Nobody's Fool

A favorite thing or two

I'd been sort of obsessively tracking when one of my very favorite bands, Sun Kil Moon, was going to be releasing a new album (they're one of those bands that kind of meanders about these things, and have actually only released one album of their own songs in their entire time as a band). And then I got busy and lost track. So I was thrilled to see a glowing review of the their new album, April, to be released (not coincidentally) April 1, in my new issue of Paste yesterday. I was even more thrilled to learn I can listen to some of the songs streaming on the band's MySpace page. There are only four songs there now, but every Sun Kil Moon is like its own little mini epic, sometimes stretching to several minutes apiece, long enough to keep me happy as I sit here and work.

I have an Arizmendi pastry and coffee in my belly, a sleepy dog at my feet, brochures to write, Sun Kil Moon playing sweetly on the stereo and a sunny California spring day outside my window. These are very nice work-at-home moments indeed.

Back to Basics

My daughter is learning to talk. Every day I share with her the simple joy of learning to build the bare bones of language — the fun ways to move her mouth and tongue to make pretty la’s and staccato da’s and ba’s, and then how to put those sounds together to make short, powerful words that mean something. She’s learning the importance of opposites — what goes “up” must always come “dow!” — and the never-ending game of being able to call out the name all the things that so important in her little world — “ducky” and “apple” and “cheese” and “shoes.”

I think the most satisfying part for her is how, when she uses the right words, she gets immediate results. She’s beginning to master the imperative, letting us know what it is that is rocking her waters at a given moment: that she wants “up” to eat in her high chair, that it’s time for a “baba,” or that her pesky new tooth is giving her an “ouch.” I as her mother am relieved and grateful for this most basic and effective communication. For the most part, I’m able to keep my little one satiated enough to get from morning to night without any major crises.

Along with so many other things that I’ve rediscovered in the past 15 months of being a new mom (experiencing along with her every day the sheer delight of simple discoveries), I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how our communication becomes so much more complex as our worlds get bigger. And how so many times when we communicate to each other in the business world, we make a point of doing so in a highly technical way. Why? Is it to prove that we know what we’re talking about, to show how smart we are? Or because we feel like we’d be doing a disservice to our very complex subject matter if we try to simplify what we’re saying? Or because we’re so in the weeds we don’t know how to step outside of what we know in order to explain it in a way that makes sense to others?

I’ve had so many people say to me over the years, “Our audience is very academic / technical / clinical, so they want to be communicated to in a formal and technical way.” That might be what audiences think they want, but at the end of the day, your customers and readers are still people. And they’re busy. Overworked. Overwhelmed with information, just like the rest of us. You can never do a disservice to your audience by communicating to them in a simple, straightforward, well-organized way, so that they can understand the message and how they need to react very quickly.

We were all 15-month-olds at one point. In our core being, where our inner toddlers still hide out, I believe we crave communications that make sense without trying too hard. And like my toddler, we find profound relief in understanding and being understood, in this world of obfuscation.

So next time you sit down to write a letter or marketing piece, think about what it is that you really want to communicate – what’s your imperative? Doing so will prevent the business-world version of what we experience when our message doesn’t quite get through at home: tomato sauce ground into the rug, toys flung across the room and messy, bitter tears.

Dumbest thief ever

So the day before my birthday, earlier this month, someone got hold of my credit card number. Unlike before when this happened, my plastic was still secured snugly in my wallet, so the likely scenario is that somebody grabbed it from some Internet e-commerce database or copied it from a receipt in a store.

Luckily, FIA Card Services discovered it almost immediately and by the evening called to let me know there had been suspicious activity on my card. The total damage: $97. Andrew and I laughed over dinner that this obviously amateur credit card thief hadn't gone on more of a shopping spree. The last time someone lifted my credit cards (slipping them from my wallet at work several days before Christmas) they went on an afternoon-long shopping spree that started at a Target in Daly City and ended (when the cards were finally turned off) at the Tiffany & Co. in Walnut Creek. The card companies in that case were set back nearly $3,000.

But here's the weirdest part of this story. A couple of days ago, I got a box via UPS. From a supplement company. I opened it up to find this "cleansing system" that promised to rid me of gas and bloating. It was one of those membership programs with this beaming guy named Tony beaming on the enclosed brochure, promising to make me feel better forever. The invoice was for $75. And the product was shipped, and billed, to me. Ordered over the Internet on 1/5, the day that Internet thief had stolen my card.

