As the fur flies

I am mad allergic to cats.  If you’re a regular here, you probably already know that.  I once told a relatively offensive anecdote about Husband being lucky his cat died shortly before I met him or else he’d have had some choosing to do.  I probably would have won anyway, unless the cat was a good cook.  So now I’ve succeeded in alienating any cat lovers I might have missed the first time around.

It’s funny how things happen in life with cause and effect.  When I was in my early teens, the only friend whose house I slept over owned a cat named Tiffany.  I stayed in the guest room, which also happened to be Tiffany’s favorite place.  I had no idea at the time that I had a cat allergy.  What I did know was that I would awaken in the middle of the night every time sneezing like crazy, with the whites of my eyes looking like blood oranges.  My friend and I thought it was a strange coincidence that I always got sick the nights I slept at her house.  As a result, I never stayed over at other friends’ homes because I came to associate sleepovers with illness.  Thank God that didn’t happen with Tiffany’s.

Once I connected ‘cat’ with ‘sick’, I became astonished at how perceptive cats are.  If I’m sitting in a room with ten cat lovers and you set a cat on the loose, I guarantee it will make a beeline for me.  I can even hear it silently purring, “There’s that whiny bitch. Let me go rub up against her ankles, hahahahaha.”  I’ve also gotten the most inscrutable responses from cat owners when they invite me to their house and I ask, “Do you have any cats?  I’m extremely allergic,” and they answer, “You’ll be okay.  I vacuum all the time and I only have one.”  What does that mean?  I should only breathe with one lung?

The woman who cuts my hair for the past two decades is a good friend who used to own her own salon, but now works out of her house.  About a year ago she got one cat, and then a second.  I went there today for a haircut.  I popped a Zyrtec and asked her what the deal was with two cats in her small apartment and she said she couldn’t resist.  I think for cat people it’s like potato chips.  They can’t stop at just one.  The thing with this friend is she’s totally into fitness.  She works out all the time and eats organic, when she eats at all.  She’s close to my age, but has a body like Madonna.  Who, come to think of it, is also close to my age.

But my friend’s cats are these HUGE slobs.  I mean their stomachs almost brush the ground.  They look like possums.  I’m not trying to be cruel here because trust me, I don’t say a thing.  I’m too busy choking.  What I’m about to give you is a direct quote.  When the cats escape from the bedroom and drag their stuffed fur around the living room, my friend shakes her head in loving disgust and says, “You are such HUGE slobs!  Aren’t you?  Come here and show me what big pigs you are!”  And because the die has been cast and my fate sealed long ago, they turn their backs to their owner and head straight for my ankles.

Daughter’s Fotos are from MPB Urban Arts Festival in Brooklyn

george?

george?

tape art

tape art

secret

secret

chicken in the loo

chicken in the loo

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Last ring of the bell

The Beach Boys sang “Be true to your school, just like you would to your girl or guy, be true to your school,” in the song titled – hold on – Be True to Your School.  Those lyrics crossed my mind the other day when I found Daughter’s high school ring in my office, formerly her bedroom.  I remember when she came home from school breathless that she needed a check for some ridiculous amount for a ring I knew I’d find in her room someday long after she moved out.  She justified the price tag by assuring me she would nevernevernever take it off, just as I had sworn to my parents, and yet there it was in the jewelry box with the dancing ballerina on top, right next to the ladybug earrings.  Surprise surprise.

I am the last one to cast a faceted stone as far as school rings go.  When I was in high school, we didn’t have the option of designing our own class ring as Daughter had, with her name in block letters on one side of the stone and some other personally relevant symbol on the other.  She even chose the stone’s color, different from her school colors.  My school colors were green and white, and damned if you could get anything beside an emerald color stone.  Nor would it even occur to us.  It was a rite of passage we were thrilled to invest our parents’ money in.  And before long it found its way into my jewelry box next to the puzzle ring and peace sign choker.  Both of which I could get good money for now on eBay.

