Going Dark: Family Emergency

Until further notice, the blog is going dark.

My brother-in-law, Ronnie, is in the ICU with pneumonia. He's in critical but stable condition. Temperature 106 - he's packed in ice. An infectious disease unit has been called in to consult. He just started a combination of antibiotics that they hope will begin to fight the infection. The next 48-72 hours are going to be critical. I will be on my way to Atlanta later this evening. Please, please keep Ronnie, Anna and the rest of our family in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you in advance for your support from afar.

Love,
Ashley

Excuse Note

In lieu of a real post, you get the following excuse note:

* There was a tornado warning and we had to go to the basement for an hour.

* Justin and Eva's internet is broken.

* It was way more fun to take approximately 100 pictures of Dillon and the fam (see post below).

* My thumb hurts due to lacerations sustained during the administration of medicine to a cat (Poor Mr. Ranger).

* I was watching the episode of Scooby Doo guest starring Davey Jones.

* I'm three-quarters of the way through a book that I'm enjoying rather much.

* My back hurts from lifting the Chunk-a-Munk all weekend. (I know, Pen...lift with the legs. I simply must learn!)

* Tomorrow is Monday.

Perspective

Whip It

While I still think that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is one of the worst titles ever and held out hope that maybe that was just the bogus title it was being shipped under, I can't deny a little thrill that Harrison Ford is picking up the fedora again for a little cine-magic. Check it out.

Some Thing Never Change

I'm in the shower and Mom yells, "Stick your head out!"

So I look around the curtain and she's standing there in that sort of how-do-I-look pose. She's wearing a cocoa colored empire waist shirt with pintucks around the yolk and a long olive green quilted jacket. I screw up my face. "It's all...too long."

She departs and I continue soaping and sudsing. "I'm back," she calls. I stick my head out. "What if I tucked it in?"

"Mmm," I say, eyeing it. "That's better." She bustles off to get her coat, and I carry on. Minutes pass.

"One more time," she calls.

I'm standing on one leg, razor handle clamped in my teeth, and I pull the curtain aside. The pintucked top is tucked in, khakis belted with brown leather and she's thrown a soft denim jacket with a mandarin collar and oversized buttons over it. "Perfect," I mumble around plastic.

"Thanks," she calls, already scooting down the hall. "I thought I might have to go to work naked just because I couldn't find anything to wear."

I finish showering, hoping that when I'm 63, I'm still spunky enough to discard four outfits to get it right.

All You Need is Love

Love is all you need.

Is it just me...

...or if you had one of those Bush/Cheney '04 stickers still on your bumper, would you consider removing the whole thing with a sledgehammer?

PSA: For the Jane-ophiliacs

Available on DVD today. I got my copy. You should get one, too.

The View from Here

* Work avalanche

* Sorry I'm blogging less

* Swing State - swung? No commenters, no motivation. Should we withdraw from the race?

* 401(k) decisions

* Still trying to determine the fastest way to get to work

* Working on a (one, just one) friend(?)

* Dinner with Atl coworkers last night at DePalma's...so lovely to have dinner with four women and gab

* Light fading, shadows long and eerie

* Pillows and good night

Old Lady Smackdown

For a hearty laugh, I recommend listening to this.

Throwdown on ProRun

Chris wins - which I kind of love - and Ricki is OUT (finally!). This episode, in which the designers created an "in-the-ring" look for the WWE Divas, was beyond fierce, and here's why:

"My wrestler name is Ferosha Coutura and my signature move would be to spray hairspray in the other girl's eyes." - Christian

"Jesus, talk about Ava Gabor on Green Acres!" - Tim Gunn

"She's one of the fiercest people I've ever met and that means a lot coming from me - cause I've had some fierce bitches up in my life." - Christian

"It's kind of stripper-tranny." - Chris

"It does not look like what I'd normally do as a designer. It looks like I've been smoking crack or something." - Rami

"We're going to Spandex House where you'll have $100 to spend." - Tim Gunn

"What are the judges going to say?! What is Nina Garcia going to say about pink spandex and rhinestones?!" - Chris

"I feel like a pope in a sex club." - Michael Kors

Spinning Plates

Work is going really well. I am two weeks away from the six-month mark. I have officially taken over the leadership role on two major accounts and am in transition on a third. I'm a second on one of the firm's most volatile accounts (The Client Who Shall Not Be Named), and I've been tapped to work on the creative concept development for a new client. The Big Boss stopped me in the Atlanta office the other day to personally applaud my work. People hug me when I arrive in Atlanta; the office banter is getting easier. And so rises the "Hallelujah" chorus to a grand crescendo...and then...