I was a little thrown off. Why in the world would somebody use a stolen credit card to have product shipped to someone else? I thought maybe it was a mistake at first. And yet, today, UPS pulled up again. One of the fraudulent charges I remember from the list that the fraud services rep read off was for a coffee company called Boca Java -- I remember it only because it was the first company I didn't recognize after he read off some of my genuine charges, and I had to think for a moment whether I'd ordered coffee online for someone. Well guess what showed up today! Four bags of coffee, a bag of cocoa, two mugs and some gingerbread. Billed and shipped to me.

I am a little nervous about this. First, would somebody really be that dumb? Second, in both cases somebody signed me up for a monthly membership to these companies; Boca Java promised me another shipment next month. What I'm trying to figure out is ... is this a scam that I'm not smart enough to catch on to yet? Even though my card got canceled, will I inevitably be bitten by these products that keep showing up to my house? And what is my thieving friend getting out of this?

Whatever it is, I'm hoping it's just somebody who's sitting at home waiting for his/her box of Boca Java coffee to arrive and realizing that he/she bungled the scam.

Happy New Year

I am back! Anyone checking this blog on a semi-regular basis might have thought I've been in deep mourning about Grace Paley's death since August 25, but in fact I've had my hands full with some major life decisions. Over on Gordita's blog I listed the many things that were making us crazy in October/November. Those things, plus some good old-fashioned soul-searching, brought me to the realization that life is short, babies grow up to be cowgirls (and rambunctious toddlers), and I can't keep putting off my dreams until life is slower, cheaper and easier. So, I announced my resignation from Corporate America in November and beginning January 1 have taken Night Writer Communications full-time. Hooray!

I will still, of course, continue working for Corporate America, and so remain, with apologies to John Edwards, devoted to corporate greed. (That's just a disclaimer, in case you have taken my career move as some kind of slap in the face to The Man. I love you, The Man. Hire me!)

What is so funny about this is that, overnight, I have attempted to restore some semblance of what we writer-types tend to refer to as The Writer's Life. I lovingly lined up all my style manuals, my copy of The Elements of Style, my design manuals and other texts on the corner of my desk. I spent way too much time selecting the perfect pens (Pilot Precise V5 black rolling ball, medium point, in case you're interested) and way too much money on the perfect notebooks (purchased from a Japanese office supply store in Japantown, believe it or not). I also bought a little Moleskin pocket notebook to carry with me in case inspiration strikes. Because even though my bread and butter is going to continue to come from The Man (hugs), I want to use this career move to get back to what I was hoping to do in the first place — write.

So, here's what is going to be interesting about all this: whether I can retrain my reactive, multi-tasking brain, which has been conditioned like a monkey to juggle five projects at once and make sure all the pieces fall into place, to slow down and indulge in ideas for awhile. Whether I can create the kind of schedule that allows me to spend time exploring, thinking and experimenting with writing. Ultimately, I'd like to get in a regular habit of submitting queries to magazines for articles, but I think when I am constantly busy-busy-busy my mind closes itself to new ideas. Some kind of daily routine of reading, journaling and free-writing is going to be essential to getting back to being a "real writer" again.

I suspect this blog is going to help me with that. And now that I have time to myself, without The Man's (love you baby) IT department monitoring what I'm doing all day long, I don't have an excuse for not musing here every now and again. So bear with me while I learn how to be a writer again!

In Memory of Grace Paley

One day I decided to not grow any older
lots of luck I said to myself
(my joking self)     then I looked up at the sky
which is wide     its blueness     its whiteness

low on my left     the steamy sun rose     moved

I placed my hand against it     my whole hand
which is broad from pinky to thumb     no     my
two hands     I bared my teeth to it     my teeth
are strong     secure on their gold posts     I breathed
deeply     I held my breath     I stood on my toes     ah

then I was taller      still the clouds sailed
through me     around me     it's true     I'm just
like them     summertime water that the sun
sips and spits into this guzzling earth

- From Begin Again

What on Earth

I TiVO'd Live Earth. (Yes, all 17 1/2 hours of it, which, due to my shaky grasp of TiVO technology, wiped out all the remaining programs we had recorded, including a movie we were in the middle of watching.)

Early in the broadcast, Bravo showed a little video on conserving energy, a Sesame Street-style PSA set to an electronica beat on the importance of turning off your stereo. The segment ended with this factoid: 5% of the world's energy is used by electronics left on in standby mode.

So, how much energy did I suck up by TiVOing 17 1/2 hours of Live Earth? How much did I just set back the cause we're all trying to further?

As the event went on, the question continued to bother me. Besides my initial disappointment of not thinking to turn it on until halfway through Crowded House's set (thus catching the tail-end of one of the only bands I cared about seeing), I was bothered a little by Live Earth. Oh, sure, it was impressive. Amazing and enormous, so many artists on so many stages at once, even a cool little indie band in Antarctica (of which I'm now a fan). A truly global effort. 