On a lark, I pulled up the website for Jostens, imperial ring maker to the Clearasil set, and paged through all the choices a graduating senior has.  Everything from antique style, art deco, traditional clunky, wannabe Beyonce.  Enhanced with cubic zirconia side stones or crystal hearts.  You want to pay for it, you got it.  For a cool $389 (extra for real diamonds) you can get a ring that’s distinctively yours, whether you see yourself as Felicity or Destiny’s Child.  Home-schooled?  They’ve got you covered.  Although being the only student in your class might not entitle you to the group discount.  Which brings us to Rhymes with Orange, a comic I saw in the newspaper earlier that morning.

last ring 1 RhymeswithOrange

I love days with a theme.

Daughter’s Featured Foto celebrates a favorite childhood story, Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak, due out in theaters October 16th.  Can’t wait

last ring 2 wildthings

brooklynstreetart.com

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Back in the Saddle Again

In 1972, I began my college career, coming as it did immediately after my high school career.  We in the United States seem to think that’s the way to do it, and since nothing much has changed since the seventies, high schools across the country continue to diligently encourage students to move up or move on.  For various reasons, I never finished college back then.  But my story aside, national focus is once again on our public schools, as it should be.  I can’t tell you all the statistics related to spending thirteen+ years in the American education system today, but I can tell you that the process needs tweaking.

How many people do you know working in the field they were attracted to freshman year of college?  What about in the field they earned a degree?  With college costs running to the astronomical, 18 is an audacious age to begin spending your parents’ retirement fund.  Or incur large personal debt.  I know five people with law degrees who have no interest in practicing law.  In my own family, both Son and Daughter are working successfully in careers outside the degrees they graduated with.  Husband has advanced degrees in Social Work, but he started out in religious studies.  That leaves me, enrolled in a SUNY college full time working toward my BA.  As in Back Again.

For a while in almost everyone’s life, knowing what you want to be when you grow up is more investigation than destination, more crapshoot than hole-in-one.  The first reason may be that we have so many choices in this country; another because there’s no shortage of lending institutions willing to invest in a student’s future.  With interest.  And with President Obama’s move toward urging an increase in calendar school days, the question of how well our young people are prepared in general begs for more illumination than Americans seem comfortable with.

According to the National Center for Education Statistics, in a comparison of eighth grade math and science test scores worldwide, the U.S. just eked into the top ten, with Chinese Taipei, South Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, and Japan in the first five spots.  Anyone, tell me you’re surprised.  Anyone?  Now before you jump into your Toyota and turn on your Sony sound system, check your Casio watch to see if it’s time to get our head out of our butt and into some books.

The United States has fewer school days, but more hours of instruction per day than the eight countries ahead of us in test performance.  Japanese students attend school 201 days a year to our 180, with 4.9 hours of instruction per day to our 5.8.  Singapore came in even ahead of Japan, and school kids there attend fewer days (172 to our 180) AND receive less daily instruction time (5.4 hours a day to our 5.8).  They’re kicking our ass from across the planet.  Wouldn’t you like to know how they’re doing it?  I would.  And I’ll bet the parents in Singapore don’t even show up at school threatening the teacher to give their kids a higher grade.  Imagine.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos are NothingButArt

photo of keith haring's studio

photo of keith haring’s studio

complementary

complementary

eat me

eat me

powder lady performing balance

powder lady performing balance

scratch

scratch

ooooooh

ooooooh

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Circle of Steel

Last night I found myself in the company of a group of women I hadn’t seen for two years.  Most of them could say the same.  The common thread among us is our individual friendship with the evening’s hostess, whose wedding we all attended this time of year in 2007.  In two short years, The Bride’s marriage painfully disintegrated, the result of her new husband’s spiral back into the drug addiction he battled much of his life.  She is now in the midst of a divorce from a man she no longer knows.  I call them two short years, but in her reality they have been endless.

Her phone call last week invited me to a potluck on Saturday night with the women who arranged and attended her bridal shower, the friends she feels closest to.  Eight of us were present, and the moment each woman entered the room I remembered how much I liked every single one of them.  Separate catch-ups while we filled our plates revealed the happenings since we all toasted The Bride at the shower where many of us had first met.  All women in our late forties to mid-fifties, the past two years held everything from hot flashes to hot romance; cold disappointment to sweet success.

