggs?  And smells like -- well, gag me.

These are the same folks who don't want to know the sex of their baby because they think it'll be such a nice surprise to find out whether it's a boy or a girl after 18 hours of pushing that bowling ball out of its carrier. Oh, look my darling husband, our sweetums has been born.  Surprise me, my beloved.  Is it a boy or a girl? 

Like you could give a rip by then. Boy? Girl? Why didn't they give me an epidural sooner. Why didn't you tell me this would hurt so much. "Touch me and you die!"

On the other hand, while Mrs. Linklater didn't know the sex of her first child until she was in labor and the ob nurse listened to its heart and announced, "You've got a girl" -- her doctor announced that her second child was female when she was three months pregnant.  He played her baby's heart sounds for all to hear and said, "It's a girl" because girls have strong steady beats and this one was sturdy enough for a part in Drumline.

Now, of course modern technology can not only give you the sex of your baby, you can see his little wee wee in 3-D too. And they still want it to be a surprise.

Not Mrs. Linklater. For the rest of her second pregnancy she liked talking to her baby girl by name. Her big sister liked talking to her too. She was a real little person growing inside. 

Some of her friends were aghast. "But what if something happens and she dies?"  They didn't think she should get too involved with her unborn child until it proved it could take the heartbreak of being born. Here again Mrs. Linklater can only wonder at their complete, oh, stupidity. 

Do they think if they don't know the sex of the baby and they haven't given it a name that they will feel BETTER if the baby dies? 

Au contraire, by the time her daughter was born, Mrs. Linklater had already forged a powerful bond with her newborn. So had her big sister. Her dad, not so much.  He was old school. Don't bother him until they can talk.

As for surprises? You want surprises? They've got something that'll knock your socks off every day.

 

 

Where's My Pimp Hat?

Look over there in the Other Journals section of her journal and you'll find a link to the J-Land Times, where Mrs. Linklater and her Guide to the Universe have been pimped in royal fashion by the very nice editors. 

They have taken it upon themselves to travel around the community and find journals they like that the rest of us may not be familiar with. 

So Mrs. L would just like to thank them for putting the spotlight on her this week.  And say hi to anybody who has stopped by here for the first time because of it. 

Cookies and milk are being served on the porch. Be careful where you sit -- some of the cushions got left out over the winter.

Today is One of Those Days

Today is one of those first days of spring that takes me back to the halcyon days of yesteryear.

When MG's and Austin Healys were still on the road, not in auto museums.  

When I was limber enough to climb into the tiny little place behind the bucket seats.

And my buddy Barnes would call me up and say, "Hey, let's go for a drive."

Then he'd swing by my apartment with one of his friends.  I'd jump -- yes I could jump back then -- into that crawl space and get comfortable sideways, and we'd tool around all afternoon in his little sports car, driving nowhere and everywhere.  

Letting the wind turn my hair into a wreck. Feeling the sun on my face for the first time since, well, since Halloween. Stopping at a Dairy Queen for a sundae or a cone.  Going to the forest preserves and taking a walk. Sitting on top of one of the picnic tables.Telling stories about the last time we did this. Then yelling "Shotgun" so I could ride up front on the way home.

Barnes is probably driving a big old BMW now. What with a wife and family and all. I should talk, I've got a Jeep. It has a moonroof at least. So I can pretend it's a convertible. Get a hot dog from Little Louie's, drive to the forest preserve, and sit on one of the picnic tables by the lagoons again for lunch.  

Of course, I wouldn't be having these pangs of nostalgia if I had just married the guy. We could have made sure we kept his old sports car running so we could take it out of storage and drive it around on early spring days like this.  

But he introduced me to a friend of his and I married that guy instead. They still work in the same law firm together.  What the heck, I'm going to give Barnes a call and remind him we were young once.

I'll just leave a message in his voicemail.  

Well, that was interesting.  I forgot about law firms. They have real people who answer phones.  "Mr. Barnes secretary." I had to request his voicemail. Usually you have to request a real person. Anyway, I left a message.

"Hey, Barnes, it's me, Linklater -- what's his name's first wife. Wanna take the MG out for a spin?"  

I didn't leave my number. I don't expect him to call me back. I just wanted to kick start his trip down memory lane on this lovely day.  

Like mine was.

Saturday Six Final Four Edition

1. What is your favorite fruit?  Favorite vegetable? Favorite type of meat?  What food causes your diet the most trouble?

Oranges, sliced in eight pieces. Or squeezed fresh as juice. Tomatoes. Off the vine. I eat grape tomatoes like candy. Prime beef anything. Riessen's chocolates.

2. What food do you think has the most ridiculous-sounding name?

Rutabaga.  

3. If you had to pick one of the following to experience, which extreme adventure would you choose:
 A) Skydiving
 B) Mountain Climbing
 C) Scuba Diving
 D) Surfing in Hawaii
 E) Arctic Hiking in Alaska
 F) African Safari
 G) White Water Rafting

SKYDIVING WITHOUT A DOUBT.  I've done the swimming with stuff on your back thing, the white water rafting, okay canoeing, thing, watched Wild Kingdom, climbed midwestern mountains [that is NOT an oxymoron], and hung out with my daughter's extreme surfer boyfriend.  

Skydiving is the only one, except for BASE jumping which you didn't include, that has the ability to make me feel like I'm totally free and flying. It's also the only way to produce the kind of adrenaline rush to make me feel completely alive and yet seconds from dying at the same time.

