I've been joking with certain friends, that I'm going to slit my wrists today, Valentine's Day, because I am haplessly, hopelessly out of love. Let me comfort you, or possibly win (or lose) a bet for you, I am not slitting anything today. To be on the safe side, I might not even floss, lest I slip and slit my gums.
The fact is, my suicidal quips are so far removed from any actual intention of offing myself I think we can safely say, "Joking about suicide is not funny."
What else isn't funny is this: I'm not in love, so don't forget it. It's just a silly phase I'm going through. And just because I call you up, or launch a chat, or send an ecard, don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made. I'm not in love. No, no. I'd like to see you...but then again...that doesn't mean you mean that much to me. So if I call you, don't make a fuss. Don't tell your friends about the two of us. I'm not in love. No, no.
If you ARE in love, even if it's the pretend kind (and for some of you I can see it is) bask in it, because on this side--let's call it the Not in Love side--even your transparent pretense of being in love is better than this hollow, sad, lonely, pathetic, worthless, miserable, did I say hollow?...hollow side.
You, the truly in love, genuine, heartfelt, soulmate lover types out there, can suck it, because I'm totally jealous of you. Are you happy with yourselves? Oh that's right, you are happy. Love will do that to you. It also makes you stupid. It also makes unattractive people attractive. It makes dumb jokes funny. It makes bad food yummy. It makes rain romantic. It makes ugly jewelry special. It makes silk, conversation heart covered boxers not ridiculous. It turns French Toast into French cuisine. It compels men to put the seat down. It compels women to...oh never mind.
I'd almost rather hate someone than feel this hollow. May I hate you? Will you be my Valentate?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Selling
I can't sell.
There is something about asking people for money that rubs me the wrong way. I can encourage, suggest, demonstrate and help you decide if you want to buy a thing, but I can't sell in the classic sense of the word.
So let me encourage you to try You Mail. I use it, I like it, and it's free.
This is the hard part. If you end up liking it so much you opt to pay for the upgraded, premium service...which I myself do not...then I would encourage you to click through from here: (or if the link doesn't work, copy and paste the URL)
www.youmail.com?src=8315949494
because when you do, they send me a spiff.
I know, that's horrible for me to suggest, isn't it? But to look at it from another perspective, I really don't care that much about the 10% spiff. I care more about you having a decent voicemail service, and You Mail is the best.
So give it a try and see for yourself...and you don't have to act by midnight tonight or anything. You don't have to act at all.
In fact, I'm sorry I even mentioned it. You're doing fine with the voicemail you have now. Nevermind the fact that it is designed to be awful and boring. No matter.
Who cares that you can't customize the outgoing message a zillion ways to Sunday? So what.
Do you really need email alerts letting you know you have a message? I don't think so.
Yeah, right-- like you are ever going to need a written transcript of a voicemail, or the ability to save it on your computer, or share it with others. That's just crazy talk.
Who needs yet another so-called useful service? Life is hard and it should stay that way.
Forget I said anything. Your retarded voicemail system is just fine. Don't change a thing. I'm serious. Sure, it's lame, but we are all used to it. Change is bad. Even when it's a change for the good.
Don't try You Mail. I'm sorry I even brought it up.
But if you do, link through from me. If you want. I don't care.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
When Hopportunity Knocks
I watched "Confessions of a Shopaholic" this morning and learned a new word, which I love doing, learning new words, that is, not watching romantic comedies without Hugh Grant in them. The word was "hopportunity." Without so much as going to Urban Dictionary, I was able to surmise its meaning: the opportunity to have something you had hoped for. Or, for you grammarians, the opportunity to have something for which you had hoped. Or, for you urban hipsters, hope+opportunity. For you recent college graduates, (see nopportunity.)
I was recently asked by a columnist I admire tremendously to submit three as-if, trial, auditionary columns to her editor who is on the hunt for what you might call "new talent" if you could do so without hurling.