We pulled chairs into a half circle facing the sofa and talked and ate, simultaneously ignoring and acknowledging the packed boxes stacked around us.  The Bride can no longer afford the large apartment she insisted her husband leave, and is awaiting word on whether she’ll be let out of her lease.  But she has a new job she loves and two supportive grown sons she’s close to, so with a little help from her friends and time to heal, she knows she’ll come out strong on the other side.

These were all strong women in the room that night:  a public school principal, a vice-principal, a social worker, a finance administrator, an educational consultant, a member of law enforcement, and those involved in sales, volunteer work, schoolwork, even blogging.  Discussion of personal matters revealed there were two stable relationships among those present:  me and Husband, and the drop-dead fabulous lesbian couple who referred to each other as Wife and were currently house hunting.  But that night was just a snapshot in time.  So many things could be different tomorrow.

What won’t ever change is the strength women draw from each other, even after the passage of time with no contact and the eternal shifting of events.  When the men sailed away in ships, or marched off to war, or disappeared entirely for reasons too varied to consider, the women pulled their chairs into a circle to figure it out and decide what to do.  One thing was as certain then as it is now:  they would never have to do it alone.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos make us Look Twice

the dutch have landed again

the dutch have landed again

fancy yoga

fancy yoga

storefronts on rooftops

storefronts on rooftops

twisted heads

twisted heads

rust and vines

rust and vines

bus to atlantic city

bus to atlantic city

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A Walk in the Park

I had my chance.  In college back in the seventies, streaking was all the rage.  I’m not sure how the trend started, but after one brave and possibly deranged man streaked the Academy Awards on live TV, it was open season everywhere.  In my freshman year, a guy who lived down the hall from me appeared in my doorway one afternoon and said, “Hey, the whole 8th floor is streaking tonight, wanna come?”

There was no threat of YouTube yet, no cell phones with cameras, and we weren’t even a major campus, but somehow the idea struck me as unworthy of my talents.  I know Daughter would tell me I passed up a chance to be part of history, but it was one of those times that my instinct told me to take a raincheck and wait for the next big thing.  Learning to trust your instincts is a huge accomplishment all on its own, whether it involves shedding clothes, jobs, relationships, or directions.

A few years ago I was at a job I really enjoyed at a company that seemed to be going down faster than an overcooked matzoh ball.  To test the waters should the worst come to pass and I was suddenly unemployed, I answered some want ads and went on a few interviews.  One of them was for a small financial company that seemed upbeat and upscale.  How could so much up not be good?

The first interview went very well, and I was asked back for a second.  At the second one, the owner’s assistant gave me more insight into the tempo of the office.  She said that I needed to be aware that when things were going smoothly, the owner/president was just a sweetheart.  But at times of stress, he could be difficult.  I said, “Difficult in what way?”

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “he might call you names or throw something.  He curses.  Slams doors.  You know, stuff like that.”

I just stared at her.  “And you’re still here?”  “Oh, yeah,” she laughed, shrugging it off.  “I’ve been here ten years.  He always gets over it, but you need to know it happens and not to take it personally.”

The whole conversation called to mind abused women who say, “He only hits me when he’s drunk and he’s always sorry after.”  I waited for her to add, “If he calls you names you probably have it coming,” but her next words were, “He’s really a great guy, just, you know, intense.”

I didn’t take the job.  If I wanted intense I’d go rent Sophie’s Choice.  Or, you know, run naked down Broadway.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos are Watchable as always

performance art

performance art

into the wood

into the woods

leaving governor's island

leaving governor’s island

lost

lost

katydid

katydid

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Get your Groupon

At Rosh Hashanah dinner last night at my friend Caryn’s, Daughter asked if I’d visited a site she emailed me recently called Groupon.com.  I hadn’t so I asked her to tell me more.

