A Thousand Times No

Though I took the day off work today, I spent most of the day surrounded by dozens of communications and usability folks. This morning kicked off with a networking breakfast among social media types, with people dropping in to Philly from New York and Baltimore for a bit of meet and greet. I saw many familiar faces, met some interesting new people, and was reminded once again that three degrees of separation is the new six.

Tonight I was a judge for the second annual Philly Design Slam, which was as much fun to plan as it was to stage. We challenged the contestants to build an interface for a new mobile device system to be used on a chain of theme restaurants. The restaurant specialty? Canadian cuisine — bison steaks, maple-syrup-everything, and glorious gobs of poutine. We had plenty of back story and infighting built into our play-acting roles. The CEO was carrying on with the local restaurant host, the chef and a waiter came to fisticuffs, and a band of sign-waving Quebecois separatists stormed through as teams tried to finalize their designs. (“Ne me taze pas, mon frère!”)

I portrayed a somewhat shadowy figure, a corporate Menu Director who wanted a tool to help address supply chain problems, and to prevent lawsuits over allergies and other food prep issues. Though my concerns were logistical and legalistic, I had crafted an entire persona for my character, including this vital detail: “At night, she dreams of Chef Tell’s buns.”

After all, when Canadian winter comes, can Spring Awakening be far behind?

What would you call the place that is under a city? Infernal? A sewer? If you were punting about in Latin, you could say it was sub urbe. And if you were an urban pedestrian, it might feel akin to plunging down into a giant abyss.

I went out to the suburbs this evening, riding a commuter train with the intention of walking the remainder of the way to my destination. It was a familiar area, one I had strolled around many times before. The only difference tonight was that I would need to travel a bit farther from the station than usual. With clear night skies and warm temperatures, everything seemed fine. Just an extra fifteen minutes of walking would put me right where I needed to be.

The idling Hummer I walked past on the street should have been a hint that I had entered a nether-nether land. But no, I kept walking, cheerful and oblivious. Past the cozy pharmacy, past the upstanding local bank, past the patrician hospital, I trotted along the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

When I crossed an overpass, the sidewalk disappeared from my side of the street. I waited for cars to pass, and dashed to the other side of the road. Street lights became increasingly sporadic. Then the sidewalk disappeared from both sides of the street. I walked inside the wooden enclosure for a large apartment complex and continued to make my way beside the street, my footsteps growing slow and wobbly in the unlit, mucky lawn.

I emerged from the far side of the complex intact, only to find that I needed to cross another short overpass with about one foot of shoulder on either side and no overhead lighting. Oh, and did I mention that I was wearing a black jacket?

The no-shoulder, virtually unlit, sloping gradient business went on for another half mile, with me trudging under constant fear of about being hit by an unsuspecting driver. I finally arrived at my destination, much later than planned, mud-splattered and frayed around the edges.

So why would I go to all this trouble? Um, to attend the opening session of a stress management course. For real.

Now I must confess the shameful truths behind the end of my short-lived daily book blogging.

First, it was boring you. I’ll admit it, I check my web stats. You, the readers, spoke with your little virtual feet, and I heard you loud and clear. Remarkable, really, given the decibel level of the snoring.

Next, it was exhausting me. I had some crazy idea that I’d find some time to stockpile a number of entries, so that I had some stuff in the can that I could roll out on busy days. Yeah, right: I never even came close to getting a single day ahead.

Finally, I was off having a fling. I meant to get reconnected with the book collection right inside my own home, reaffirming ties, strengthening bonds that go back decades in time…but then I got my library card out of hock. Fresh new thrills every week. My bad.

(Do I even dare mention the audiobooks? They’re the secret to cranking out my speed-knitting.  I’m not sure Mma Ramotswe of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency would approve.)

Let’s say Hillary Clinton garners the Democratic party nomination. Do you suppose Family Circle magazine would ask Bill Clinton to share his favorite cookie recipe? And if he were to submit a recipe, do you think he would have sense enough to include chocolate?

Now, for something cheerful:

Snowy the Bear modeling my new winter scarf, the Purple People Heater.

(For all you ravelry types out there, it’s Manos del Uraguay yarn in color “S”, knitted on 8mm needles using a double moss stitch.)