I had always kind of hoped for my own column, and now that hopportunity has presented itself, the wave of nausea accompanying it has brought up a new word, yeep. As much as I might have wanted to say "yes" I have found myself terrified, paralyzed, and able only to gasp for air. With the remnants of a vestigial 'yes' on my lips only one sound is able to emerge, the humble yeep. Picture it as a yes with a barf back.
While considering my choices--submit three columns, or Q-tip the baseboards--I administer my morning ritual. Not stretches, and yoga and sit ups. Oh my. No, I employ the long held tradition of many a writer, the brain-bath. I and my fellow wordisans (word+artisan) use coffee for this. There's something about coffee that transports me from a useless life form (a reality show star) to an alive and awake person (the star of The Lori Show, starring Lori!).
This "awakening" we'll call it, prepares me for the day's demanding duties. Standing. Walking. Sitting. Flushing. Pouring more coffee, and of course, the ritual morning toast, "To toast! May it hold the butter of the udder like no ot'er."
Back in the sack, I begin my mediatation. No need to adjust your dial, you read it right. The word is mediatation: the deep transformative state you reach when you gaze motionless at the television, not even turning your head when the ShamWow commercial comes on, not averting your eyes when the camera takes you through the magic of television under the human toenail, where you are introduced to the dancing fungus elves who dwell there. You, in your open-minded, suggestible state, offer nary a grimace aside from an almost imperceptible raised eyebrow when you consider if this toe elf would make a good match for the Mucinex snot demon.
As your mediatation deepens, you are able to ponder the greater mysteries of life. If I make the fifteen minute call can I save 15% or more on my car insurance? Must I be an actual diabetic to have diabetic supplies delivered free to my home? And, other than their propensity for performing certain bodily functions in the woods, why choose bears to sell toilet paper?
Oh, good, "Gilmore girls" is back on. I must have blacked out for a second. Wow, those commercials are almost hypnotic. Thank goodness the shows aren't trying to sell you something.
(Lori singing along) ~If you're out on the road, feelin' lonely and so cold, all you have to do is call my name and I'll be there...on the next train. Where you lead. I will follow. Anywhere that you tell me to. If you need, if you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead I will follow, any anywhere that you tell me to, if you need, need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead.~
O.M.G.
I was recently asked by a columnist I admire tremendously to submit three as-if, trial, auditionary columns to her editor who is on the hunt for what you might call "new talent" if you could do so without hurling.
I had always kind of hoped for my own column, and now that hopportunity has presented itself, the wave of nausea accompanying it has brought up a new word, yeep. As much as I might have wanted to say "yes" I have found myself terrified, paralyzed, and able only to gasp for air. With the remnants of a vestigial 'yes' on my lips only one sound is able to emerge, the humble yeep. Picture it as a yes with a barf back.
While considering my choices--submit three columns, or Q-tip the baseboards--I administer my morning ritual. Not stretches, and yoga and sit ups. Oh my. No, I employ the long held tradition of many a writer, the brain-bath. I and my fellow wordisans (word+artisan) use coffee for this. There's something about coffee that transports me from a useless life form (a reality show star) to an alive and awake person (the star of The Lori Show, starring Lori!).
This "awakening" we'll call it, prepares me for the day's demanding duties. Standing. Walking. Sitting. Flushing. Pouring more coffee, and of course, the ritual morning toast, "To toast! May it hold the butter of the udder like no ot'er."
Back in the sack, I begin my mediatation. No need to adjust your dial, you read it right. The word is mediatation: the deep transformative state you reach when you gaze motionless at the television, not even turning your head when the ShamWow commercial comes on, not averting your eyes when the camera takes you through the magic of television under the human toenail, where you are introduced to the dancing fungus elves who dwell there. You, in your open-minded, suggestible state, offer nary a grimace aside from an almost imperceptible raised eyebrow when you consider if this toe elf would make a good match for the Mucinex snot demon.
As your mediatation deepens, you are able to ponder the greater mysteries of life. If I make the fifteen minute call can I save 15% or more on my car insurance? Must I be an actual diabetic to have diabetic supplies delivered free to my home? And, other than their propensity for performing certain bodily functions in the woods, why choose bears to sell toilet paper?