And I was annoyed going into it that it was so "controversial." Honestly, isn't everything these days? I really did believe that Bob Geldof was maybe being a touch of a grumpy old man about this one. I felt that anything we could do to raise awareness of this issue was important.

Then I started to watch the concerts. And I watched the crowds. Early in the broadcast I fast-forwarded through most of the acts. (Seriously, can you see me sitting through a Ludacris show? And, by the way, how is it that until now I thought the Pussycat Dolls were a punk band? I am such a mom.) One of the ones I stopped to watch for a few minutes was Melissa Etheridge. Melissa (who I loved earlier in her career) is hard-core. Melissa is serious. You get the feeling she isn't there for the publicity, she's there because she really believes in this stuff. She starts shouting at the crowd. "America! What happened to us? Why is it that we're not rising up and taking a stand like we did when things smelled fishy 30 years ago? It's because we're so busy consuming! Consuming! Bad!" (Or something to that effect.)

Then the Bravo camera pans the crowd. And you get the feeling that the cameraperson is making his or her own subtle statement by cutting to certain audience members as Melissa is railing about consumerism. The buff, tan couple grooving to the music, wearing oversized sunglasses, the woman in 2-carat diamond stud earrings, both in designer sportswear. The tanning-bed-diva with her big blond hair and bright yellow bikini top, the words "Bon" on the right breast and "Jovi" on the left. These do not look like people who care what Melissa Etheridge has to say. These do not look like people who are at an event to support global change and conservation. These look like people who are going to leave the concert with high blood alcohol levels at the end of the night, get into their Hummers in the parking lot and drive home to their big houses in suburban Jersey. Not that I'm being judgmental or anything ...

But that's beside the point. I guess my problem with the event ultimately is that, unlike with similar global events like Live Aid, I don't necessarily feel that at the end of the 24-hour extravaganza that anything can really change. Maybe they raised a lot of money, though I don't even know about that: I don't really see anything on their Web site that mentions fundraising or money raised. It was an awareness and educational campaign, and honestly, I know it's important. People "took the pledge," bought the ugly lightbulbs, whatever. But I feel like my teensy tiny efforts at change don't represent much in context. I keep buying disposable diapers and bottled water and throwing away plastic grocery bags with dog doo in them because in the scheme of things, I feel like such a miniscule part of the problem. Until we elect policymakers who make a commitment to changing policy, we're not going to be able to reverse anything. And like Bob Geldof, even though I applaud the attempt to inspire millions of people and make them feel empowered, I still question the fuel, the energy, the resources that were poured into Live Earth to make the Hummer drivers feel like they're changing the earth by wearing a wrist band and buying $12 beers all day.

*Sigh* Or maybe I'm just becoming grumpy too.

Seriously, I think I'm merely frustrated. I do want to do my part by making small, local changes, but I feel like we have to do it at the polls before anything can really improve.

Four years

Four years ago, about this time in the morning, Andrew and I were standing in shorts and T-shirts in the cool marble lobby of an Oakland city building, waiting to get married.

(To our surprise, in Oakland you don't actually get married in "city hall" — it's much more administrative than that.)

Later that day there was to be a proper wedding. An outdoor ceremony on a lovely terrace overlooking a gorgeous regional park, and a reception inside a rustic (read: un-air-conditioned) building.

And it was hot. Damn hot. Andrew's cousin David, videotaping the day, captured a reading on Andrew's parents' outdoor thermometer: 103 degrees in the shade. Our guests had been arriving over the past day, with their suitcases stuffed full of "layers" because we had spelled out clearly in our wedding invitation and accompanying details that Berkeley summer evenings can get quite cold and foggy. There was a lot of fretting and worrying about the heat that morning; would people be comfortable enough? Could we get enough fans to keep the place cool?

But that Thursday morning, we stepped away from all the worrisome details of the wedding planning and stood in the lovely air-conditioning in a dark building waiting to be officially married. Our friends Jen, Brian and Lisa accompanied us as witnesses.

We had to go through a civil ceremony because we had selected as our officiant for our wedding the head minister of the San Francisco Unitarian Universalist church. Margot was absolutely perfect. Her words were intelligent, thought-provoking, moving. Our experience with her, in our meetings before the wedding and on the day itself, brought real meaning to what we were doing, and our all our guests agreed.

