Sammy built this city (on...)for his cars. I love the little wooden New York!
Fresh Hatch green chili from my favorite farmer. Mmmmm....
Early morning fog on the mountains: And first snow on the mountains:
Sammy was playing solitaire hangman. SOLITAIRE HANGMAN. Complete with the entire alphabet written out to choose from. Oh, my. It was all I could do not to roll on the floor. My favorite? He picked an "I" and "D" first and got a head and eyes on the guy. From his own word. That he picked. Seriously.
IKEA does it again. I'm IN LOVE with my new laptop tray. Perfect. Perfect. Perfection.
Oh, what a feeling. Sammy's dancing on the ceiling.
I walked into the store, longer skirt, comfy mary janes, a blouse and cardigan, looking slightly disheveled from the rain. The sales girl bounded over, too perky, and offered assistance and her name while also demanding mine. Strike one.
I tried to walk away, just wanting to browse some sweaters while burning the last few minutes of silence before picking Sammy up. She trailed behind, doing all she could to make a 'connection'. But then. Well, then. She said, "You are dressed so nicely today. Do you have special plans?". Strike two. And possibly three. I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes at the muppet she was wearing around her neck and walked off. But she followed. Persistent. Using my name and throwing compliments she didn't mean.
If you want my business, woman, fine. I know how to play the game. But don't expect me to become just as perky and fake so you can feel good about your sale. And don't, for the love of everything holy in my life, tell a fastly approaching middle aged woman in mary jane sneakers and a cardigan that she looks 'fancy'. Because if she has a brain, she'll see right through and just think you an idiot. Trust me.
Do you know what I'm REALLY good at? Spin. I have an uncanny knack for spin that is, quite frankly, amazing. It started in high school when I realized that context is everything and if you are good at reading context and inference, you can spin an opinion of anything (and WELL!) and come out of it looking witty and intelligent. I've been spinning ever since.
When I got to college, I started in on my career in journalism. A couple of years in, I realized that Public Relations was under the journalism hat and I could, in essence, double major (well, double emphasis in one major...). And we all know what PR consists of, right? That line of classes was a TRIP. It was me doing what I do best. Spinning how I knew to spin ON the topic of spin. I honed my craft, if you will. It was exhilarating.
After college, I felt the pull toward working PR instead of typical journalism. I started doing a little more in politics and was, again, exhilarated. I read all I could about spin doctors and campaign strategists and campaign managers. I found new heroes in Mary Matalin. And I thought how fun it would be, to spin for a living. Sometimes I think I missed my calling in life. Spinning through politics sounds much more fun than spinning my actual real life...
I am (or was) reading two books, at the same time, about amnesia. Which was probably not the smartest route to go. So I gave up one to finish the other, which was for book club.
We read Before I Go To Sleep by S.J. Watson. I did not love it. I did not hate it. I was ambivalent about it, which I think is the worst thing to be, when talking about a book.
The premise has this woman waking up every day with no memory - or very little memory, hovering around her childhood. Just writing that sentence bored me into oblivion; I have no love for the main character. It was an amnesia based "Sleeping With the Enemy", broken into three parts. The first part was present day, the second part was a journal portion (which was supposed to help her regain memory) and the last part was back into 'present day'. The journal part was incredibly excruciating. I get that it was written so as we 'felt' her amnesia. But the repetitive nature was awful. And what made me feel total ambivalence toward the main character. By the end of the story, the 'thrilling' conclusion was so contrived, I just wanted to see it end. And I was put out that it insisted I go along this insipid journey only to have everything wrapped up in a very predictable tidy bow. Sigh. Not even surprised by any of it in the least.
I need a good book. I've had a string of not so great ones and I'm anxious to whet my tongue on something good...great. I'm much more hopeful about the other, non book club amnesia book, The Last Letter From Your Lover. And this month is our classic book pick for book club. We're reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. Oscar Wilde is always a good read, no?