To jump out of a plane and free fall with nothing but the wind between me and the ground would be a perfect way to start a new chapter in my life.  Or end it, depending on my mood. If I could wear oxygen and a suit to keep me warm, I'd jump from the stratosphere if they'd let me.

4. What skill do you most wish you could suddenly acquire in your sleep this evening?

I would like to wake up able to speak every language in the world.  If not that, then suddenly acquire an extensive knowledge of plumbing, based on what needs to be done around my house.

5. How many active prescriptions do you have at the moment.  Of those, how many do you take regularly?

Three prescriptions.  I take them every day.  One is to keep my feet from growing into furry appendages. Another is to keep myass from falling off.  I forget what the third is, but it's pink and I've always liked pink.

6. You're considering a major change or a big decision awaits you.  Are there any special images you ever dream that tend to guide you in one direction or another or that seem to suggest that the option you're considering is the right one?

Have I mentioned my dreams about flying?  When I'm happy I dream I'm flying. Gravity free. No security checks. Or capes.  No Priceline bidding.  No cancellations.  No bad weather.  Of course I only fly in my dreams AFTER I've made a good decision.  No little genies or dead relatives show up to help me make my choices, some of which I've made by flipping a coin. Since my philosophy has always been that it doesn't matter what decision you make, just make a decision --if you make a bad one, you can always undo it by making another one.

Weekend Assignment #53 April Fool's Edition

Scalzi Speaks:

Recount a tale of a particularly successful April Fool's prank you perpetrated, had perpetrated on you, or witnessed personally. As a matter of humor, it's best if the pranks are not merely cruel (i.e., if it ends with someone in tears or in the hospital, that's probably stretching the limits of the phrase "successful April Fool's prank"), but aside from that, bring 'em on.

Extra Credit: Prank someone famous. Tell us how.

This prank didn't make it to April Fool's Day.  But it's all I've got. And it's been rated PG-13 for unseemly behavior, I guess.

The scene:  Sunday morning brunch at my boyfriend's place. One of his friends rings the door bell. When he comes in he's frantic. The girl he slept with the night before is still in bed at his apartment and she won't leave. He finally left because he was tired of dropping hints, so he said he was going out for a paper.  

For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to embarrass her. So I decided I would pretend I was his REAL girlfriend and show up at his place like I just came home from a weekend out of town. I got a suitcase and put some of my boyfriend's clothes in it, took the key to his friend's apartment and I was on my way.

I opened the door, making all the noise that people do when they get home, plopping the suitcase on the floor, yelling to an imaginary person who dropped me off -- "Thanks, Tim."  I threw the house keys into a bowl by the door as loudly as I could, while calling out, "Honey, I'm home!!"  [Yes I did say those very words.]  Then I called out my alleged beloved's name and started walking through the apartment looking for him.  "Are you still in bed, you lazy bum?"  

I opened the bedroom door.  And a wide-eyed nude girl is sitting up in the bed, covering herself up with a sheet. It was right out of a bad movie.  Heck, it was a bad movie.  

"Oh," I said.  "Don't get up," as she jumped out of bed and began to scramble for her clothes.  It was very comical to watch. She was dropping more clothes than she could hold, trying to cover herself up and get dressed at the same time.  

I kept up my snappy patter. "Don't rush.  He does this to me all the time. I go out of town and he finds someone to bring home."  Meanwhile, she is apologizing faster than Bill Clinton on the fateful morning when he told Hillary that everything in the news was true. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."  

I played the role of the martyred, forebearing girlfriend who was used to these tragic scenes.  I even began to make up stories about some of the other girls I'd discovered.  "There was a beautiful Asian girl he met at [NAME OF BAR] -- did he meet you there, too? No, well, she was something else.  She wanted to stay and confront him. But I said, no, it was better to just move on like nothing had happened."

I acted like his "problem" was something I'd chosen as my burden, too. We even shook hands when she left. I wished her well. And my boyfriend's friend came home with a sigh of relief.

Stuff like this never ends, however. It always comes back to bite you on the butt. About two years later I was at an enormous charity ball.  There were at least five hundred people in the ballroom of a large hotel. There had to be fifty to seventy-five tables of ten around the dance floor. And who found herself seated at my table, but That Girl.  She excused herself after the appetizer and never returned. I wasn't with the guy she'd spent the night with, so I was puzzled by her reaction.  If it had been me I would have made a point of sticking it out, maybe even pretending we'd never met. But she bolted.

I was going to tell her the whole story, too.  Really, I was.


As for pranking a celebrity. Anyone can do this. If you ever have a chance to meet someone famous, just pretend you have them confused with someone else.

I was in an elevator with Henny Youngman in the sixties -- he was a famous vaudeville comedian who played a violin and came up with the comedy cliche, "Take my wife.  PLEASE!"  I recognized him and said, "Oh, Mr. Youngman, what an honor to meet you!!" But I didn't rave about how funny I thought he was, I pretended I had him confused with a famous author. So instead of saying "I love you on TV."  I said, "I've read all your books." And got off the elevator.

I would love to run into "The Rock" and tell him how much I love his talk show.  Or tell Ted Koppel how good I thought he was in Triple X.  Even worse, pretend you went to high school with them. Donny Osmond would be good for that one. Give him that look of recognition and then say, "Oh, my goodness, is it really you?"  Of course Donny smiles.  "It is!!. Bart Hickendorfer! Fifth period. Algebra!!  You haven't changed a bit!"  They hate that.