But, to be fair to her congregation, Margot was staging a protest. The first time we met with her, she warned us that while she would be happy to perform the ceremony, that as long as same-sex couples were unable to legally marry, she refused to sign any marriage certificates. We discussed going in a different direction after she told us that, but Margot was special, and philosophically we agreed with what she was doing. It was a minor detail, in our opinions.

There was something so nice about sneaking off that morning, apart from all the hoopla of the day, to privately share our own wedding ceremony. The civil ceremony was brief but sweet. We slipped on our rings, kissed and hugged, and then all whisked off to Rick & Ann's for our wedding breakfast with our friends.

That day was a perfect and memorable one. It was hot, of course, and everybody remembers that. But also, they remember the lovely and meaningful ceremony, the delicious food, the photographer handling the day with such grace, the dancing, the very fragrant flowers. People still talk about the day.

Four years later, our lives are so different. We have a beautiful, wonderful, happy daughter, a kind and gentle puppy dog, a pretty house, a dolce vita. But it's nice to think back to that scorcher of a day that started it all.

Our wedding Web site is still live, including candid pictures of the wedding day.

Creative disorder

Seeing Al Gore's office makes me feel a little better about my own.

Television, I Heart You

Blah. I have nothing interesting to report about my life that does not involve cute chubby cheeks and important things like rolling. So I will, naturally, default to writing about TV.

• It's old news by now, because Tim Goodman basically summed up everything I wanted to say about it, but I have been deeply disappointed by the latest Aaron Snore-kin show "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip." Yet, as Goodman observed, I continued to watch it because I am an Aaron Sorkin loyalist, and "Sports Night" and "The West Wing" changed my life. (Well, OK, not really, but they certainly the way I felt about and watched television.) Every week the show would appear on my TiVO "Now Playing" list, and every week I would have that sinking feeling of having to tackle a chore I didn't really want to do. Then it would take me four days to slog through the episode. My manager summed it up the best: "The show is just dreary." Anyway, I have to say that it's a relief that it's probably off the air, because I would probably have continued torturing myself every week just on principle, and now I can use my time more productively.
• Every week I promise myself I will pay attention to the new season of "Survivor." And every week I do email and surf the Web instead of watching it while it's on. I have no freaking idea what's going on this season. I've tested the waters with Andrew about maybe just canceling our TiVO subscription and watching "The Office" (which we always have to download from iTunes because it's on at the same time) instead, but Andrew wants to tough it out. He's actually paying attention to it, because every time something happens he makes little comments: "Interesting. They're voting Silvia out!" And I'll pretend I'm on top of it too: "Mmm hmmm. Wow." Meanwhile, I have no clue who Silvia is and why everyone hates her.
• I have made solemn vows to stay up late enough to watch "Lost" with Andrew each week. Watching "Lost" is a thing we do together. It's our couple-bonding time. Since it's been back on in its new time slot, two times I've given up and gone to bed just before it started, and this week I fell asleep on the couch about 30 minutes into it. Staying up for a 10:00 show is just no longer an option for me.
• Speaking of "Lost," some people have entirely too much time on their hands.
• One of the perils of trying to watch a TV series on DVD is that I'm tempted to watch the current season on TV at the same time that I'm still working on episodes from a few seasons back. I'm just starting season 5 of "Gilmore Girls" but have been watching the new episodes of season 7 on the CW. I really shouldn't do it; I'm learning all sorts of spoilers that are kind of ruining things for me. A lot of stuff can happen in two seasons, I guess. (The same thing happened when I was first watching "The Sopranos.")
• I have learned recently that whether you love or hate "The Family Guy" (Andrew and I hate it) can be a divisive issue among good friends.
• I should really find a hobby. Like reading for a change.

Window to the World

I have a new cubicle at work. It was one of the reasons I was so excited about coming back. I now have a window, something I've been waiting for for nearly five years working at the company! A window is a big deal for me; I love natural light and get kind of depressed without it. Plus, I'm on the 32nd floor, so I can see for miles from this vantage.

I always promised myself that if I ever got a window cube, I would never close my blinds. Of course I had to give up that commitment after the first day, because for a couple of hours in the morning the sun shines directly into my face.

Monday when I arrived at work it was hazy in San Francisco, so when Andrew called and asked me what my view included I couldn't really tell him. Today it's clearer and I'm working on identifying all the landmarks I can see from my window. Here's what I've been able to find so far:

• The Metreon and Yerba Buena Gardens
• The San Francisco Bay (including some of the piers and ships in the harbor)
• iPod billboard on I-80
• 101 offramp
• 49ers football stadium (I think?)
• Twin Peaks
• SFO runway (teensy tiny planes taking off way in the distance)
• San Mateo Bridge