Oh, good, "Gilmore girls" is back on. I must have blacked out for a second. Wow, those commercials are almost hypnotic. Thank goodness the shows aren't trying to sell you something.
(Lori singing along) ~If you're out on the road, feelin' lonely and so cold, all you have to do is call my name and I'll be there...on the next train. Where you lead. I will follow. Anywhere that you tell me to. If you need, if you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead I will follow, any anywhere that you tell me to, if you need, need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead.~
O.M.G.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Binge and Purge
I used to have a motto: "Buy them all." If I found something I really liked, or thought would make a great little gift, or was "a real find" I would buy all they had. I shop in places like Tuesday Morning where you really never know what kind of inventory they will have on any given day. It is a last chance depot for overstock, discontinueds, seconds, and out of season goods. And the prices are great. (Great means low.)
I would find something wonderful, like say, napkins embroidered with cherries. And I would buy ALL of them. Not the apples or the lemons...just the cherries. They might have two or three packages of the cherry ones, and if they fell within certain parameters I would buy them all. My parameters were simple enough: the item had to be a bargain, not perishable, it should have utility, and the design must be attractive to me. Under these rules it didn't really matter how many I bought, since I didn't really "need" any, so I'd invoke the motto and "buy them all."
Here's where it got weird. Let's say I found three packages of these cute cherry napkins, hunting to make sure I got them all, then I'd turn the corner and find a bin of them, like a dozen more. I would put the three back and get none, maaaybe one. The hunt, stalking the prey and capturing the ones that had strayed from the herd was the fun part, but to round the bend and find the whole damn herd wrecked it for me.
But really, explaining my "buy them all" motto isn't the point I want to make today. The point I want to make is I have abandoned my motto.
I'm looking for a new motto.
Last weekend my friend Francesca and I had the second of two HUGE yard sales. The first one was July 11 and we called it the 7-11 Yard Sale from Heaven. And it was an awesome bazaar of wonderfully organized, clean, well-maintained refugees from the buy them all motto days. This last--and I do mean LAST--yard sale was 11-7 Yard Sale from Heaven, The Sequel. It consisted of the rest of the stuff, the stuff that never made it to the first sale (too much stuff), and a bunch of stuff I wasn't sure I could live without.
It seems I can. Live without, that is.
I made many families happy. I made friends and neighbors happy. I made myself happy. And today I will make the local thrift store happy.
The taxman may suspect I padded my estimate of donated goods, but he'd be wrong as there is no conceivable way to put a precise value on all I've donated this year other than to say it was a monster crap load!
More important, there is no way to put a value on what I have gained this year. For one thing, we have gained a home gym! In the space that used to house the darlingest little Christmas plates, and the loveliest crystal goblets, and the cleverest kitchen gadgets there is now a nice collection of exercise equipment, weights, jump ropes, yoga mats, exercise videos and a tv to play them on.
Well sure, there is also a refrigerator full of beer and a freezer full of bacon, lasagnas, chicken thighs and butter, but c'mon, man doesn't live by (Oroweat Country White) bread alone!
And yes, that's in there, too, because we can never forget the Commutative Property of Addition and we must apply it here: Binge+Purge = Purge+Binge.
Oh my god, a new motto!
I would find something wonderful, like say, napkins embroidered with cherries. And I would buy ALL of them. Not the apples or the lemons...just the cherries. They might have two or three packages of the cherry ones, and if they fell within certain parameters I would buy them all. My parameters were simple enough: the item had to be a bargain, not perishable, it should have utility, and the design must be attractive to me. Under these rules it didn't really matter how many I bought, since I didn't really "need" any, so I'd invoke the motto and "buy them all."
Here's where it got weird. Let's say I found three packages of these cute cherry napkins, hunting to make sure I got them all, then I'd turn the corner and find a bin of them, like a dozen more. I would put the three back and get none, maaaybe one. The hunt, stalking the prey and capturing the ones that had strayed from the herd was the fun part, but to round the bend and find the whole damn herd wrecked it for me.