She pretty much paralleled the  information I’m sharing below, although with lots more hand gestures, facial expressions, and anecdotes.  Despite the fact that her description was more animated, I’m reprinting an entry I found online from Harvard Business Publishing by a blogger named John Sviokla who covers the basics from a business viewpoint.  From a consumer viewpoint, it sounds awfully cool.  And one does not normally associate Harvard with cool.  Where I read about it was here, but where I heard about it was Daughter.

Groupon’s Four Keys to Customer Interaction

There is an interesting experiment happening on the web.  The e-coupon site Groupon.com offers one deal a day in sixteen cities across the USA.  They just added three new cities — Miami, Philadelphia & Austin — and hope to be operating in over thirty urban areas by year’s end.

Here’s how it works:  would-be buyers have until midnight to recruit a total of 50 participants.  If, by midnight, there are fifty buyers, everyone gets the discount.  If the number falls short of 50, the deal expires and no money changes hands.  The firm’s video on “how Groupon works” gives you the idea.  On September 8th, the deal in Boston was “$75 for $175 worth of Designer Handbags & more at Hayden-Harnett Online” — and Groupon had 11 people who had given their credit card information before 8 am.  The company’s aim is to help introduce people to your store, restaurant, service, or other retail or wholesale establishment.  Groupon makes money by keeping a share of the discount; in the above case, Hayden-Harnett Online might split part of the $75 collected.

Their early growth is notable:  a Groupon representative reports that they have doubled in just the past few weeks.  First started in November of 2008, they now have 80 employees, and 675,000 email subscribers growing at 40-50% per month.  They hope to exit the year with over a million.  What are they doing right?  How are they gaining customers at such a rate?

After the site was written up by Jennifer Van Grove on Mashable, some of the commenters said that this couponing idea was old news, as there are many other coupon aggregator sites including Daily New Deals.  But those sorts of traditional coupon sites are a beast of a different color, as they provide buyers with a lot of choice.  By contrast, Groupon is focused:  one deal, each city, each day.  There are other group-buying sites, such as Buy With Me, but Groupon does a much better job of making the participation process easy, and the offer alive.  Too much choice stifles decision making.  For me, Groupon is to couponing what iTunes is to music buying — clean, simple, and exciting.

I see four key lessons that every company can learn from Groupon’s winning approach with customers:

· Make the interaction super simple — one deal, one day, one city.  What could be clearer?
· Create a sense of urgency in your customers.  If there are not enough people by midnight, the offer disappears.
· Energize your customers to get other customers.  Good word of mouth is useless unless it turns into sales.
· Make it fun!  Groupon’s tone is upbeat, enjoyable, and does not have that yet-another-boring-coupon feel.

Here’s the obvious question to ask yourself:  in the myriad investments your company is making online, is there a simple, engaging, fun, fresh, daily interaction aimed to energize your customers?  If not, now’s the time to design it.

In the meantime, you always have Daughter’s Featured Fotos

mj sighting in soho

mj sighting in soho

are over! back to school

are over! back to school

she was bummed

she was bummed

bold statement

bold statement

almost anatomically correct

almost anatomically correct

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Everybody Knows

The other evening I met Son for sushi, and one of our dinner conversations involved the type of furniture he was considering for his basement.  While I sipped my green tea, he looked up from his shrimp tempura roll.

SON:  What’s bonded leather?

OSV:  I’m not sure.  I think maybe it’s when they say the cushions are leather but the frame is something else, or I’m not sure if any of it is real leather, or. . .

In the midst of delivering my expert opinion, I glanced across the booth and noticed Son was no longer looking at me, but instead appeared to be either praying or studying his crotch.

OSV:  Is the answer down there?

Apparently it was.

SON:  (reading from his BlackBerry)  According to Wikipedia, bonded leather, or reconstituted leather used in upholstered furniture is polyurethane backed with fabric and then backed with a layer of latex or other material mixed with some leather fibers.  The leather content contained in bonded leather upholstery is about 17%.  None of it is contained in the surface of the bonded leather.  The polyurethane surface is stamped to give it a leather texture.

OSV:  Well, that sounds kind of . . .

SON:  Perfect.  17% leather is basement quality.