And then I realize that I'm working late a lot. When I'm not working, I'm thinking about work. My email is woefully neglected. I forget to return phone calls or else can't muster the energy for a real conversation. Yesterday, STGD suggested I post a photo of a cobweb on the blog. I was excited about Swing State and yet, I haven't worked on making it what I wanted it to be. I just...ran out of gas. And writing beyond that? Forget about it.

The money I've been saving for the Elusive House Purchase in the Nonspecific Future is sitting in my checking account - my non-interest bearing checking account - because I cannot wrap my brain around putting a chunk of it into the savings account that I set up months ago.

And while I continue to raise my hand for all sorts of charitable causes (an extension of work in many ways) my social life hasn't seen considerable growth in the months since my job began.

But this isn't a post about how I need to work less. Or even, really, how work is getting in the way of life. I actually enjoy what I do. I like my job. So what gives?

The delicate balance between applying enough force to maintain momentum and enjoying the spin is escaping me. Instead, I've got one plate in my grip, spinning it for all I'm worth while the other plates crash to the ground in a heap of fragments: unanswered emails, stacks of correspondence, phone numbers long since dialed, friends unmade. And on that one sharp point, dancing in a wobbling elliptical, is the dish in which I've placed my hope. But if I don't slow down, it too will shatter.

Four Eyes

I am now fairly recovered from The Yelch - which included a raging case of viral conjunctivitis. Or cold virus in the eye. Or weepy eyes all bloodshot and evil looking. This condition required me to wear my glasses to work on Friday.

I tried to be all chin-up about it, but I hate wearing glasses. The reasons are many - I don't see as well, tend to get eye strain, can't wear sunglasses. But the root of the problem is in the v-word. (Not that v-word.) Vanity.

I started wearing glasses around 2nd grade. Blue and amber shaded glasses with a tiny red strawberry on the arm for Strawberry Shortcake. The next pair of glasses were giant and pink, a la Sally Jesse Raphael (see photographic evidence). And then some over-sized gold frames, followed by a very studious pair of tobacco-colored wire rims. No matter the frames, how very cool or stylish they seemed when I picked them out, I was always four eyes.

It's my own hang-up, I know, for my glasses now are very lovely thin caramel rectangle frames that complement my face nicely. But I still hate them. Putting them on is like putting on an old identity - a Clark Kent persona of squareness. Being a nerd. Uncool. Overlooked. The smart girl, and never, ever the pretty girl.

Even when the coworkers told me I looked hip or writerly or smart...I just felt 13. Awkward and somehow shy. And like someone else. Not myself. I realize how silly it is to let some molded plastic change the way I feel about myself...but there it is. It does. I tried to tamp down the insecurity, swallow the feeling that everyone was looking at me differently (it was most likely the evil-veined eyes and not the glasses), but by the time I got home, I was ready to be rid of four eyes and go back to plain old two.

"Sick" by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Ah, Uncle Shelby.  If only I didn't actually have all these symptoms...

Winter Drive

Weak winter sun, a pale yellow egg yolk in the eastern porcelain sky. Lacy stamp of a half moon in the west. Cragged limbs of a tree filled with obsidian crows, eyes beady and glassine against the cold. Last vestiges of woodsmoke curl through the tight air. Bitter breath in tiny clouds after cautious sips of hot coffee. Skin dry and papery in front of the heat vents, fingertips numb - where are my gloves? No sunglasses this morning, crinkle my eyes against that thin creamy light flickering through the slats of pine trees edging the road, marking each second with light and shadow. Trees along the downtown streets strain their bare fractal limbs against the sky - now tinged blue or pink, the sun growing orange and somehow closer as I turn past the stacked brick building. I could keep going - keep driving in this solitary winter landscape - but I shut off the motor, go inside.

