Now that I have a little experience….

Blogging time does not equal billable hours.

I guess it’s flattering, but I recently got in trouble with a friend who says that, if I am going to blog, I’ve got to commit to it, “own” it and do it more often. Well, when the lottery comes in, I’ll be blogging every day and writing a novel and and and…. Until then, I may disappear for four months at a time, blogwise, anyway.

Reinvigorated and ready to go!

For now, I have been forecasting a bit about the new year. I would say “reflecting,” b/c I am indeed contemplative, but it’s more about the new year and the new opportunities it presents. More of a positive look forward.

You see, I’m going to try to take my own advice re: PR this year. In addition to helping my clients show their best sides, I’m going to do a better job of promoting me in 2009. I promise, however, not to turn into one of those PR people who turns every client opportunity into, well, an opportunity to talk about themselves. Mostly, if I make my clients look good, they’ll tell other folks about me…but I have to be ready to help them do that.

I had gotten busy doing what I do and had not tended to my own plot of land. My collateral materials need updating. My Web site is out of date. And I’ve been so busy helping other folks network that I have not done as well as I could networking for me.

2008 was busy; don’t get me wrong. In fact, much of it was standing-on-my-head busy. Too, a very positive aspect of work during the year is that I really and truly got to work with a lot of folks I really like and in whose work I believe. Can’t beat that.

But I need to up the ante a bit. Thus the recommitment to re-launch my Web site, turn out a snazzy new biz card and other materials, and tell friends and colleagues what I have been up to and what I want to do in 2009.

I know the bad news – the many bracing economic indicators. Still, about all I can control is how I help myself and my clients and I’m ready to redouble my efforts…so long as it’s fun and fulfilling. Not every second, but most of it.

You see, I’ve never done anything else for a living – really, since during high school – but I also can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.

So be on the lookout for my re-launch, and if you don’t see it soon, call me on it!

Happy New Year!

I'm taking up a collection....

Please send money. You see, I've flipped over my latest Dean & Deluca catalog and found that there is a $2,000 ham available. Actually, it's not even the whole ham. It's like a ham leg. The clincher is that it comes with a carving stand.

I'm thinking this is the kind of ham I would buy if I could sell Cindy McCain's earrings. Now that's what I'd call change, America!

In the meantime, it's just not in my budget to shell out for a $2,000 ham. I know that stand is alone worth probably $1,923, but it's just not do-able right now.

So, if you care a thing about me, please save your pennies. I must have this ham.

A visit from my favorite people

Today is my nephew's 12th b-day; that's him in the middle of the pic. He is headed to Hotlanta with my sis/his Mom; that's her in the subtle purple suit.

Nephew Will is one of my favorite people, along with his two sisters. I've made sure to tell them this over the years because I think everyone should have at least one or two or seven people who think they are, well, the bestest people in the world. Unconditionally.

And, it's not difficult to think so about My Favorite Redheaded People. Being an uncle is a good job.

Today I am remembering when Will -- who is the third of three -- came home from the hospital. His eldest sister, who is 6 years older, exclaimed, "I was just getting used to (sibling #1) and now I have HIM!" Not surprisingly, she and her sister have risen to the occasion and the three get along surprisingly well.

We're going to visit the aquarium, swim in the (chilly!) pool, eat lots of chicken fingers and fries, eat something chocolate, play games, make farting noises, and generally fawn over the person I call "Wilburtuna" for his b-day.

I hope you are an uncle and a nephew too.

Word: Fulcrum

I always thought "Fulcrum" was a street in San Francisco where gay leathermen have a big festival every year. Turns out that’s “Folsom.” Dictionary.com says Fulcrum is the support or point of rest on which a lever turns in a moving body. Like in a seesaw, I guess. This Word of the Whatever comes to you compliments of Miz Paula Collins. For this she receives my undying affection, which she already had. Maybe this she means she has achieved the fulcrum in her life. Or the Folsom. Or something.

Lube me up, but please don’t kill me

This is not a column about safer sex.