OSV:  And you wouldn’t want a regular fabric because?

SON:  Spillage.

Some things I’m unclear on, but spillage I know equals party room.  The other thing I know is that Google has basically eliminated the tortured statement “That’s gonna keep me up all night” since every tidbit of information that ever flew out of your head landed on the Internet.

Later that night, I called my friend betty who mentioned she’d just seen the new Quentin Tarantino movie, which she liked although she found it too violent.

OSV:  Was it violent like Sin City, or violent like that DeNiro movie that won the Oscar?

betty:  The Godfather?

OSV:  No, it started with a D.  It was just a couple of years ago.  The Duhduhduh, help me out here.

betty:  I really don’t know.

OSV:  I’ll Google it when we hang up.

betty:  You’ll Google it now.  I’ll wait.

The famous Will Rogers quote, “Everybody is ignorant, only on different subjects,” no longer seems relevant.  Technology has bestowed instant brilliance on all of us.  Even The Departed.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos confirm it’s all about Location

colorful heads in a row

colorful heads in a row

wolves at the door

wolves at the door

sunset in brooklyn

sunset in brooklyn

ships in the harbor

ships in the harbor

in your dreams

in your dreams

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Creatures of Habit

When I started writing this blog in 2006, I asked Daughter how often I should post entries, and would once a week be okay?  Unlike the me of three years ago, Daughter actually read blogs, and her response was that nobody would come back for one entry a week.  People want content and they want it now.  Daughter said the most-read blogs put out daily.  Once I regained consciousness, she suggested twice a week at least, so that’s what I’ve done.  With very few exceptions, I’ve published an entry every four days since autumn 2006.  Which is how it comes to be that for the second time in three years, 9/11 is a publishing day.

Our own family thankfully did not lose any members on that day, but the evidence of those that did was everywhere, and still is.  A few weeks after the Towers fell, I went to return a soccer shirt I’d bought for Son at a local store, only to find a sign in the window that the store owner had perished in the attack and the shop was closing.  The thank you note for the engagement gift I sent a friend’s sister never arrived after her fiancé never came home from work.  The father of one of Daughter’s classmates was an EMT called to the scene.  His widow appeared in the paper on the first anniversary of the attacks holding her husband’s photo.  We were in the PTA together.  It doesn’t go away, and it shouldn’t.

The nation continues to busy itself with related matters, like how to memorialize the day, who should be included in the 9/11 fund, what to build at Ground Zero, and how to tell if the cancers and respiratory disease suffered by those who cleaned up the mess qualify them for posthumous medals.  The discussions are endless, and they succeed in keeping attention off the 300-pound gorilla in the room we feel powerless to move.  Our troops are dying while the country watches Dancing With The Stars.  The whole world and its brother has something to say, but to really hear what’s important, we’d have to start with the 3,000 stories of those who are no longer here to share them.  Maybe they’d tell us that the pain is mandatory; now do something about the suffering.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos wish you Peace

creatures 1 9_11oneday___

creatures 2 9_11wewillpart

creatures 3 9_11iknowthereislove

creatures 4 9_11comingsoon

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The Other Side of the Lens

Even if Daughter weren’t a gifted photographer, I would still be following the Annie Leibovitz story, rapidly approaching its denouement.  Ms. Leibovitz is an icon in the world of photography, as well as belonging to that rarefied strata of people who become celebrities partly from their association with celebrities.  It was Ms. Leibovitz who shot the famous magazine cover of a naked John Lennon curled in a fetal position next to Yoko Ono just hours before his murder.

other side 1 john_and_yoko_rolling_stone_cover

So it was with a mixture of amazement and disbelief that I read about Annie’s dire financial plight.  As with so many talented geniuses who make millions, Ms. Leibovitz has managed to spend far more than she earned, and now faces not only bankruptcy, but the loss of her photo archive and future copyright as well.  How does this happen?  I wondered the same thing about the late Michael Jackson.  Do these insanely successful and talented people not have a single financial adviser to direct some of their megabucks into Triple-A bonds and guaranteed REITs?  Does the average working stiff have an advantage here?