But really, explaining my "buy them all" motto isn't the point I want to make today. The point I want to make is I have abandoned my motto.
I'm looking for a new motto.
Last weekend my friend Francesca and I had the second of two HUGE yard sales. The first one was July 11 and we called it the 7-11 Yard Sale from Heaven. And it was an awesome bazaar of wonderfully organized, clean, well-maintained refugees from the buy them all motto days. This last--and I do mean LAST--yard sale was 11-7 Yard Sale from Heaven, The Sequel. It consisted of the rest of the stuff, the stuff that never made it to the first sale (too much stuff), and a bunch of stuff I wasn't sure I could live without.
It seems I can. Live without, that is.
I made many families happy. I made friends and neighbors happy. I made myself happy. And today I will make the local thrift store happy.
The taxman may suspect I padded my estimate of donated goods, but he'd be wrong as there is no conceivable way to put a precise value on all I've donated this year other than to say it was a monster crap load!
More important, there is no way to put a value on what I have gained this year. For one thing, we have gained a home gym! In the space that used to house the darlingest little Christmas plates, and the loveliest crystal goblets, and the cleverest kitchen gadgets there is now a nice collection of exercise equipment, weights, jump ropes, yoga mats, exercise videos and a tv to play them on.
Well sure, there is also a refrigerator full of beer and a freezer full of bacon, lasagnas, chicken thighs and butter, but c'mon, man doesn't live by (Oroweat Country White) bread alone!
And yes, that's in there, too, because we can never forget the Commutative Property of Addition and we must apply it here: Binge+Purge = Purge+Binge.
Oh my god, a new motto!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy
I was just thinking about how wonderful Fall is. With all due respect to Christmas, I think Fall has earned claim to the song title, "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." The wind makes cheery leaf piles dance. The sun is bright and fully ripened. The air carries the scent of a future snow. Everything is still alive.
Like me and my (literal) cronies, there is no new growth. But death couldn't spell 'nigh' if it had a mouthful of it.
Despite all this talk of "the universe is always listening-in on what you say" there are strong indications that speaking of one's own death really holds no sway with the universe. The universe may be listening-in, but (thank the gods) it is ignoring most of what it hears.
No. It's a man-made comfort to think someone is listening. It's a man-made ego to think someone is listening to him. It's man-made misery to discover the wheel he's been handed steers nothing. But! It is man-made joy to pretend to steer anyway!
Don't believe me? Next time you go on Autopia, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, or Roger Rabbit's Car Toon Spin just sit there. Don't so much as pretend to steer. And by doing so, you will have reclaimed your power...at the expense of your joy.
Think about the joy of the changing seasons. Anticipate the joy in the change of your life path, just around the bend. If you have to, dig joy out from under the dirty fingernails of your worst day ever. And when you're done taking care of that ugly business, grab your little wheel and pretend to steer again! You can follow the signs that say, "Joy & Wonder, this a-way" and avoid the signs that say "Peril & Doom, that a-way" just realize it's quite possible someone has switched the signs.
Prime suspect: The universe.
Like me and my (literal) cronies, there is no new growth. But death couldn't spell 'nigh' if it had a mouthful of it.
Despite all this talk of "the universe is always listening-in on what you say" there are strong indications that speaking of one's own death really holds no sway with the universe. The universe may be listening-in, but (thank the gods) it is ignoring most of what it hears.
No. It's a man-made comfort to think someone is listening. It's a man-made ego to think someone is listening to him. It's man-made misery to discover the wheel he's been handed steers nothing. But! It is man-made joy to pretend to steer anyway!
Don't believe me? Next time you go on Autopia, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, or Roger Rabbit's Car Toon Spin just sit there. Don't so much as pretend to steer. And by doing so, you will have reclaimed your power...at the expense of your joy.