Rather, it’s about a trip to have my oil changed at a national chain of, well, oil-change places. (That's my dipstick in the photo. Really.)

The otherwise unremarkable trip at first was only punctuated by the standard poor customer service and efforts to “up sell” me. As I waited I noticed that the young lady behind the pay/reception desk seemed unusually keyed up. And she was furiously writing.

I can understand that, being a writer and all. Of course, she did seem to grunt and wheeze occasionally. She also periodically punctuated (literally and figuratively?) whatever she was writing by poking the paper really hard with her pencil. Sometimes multiple times.

When she got a call from the oil-change shop about my car and took the opportunity to relay a question to me, I had the chance to see just what she was writing. It was a hate note. Or maybe you’d call it a threat note. (How do you distinguish the two?)

Yes, right there in pencil on notebook paper or a lined tab, mostly in block lettering, but also some cursive, was her vitriol. Boldly at the bottom or top of the page – can’t remember which, ‘cause I was trembling at this point – was the clincher: “I am going to kill you!!!!!!”

Note: It had umpteen exclamation points after it just like Reesa (the big red-headed girl who picked on you) would have included in a note she passed you in art class in ninth grade. I believe this key phrase was also underlined. I remember or have since invented that the lettering and multiple exclamation points got larger toward the end of the sentence.

Let’s just say it was a real serial killer moment. I got a little worried that she could probably tell I was trying to read her missive upside down. (And what bad actor will play me in the Lifetime television movie version of this saga?)

The writing and panting (hers, not mine) continued a while longer, and my car was eventually sprung from the service bay. I can tell you that I was really polite (not my usual) as I paid and “checked out” with Threat Lady/Receptionist.

I did the right thing, I hope: I went home and immediately sent a letter to the corporate office of the national oil change place recounting my experience and the threat that might be posed by Threat Lady. Hopefully they too found this disturbing and took action. Of course, these are the same people who hired her, so who knows?

I now make partner Billyjosh take the car for oil changes…and take it to another place…and carry pepper spray.

And, whenever we drive past said oil-change place we look at each other and say, “I am going to kill you!!!!”

Word: Broccoli rabe

Okay, it's more of a phrase and more vegetable than word, but please stick with me through this digression. Broccoli rabe. Or Broccoli rapini. Not to be confused with broccolini or the more plebian (just) broccoli. Broccoli rabe is an Italian green. Jagged leafy greens that have a little broccoli-looking head in the middle. I’ve seen it in the market with little yellow flowers on it. Dumb me: I thought it was broccoli with something wrong with it. Now is the part where I casually mention that I was once dining with two-time Tony award-winning star Christine Ebersole (though she only had one Tony at the time…) and she ordered broccoli rabe. It made me want to know about this vegetable and, well, it also gives me great cause to *casually* mention “my favorite broccoli rabe story” at the drop of a hat. Eat your vegetables; eat them with a fabulous Broadway star, if at all possible. (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org - one of my fave sites! Pls visit that site and contribute.)

Victory is mine...sort of

Today someone defaced the "Liberal" bumper sticker on my car. This enterprising person - who apparently always has a Sharpie at the ready - scrawled "Ahole" on the sticker. Actually, they have really bad handwriting (or maybe carpal tunnel syndrome from frequent acts of vandalism), so it looks like they wrote "Ahold."

Yeah, I should count myself lucky that the Ahole who wrote "Ahole" didn't do worse worse to my gas-sucking Japanese car, but I'm just going to enjoy the fact that I struck a chord with them.

I'm proud that my sticker provoked a strong reaction. I'm equally pleased that their, er, penmanship is so bad that the commentary sort of loses something. Hey, if you are going to deface my bumper sticker, print legibly and clearly and have your Ahole friend check your work.

And, just as Ultra Conservative Aholes blame everything vaguely and vehemently on "Those Damn Liberals" and "Bill" and "Hillary," I'm going to blame this squarely on the nefarious influences of Ronald Reagan. Makes no sense, huh?! Well, there you go. All politics is logical.

Liberal. Liberal. Liberal. Liberal. Liberal. Liberal. Liberal.