For Ms. Leibovitz, I suspect her current crisis had several authors.  She weathered a series of personal heartbreaks in recent years, including the deaths of both parents and her longtime companion, writer Susan Sontag.  She bought two townhouses in Greenwich Village with the plan to combine them into one property, drawing the wrath of historic preservationists as well as a multimillion dollar lawsuit by a neighbor whose foundation was destroyed in the renovation.  She added surrogate-born twins to her family, tripling her childcare responsibilities and expenses.  Still, a $50 million photo archive and a fee of $100,000 for private-client portraits would seem to cover it.

Perhaps the phenomenon runs deeper into the brain.  Geniuses are different from the rest of us mortals.  They’re wired differently and they function in a reality removed from ours.  Their reality may not even have much to do with accepted reality, but we give them a pass because they add so much to our lives and our collective perceptions.  I heard a story recently from someone who used to tour as a roadie with Bob Dylan back in the day, and he said Dylan insisted on being called “The Star” and even referred to himself that way in the third person.  And despite the fact that my first reaction was “Oh, please!” in the end, he is, after all, Dylan.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos encourage us to Face It

even more wack:  renaming the Triboro Bridge the RFK when no one was looking

even more wack: renaming the Triboro Bridge the RFK when no one was looking

facelift

facelift

alaska house - brothers on the water

alaska house – brothers on the water

abby's roof

abby’s roof

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Sleep Fast, Sleep Tight

I’m rereading a collection of short stories called Circling the Drain, written in 1999 by Amanda Davis, a young author with a compelling gift for poetic language.  A writer of tremendous talent and promise, Ms. Davis had two books published:  the collection of stories I brought with me on our recent vacation, and a full-length novel titledWonder When You’ll Miss Me.  Daughter bought them both for me a few years ago after I read glowing literary reviews for the author, followed by the headline that she perished in a plane crash at the age of 32.

I despise flying and all the physical, emotional, and psychic reactions it floods me with.  Before I met Husband and remarried nine years ago, it had been almost two decades since I flew the friendly skies, an amount of time that coincided with the approximate age and existence of my children.  The fear of being whisked from the earthly world my kids would continue to inhabit without me should the metal meet the road resulted in my keeping both feet on the ground with any excuse possible.  Until I met Husband.

To make memories with an adventurous new mate, I had to suck it up.  And suck it up I did, with barely a year going by that didn’t include at least one flight, often more.  Amanda Davis may have been my polar opposite in her love of the sky.  Her father had a pilot’s license and the family flew for fun and recreation.  When William Morrow refused to give its exuberant author a book-signing tour, she arranged one herself and took off in a Cessna piloted by her dad and accompanied by her mom.  Their plane crashed into a North Carolina mountain en route to its next stop.  There were no survivors.

We had a saying in the air: Fly and forget it … if we were sad, angry, glum: fly and forget it. There was something about being above the earth arcing toward a horizon that made the world and all its messy problems seem small and manageable. We felt, literally, above it all.
–  
from Circling the Drain

Husband and I are home now on solid ground after a stellar vacation in French Canada.  The night before we flew back to JFK, I had my usual preflight dream.  The one that finds me walking across our living room floor toward the kitchen as I watch a plane touch down on the street outside.  Suddenly the room turns sideways and I’m struggling to stay upright.  My feet slide away from me and I flail my arms trying to find something solid to grab onto.  The plane outside the window is safely landed and motionless.  It’s the house that’s crashing.

I sat up with a frantic start in the dark Montreal hotel room with too many hours before morning.  Alone with sleeping Husband and a book by an author whose death came right out of my dreams.  Come on, sunrise.

Giving Daughter’s Fotos the day off, here are my Canada pictures as promised in Play Money and Lights in the Sky

celebrate quebec

celebrate quebec

mavericks

mavericks

montreal convention center

montreal convention center

parc sculpture

parc sculpture

ring of fire

ring of fire

crowded sky over chateau frontenac

crowded sky over chateau frontenac

finale

finale

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