Think about the joy of the changing seasons. Anticipate the joy in the change of your life path, just around the bend. If you have to, dig joy out from under the dirty fingernails of your worst day ever. And when you're done taking care of that ugly business, grab your little wheel and pretend to steer again! You can follow the signs that say, "Joy & Wonder, this a-way" and avoid the signs that say "Peril & Doom, that a-way" just realize it's quite possible someone has switched the signs.
Prime suspect: The universe.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
A Happy Outcome
Sometimes the world of business savvy and the world of doing the right thing butt heads. Today they shook hands.
I have been in an ongoing hassle with a company called Outdoor Rugs. Today they did the right thing and at the same time redeemed my faith in the possibility that commercialism, profit-making, and the bottom line can walk in peace with integrity.
People don't go into business to demonstrate their moral virtue, but that is no reason to abandon it entirely. Enter Customer Service.
Not a living soul on Earth today, at least not those who were also on Earth 40 years ago, can say customer service has improved over the years. Rather, we mourn its near demise. But a turnaround may be coming as businesses are forced to compete with each other with the slimmest of margins, and shipping costs continue to rise. The battlefield on which they must fight (with each other) is the field of exemplary customer service practices.
The Pebble Beach company has a motto, and Disney has a similar one, that goes something like this: "Exceed the expectation of every guest every time." Those companies have reached the pinnacles of success and own the respect of millions.
Every company should strive for that pinnacle.
So what happened to me was simple. I ordered a product that did not live up to any reasonable expectation and I complained about it. Skipping past the middle part, the company, in the end, did the right thing. All is well because they did the right thing.
If you had talked to me a week ago, I might have had nothing good to say about OutdoorRugs.com, but today I can say this company has found its own heart and there is hope for its survival.
But what put them in a position to make a simple transaction reversal so grueling? You. Well, not you personally, but you who would exploit them, thus putting them in a defensive posture.
To those "of you" who would exploit companies with no better reason than because you can get away with it I would ask you to stop it. If you buy a prom dress, tuck the tags in, wear it to the prom and then return it, you are the problem. If you buy a hair dryer and use it in the shower and get electrocuted and sue the company, you are the problem. If you blame someone else for your idiocy, misdeeds, or neglect, you are the problem. And you are costing the rest of us a lot of money and headache for your selfish actions.
My readers are not the "you" of which I speak. This blog isn't read by the "you's" who would do things like tuck in tags. In fact, the problem is they don't read. They don't read the directions, the rules, the terms of the agreement, the fine print, the warnings, or the labels.
The result is more (needless) injuries, causing more (mercenary) trial lawyers to sue more (innocent) companies so more (dumb) juries can award more (ridiculous) awards to more (undeserving) idiots who were injured because they didn't read the label on the toaster that said, "Do not use this product while swimming, showering, or bathing."
I'd like to thank OutdoorRugs.com for doing the right thing. I will definitely do business with them in the future because of this good final outcome. And if it had gone the other way, this blog might have been entitled A Grumpy Outcome. (That's a Snow White reference, there.)
Let's ALL do the right thing, how's that sound?
I have been in an ongoing hassle with a company called Outdoor Rugs. Today they did the right thing and at the same time redeemed my faith in the possibility that commercialism, profit-making, and the bottom line can walk in peace with integrity.
People don't go into business to demonstrate their moral virtue, but that is no reason to abandon it entirely. Enter Customer Service.
Not a living soul on Earth today, at least not those who were also on Earth 40 years ago, can say customer service has improved over the years. Rather, we mourn its near demise. But a turnaround may be coming as businesses are forced to compete with each other with the slimmest of margins, and shipping costs continue to rise. The battlefield on which they must fight (with each other) is the field of exemplary customer service practices.
The Pebble Beach company has a motto, and Disney has a similar one, that goes something like this: "Exceed the expectation of every guest every time." Those companies have reached the pinnacles of success and own the respect of millions.
Every company should strive for that pinnacle.
So what happened to me was simple. I ordered a product that did not live up to any reasonable expectation and I complained about it. Skipping past the middle part, the company, in the end, did the right thing. All is well because they did the right thing.