18th Century Jive: The Sequel

We just don't talk like we used to - or so it would seem from the pulp romance novels. I find myself developing a particular fondness for certain words and phrases. I confess, I'd like to bring a few back into vogue.

Exclamations
* posh
* bosh
* capital

Insults
* wiggy
* prig
* rakehell
* foppish
* doxy
* cad
* chit

Misc.
* frippery
* diamond of the first water

Cursing & Exasperation
* demmit (so much more refined, don't you think?)
* the devil take it
* dash it all
* bloody well

Chief Lionhead & Little Chief

I love my brother. That is all.

Seeing It Both Ways

Half Empty
* I had to get up today at 5:25 to go to the ATL office.
* On my way to meet The Goofball for our ATL trek, the full moon was still out.
* While handling the giant post-it note pad in today's meeting, I accumulated numerous paper cuts.
* I seem to have carried home Dillon's cold, manifesting in slightly stuffy sinuses and a niggling soreness in the back of my throat.
* Tomorrow I have to catch up on all the work that did not get done today or yesterday while I was in meetings.
* I must start thinking about having my taxes done.
* Control top pantyhose.
* Aching lower back from picking up Dillon a lot over the weekend.

Half Full
* After today's meeting one of The Clients asked me if I will be assigned to their account team long term.
* Everyone was in generally good spirits tonight at dinner, laughing easily.
* Rescheduling the daily dosage of The Medicine is helping me to actually sleep at night.
* Tonight is Pro Run.
* Excellent discussion with The Goofball about books to read.
* Tomorrow is THURSDAY.
* Elastic waistband pants
* Mom bought me a heating pad today for my aching lower back.
* Kudzu is snoring.

Are You a Donkelephant?

Because we'd like to rock the vote in our own way, Kim and me have started the new blog, Swing State. As a public service to you, dear readers, we will be posting what we know, what we'd like to know, and what we'll never find out about the candidates in this election year. In this election year - the first in a very, very long time (I heard when on the radio but can't recall...) that an incumbent is not in the running - the word CHANGE is the one to be pronouncing loud and clear at the podiums. We agree. Change is necessary. But for the right kind of change, you must have strategery or your mission will fail. We want to help, so that you can feel confident about your exit strategery when leaving the polls. Please check in for the on-going nonpartisan discussion of all things political from two of the least political people you will ever meet. Because if you're voting for American Idol, you should be voting for the president. We totally don't want to end up with a Taylor Hicks situation in the White House.

99aXed

It's the end of an era. As of January 25, 99x will no longer be on air. The 99.7 FM frequency is being given to what is now Q100, a top-40 rock format. The X will transition to 100.5, sans its morning show, marking the end of Leslie Fram's 15-plus-year run on the station's Morning X show.

For those of you who grew up in Georgia, listening to the Morning X was akin to watch SNL on Saturday night. It's just what you did. You tuned in to the legendary Barnes, Leslie and Jimmy morning show so that you could catch a few stellar lines and maybe hear the first spin of "Jeremy."

And then there was 99x Resurrection Sunday, which played chic rock and folk rock and folk infusion and was the first place I heard "Silent All These Years" by Tori Amos. I remember leaving Jenn's house and driving down a lonely stretch of road with Tori's voice reverberating through the old '92 Taurus and thinking, "Yeah."

99x sponsored the Counting Crows concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre where I met Adam Duritz - who gave me his autograph while denying me me a hug. Somewhere, I still have photo of Niki, Tempe, Heather and me with the 99x poster we absconded with.

The X hosted the Jingle Jam that Sarah McLachlan headlined at the Gwinnett Civic Center where we had fifth-row seats.

And there was also Live X, which produced some amazing acoustic sets over the years.

99x has apparently fallen on hard times while I've been away. With the rise of satellite radio and the faltering popularity of alt rock against top-40 pop coupled with the departure of Barnes and Jimmy from the Morning X and difficulty finding a successful replacement combo, it looks like it's finally jumped the shark. Goodbye, 99x. Thanks for the memories.

* For you OC kids, I couldn't find the old logo - the bright yellow 99x on the black background. You know what I'm talkin' about!