It’s Thursday. We’re still dissecting Sunday’s Mad Men episode as we do every week via e-mails, links to pundits studying plot turns and the occasional lunch. Peggy’s departure reminds me of my own life. My favorite Bradford Exchange VP advised me, “Even if you stick around here another seven years, you’ll still be seen as “the woman who started out as the administrative assistant.” I heeded his words, left and moved on to establish my rep as marketer. Peggy and I would be about the same age right now. I like to think she’s still calling her own shots, too.
I was raised in Miami where anything goes, which is why I wasn’t shocked by a recent Time Newsfeed article describing a nude dude chewing off the face of another guy one sunny afternoon. It gets wicked hot down there. People get cranky. But chowing down on eyes, nose and ears when you can nab a medianoche sandwich on Calle Ocho? That’s just wrong. Footage of the drug-fueled (bath salts) orgy can be seen on the Miami Herald website, but I’ll take a pass and use this as yet another reason to convince people that vegetarianism is a healthier lifestyle.
When Paul Newman flashed those blue eyes, I fell. The crush ended during a TV interview taped at his and Joanne Woodward’s home. His thoughtless remark as they left the kitchen — Joanne needs to stop eating — crushed me. I tossed him off my MFJ (Most Favored Jews) list. I recently received e-mail with an embedded tag that read: “If you wake up and you have a pulse, you have a duty.” The pithy Paul Newman quote struck a chord. I like that sort of thinking. He’s not back on the MFJ list mind you, but maybe some day.
A former boss favored these two phrases: “What’s to be done?” and “Food isn’t love!” – the second shouted at the pantry when too many snacks threatened his food sobriety. He was the quintessential boss: a lovely man who had our backs. Crazy schemes? Bring ‘em on. Sadly, he disappeared after being terminated. Rumors ran rampant; most speculating that he fell victim to a darker addiction – until a recent sighting. A former colleague literally stumbled upon him. Too embarrassed to acknowledge him, she simply walked away. Again I recall his words: “What’s to be done?” I sure wish I knew.
Damien Campbell is a member of the NRA. Not the dude I’d pick to hang with, given my dislike of guns and folks who live and die by them. But, you’ve gotta give him props for injecting an impressive amount of sales fear into the lives of folks happening upon his Sold Out After Crisis website (http://soldoutaftercrisis.net/index.php). I’m no stranger to the topic after writing a Yahoo Voices article on launching a survival kit business (http://voices.yahoo.com/how-start-survival-kit-business-10946258.html?cat=72), but the lesson learned is that people with radically disparate viewpoints can agree on some things. Wonder why Congress hasn’t caught on yet?
Joe said I could call any time. He didn’t mean it. Government mortgage relief funds still aren’t available, he sighed before transferring me to a woman who couldn’t help either. Next up: a perky chick with a voice so cloying, I longed to hang up. She proved useless anyway. I hope folks monitoring my call for quality control purposes give her a new job that doesn’t require talking. Three hours and two women later, Brook comes into my life. She says I’ve arrived at the right place. I feel like a lottery winner. Sometimes, an offer to help is enough.
I swore off new pets. Then, the Underground Cat Network circulated photos of newborns. See the result above. At two pounds, Tuna meows so loud, birds fear him. But that’s not the big news. He carries an autoimmune virus, so I now have a special needs cat to tend. Take him back? With that face? He’ll live a full life says the vet; just not as long as it might have been had his mother not been a wanton hussy. He’s busy destroying his room at the moment and eating like a pig. Maybe I’ll make him a FIV quilt.
I neither own Spandex nor do I have moves like Jagger, but that didn’t stop me from enrolling in Zumba classes at the park district. The salsa-infused workout lulls participants into thinking they’re at a dance club channeling JLo rather than sweating like pigs in exercise class. I paid the fee to seal the commitment – unless there’s money involved, I will play hooky. As I await the first class, my craving for salsa and burritos has increased 10 fold. I sure hope the class starts before I hit a new pants size so these hips don’t have to lie.
The Cat Genie (www.catgenie.com) is the ultimate in cat sanitation. Just add rolls of ready-to-paw toilet tissue. At $350, I’d need a cat with a job to afford one. Pets keep us sane, but they’re as expensive as kids. My recent Examiner.com article on Chicago dog vacation venues (www.examiner.com/article/it-s-vaca-time-chicago-where-your-dog-will-go?cid=db_articles) proves the point. A great pet idea can turn a pawper into a prince, which is why I’m exploring Poopsicles, designer cat boxes for felines that wouldn’t be caught dead pawing litter in a plain taupe box. My cat refuses to underwrite this brilliant idea. Know of any venture cat-pitalists?
Charlie Minato, writing for Business Insider.com, offers a social media schematic – via an original Buddy Media graphic — that rivals Tokyo street maps: www.businessinsider.com/social-media-marketing-landscape-complicated-2012-5?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+businessinsider+%28Business+Insider%29). Check out the cacophony of logos only after you’ve whiffed smelling salts. When do you suppose social media tools will short-circuit the brains of nimble Millenniums? That a reader noticed the missing Pinterest logo on the graphic is, to me, a sure sign that Nostradamus will soon be on Facebook and the Mayans are right about December. How hard does this society have to work to make everyone crazy? That, of course, is a rhetorical question.