This evening, I went out to a special movie presentation with some of my friends. It was a Secret Cinema screening of the 1925 silent film, “The Unholy Three,” starring Lon Chaney. This silent film was a smash hit in its day, featuring a cross-dressing ventriloquist, a cigar-puffing little person with anger management issues, a pretty pickpocket, and jewel heist, and a crazy-strong ape.

Tonight’s showing featured live musical accompaniment by accomplished keyboardist Don Kinnier. It’s an incredible treat to have the chance to watch a silent film with a skillful accompanist; a musical score helps give shape and breathe life and into the otherwise slightly uncanny moving images. Inevitably, somewhere well into a silent film, I’m suddenly awestruck by the fact that the accompanist has been playing continuously for a ridiculously long period of time, always in sync with whatever is happening onscreen. It’s like watching a musical marathoner jauntily breeze by and wondering how anyone can possibly keep up.

This was especially the case tonight, when I managed to fall asleep during a large chunk of the film. Clearly, I am a philistine — not fit for polite company, much less carnies and homocidal primates.

Either that, or I need a serious dose of Geritol and REM sleep.

A quirk in the payment system where I work leads many of us to kick off each new calendar year by holding our breaths, financially speaking. Most of us are paid on a monthly basis, and the final business day of the month arrives like a rainstorm after a drought.

Each December, however, we are paid shortly before Christmas rather than on New Year’s Eve. While this makes December delightful, it means that the end of January is a long slog through peanut butter sandwiches and other small daily economies. Six weeks between paychecks is more than enough time to sift through loose pocket change, miscellaneous gift cards, and stockpiled frozen dinners in search of extra pennies.

That’s why I’m always happy when February 2nd rolls around, regardless of whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not. By then, the six longest weeks of my winter have passed. I’m even flush enough to spring for breakfast — as long as peanut butter is not involved.

So there’s this guy, and I’ve been, like, all crushed out on him since I started junior high, y’know? But he’s a few years ahead of me, so he totally doesn’t even know I exist. I mean, I’ve talked to him a few times, but it’s not like he knows my name or anything.

Anyway, one of my friends is friends with some friends of his friends. And so my friend goes, “Hey, I think I can get you into that big to-do that your Dream Guy has every year.” And I’m like, “No way!” My friend says, “Yeah way, but if he sends you a note, you are SO not allowed to slobber all over him, got it?” And I’m like, duh!

Okayokayokay — guess what? Dream Guy sent me email! He actually invited me to that thing he puts on. I’m, like, totally freaking out. This is gonna be the best Sadie Hawkins EVER.

…OMG, WTF am I gonna wear?

(Ack, what is that on my sweater? Is that drool?!?! I am SO busted.)

As I was waiting to check out some DVDs at the circulation desk of my local library this evening, I noticed something funny.

“Do you smell smoke?” the librarian asked me, furrowing his brow.

I nodded. The librarian began quickly glancing around, trying to determine the source of the odor. At first I thought it was just the scent of someone smoking a cigarette just outside the library’s front door. As another library patron left, I realized where the smell was coming from.

“There’s someone smoking in the foyer, between the two sets of glass doors,” I said. At that point, another librarian had already stepped into the tiny, glassed-in foyer to ask that the smoker take the cigarette outside.

“I’m sorry, you can’t smoke here,” the second librarian said. The smoker took a long drag, and looked down at the librarian.

“I can’t smoke out there,” the smoker replied, cocking his head out toward the sidewalk while blowing out a gray cloud around his head. He stood there, continuing to puff away.

Everyone looked at each other for a moment. As my librarian stepped out from behind the circulation desk, and the security guard began to walk towards the foyer, the smoker said he would leave. He continued to smoke for a while longer before stepping outside and walking down the sidewalk, cigarette extinguished.

Because everybody knows that the whole point of a public library is to abuse things like you never would in your own home, or even out on the sidewalk, right?

An unsettling convergence of events today:

• The Dow Jones Industrial Average drops over 460 points (3.8%) in the morning, even after the Fed announces an emergency benchmark interest rate cut of three-quarters of a percent (75 basis points). By the end of the day, the Dow finishes at its lowest level since October 2006, wiping out all its gains from 2007.
• The nominees for this year’s Academy Awards are announced. Leading the pack, with eight nominations apiece, are “There Will Be Blood” and “No Country for Old Men”.
• This afternoon, 2006 Academy Award nominee Heath Ledger is found dead in a Manhattan apartment. He is 28 years old.

The world is too much with us, late and soon.