If you had talked to me a week ago, I might have had nothing good to say about OutdoorRugs.com, but today I can say this company has found its own heart and there is hope for its survival.
But what put them in a position to make a simple transaction reversal so grueling? You. Well, not you personally, but you who would exploit them, thus putting them in a defensive posture.
To those "of you" who would exploit companies with no better reason than because you can get away with it I would ask you to stop it. If you buy a prom dress, tuck the tags in, wear it to the prom and then return it, you are the problem. If you buy a hair dryer and use it in the shower and get electrocuted and sue the company, you are the problem. If you blame someone else for your idiocy, misdeeds, or neglect, you are the problem. And you are costing the rest of us a lot of money and headache for your selfish actions.
My readers are not the "you" of which I speak. This blog isn't read by the "you's" who would do things like tuck in tags. In fact, the problem is they don't read. They don't read the directions, the rules, the terms of the agreement, the fine print, the warnings, or the labels.
The result is more (needless) injuries, causing more (mercenary) trial lawyers to sue more (innocent) companies so more (dumb) juries can award more (ridiculous) awards to more (undeserving) idiots who were injured because they didn't read the label on the toaster that said, "Do not use this product while swimming, showering, or bathing."
I'd like to thank OutdoorRugs.com for doing the right thing. I will definitely do business with them in the future because of this good final outcome. And if it had gone the other way, this blog might have been entitled A Grumpy Outcome. (That's a Snow White reference, there.)
Let's ALL do the right thing, how's that sound?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Castles in the Air
What does it mean when you are casually flipping through a catalog, and at the very moment your eyes land on an item, in this case a card game called "Storming the Castle" a character on tv says, at that very moment "...storming the castle...". What is that!?
The game is based on the movie, The Princess Bride, in which Billy Crystal and Carol Kane say farewell to the heroes, "Bye, boys! Have fun storming the castle!" The tv character was the ex-wife of Gary UnMarried. She was offering an exultant farewell to their Marine friend who had been called back to active duty.
It's not like I saw some dumb game in some dumb catalog and for some dumb reason it caught my eye. And then after a minute or so some dumb person says something kinda similar. Oh, no. My eyes and her voice were in perfect sync. I saw the words. She read them.
Yesterday, to add a bit more to this mysterious castles in the air confluence, I finished a little movie/slideshow for my upcoming art show. The title? "The Castle Builder." I know!
I was going to post it on YouTube, but I don't have permission from the guy who recorded the poem I used for my soundtrack, Longfellow's "The Castle Builder". When I do, I shall post it.
On October 30th a friend and I are going to a party at Eagle Castle Winery. I shall be magnificent in the Maleficent costume I purchased at the D23 Expo, although I don't "relish" the idea of green face paint. (Ha'yuck!)
Now that all this castle stuff has been happening, I'm sure I'll pick up on castle references everywhere. And oh my god, Tuesday we had a storm! Weird.
The game is based on the movie, The Princess Bride, in which Billy Crystal and Carol Kane say farewell to the heroes, "Bye, boys! Have fun storming the castle!" The tv character was the ex-wife of Gary UnMarried. She was offering an exultant farewell to their Marine friend who had been called back to active duty.
It's not like I saw some dumb game in some dumb catalog and for some dumb reason it caught my eye. And then after a minute or so some dumb person says something kinda similar. Oh, no. My eyes and her voice were in perfect sync. I saw the words. She read them.
Yesterday, to add a bit more to this mysterious castles in the air confluence, I finished a little movie/slideshow for my upcoming art show. The title? "The Castle Builder." I know!
I was going to post it on YouTube, but I don't have permission from the guy who recorded the poem I used for my soundtrack, Longfellow's "The Castle Builder". When I do, I shall post it.
On October 30th a friend and I are going to a party at Eagle Castle Winery. I shall be magnificent in the Maleficent costume I purchased at the D23 Expo, although I don't "relish" the idea of green face paint. (Ha'yuck!)
Now that all this castle stuff has been happening, I'm sure I'll pick up on castle references everywhere. And oh my god, Tuesday we had a storm! Weird.
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