There’s a WHAT in the Backyard?

My niece Farrah is always the first to report back on a documentary she’s seen that moved her or that must be seen by others. I’m following her lead on this front and calling out a beautifully balanced film that awakened a number of emotions within me: The Elephant in the Living Room.

The film tells the story of the very real exotic animal trade within the US, the laws — or lack of — governing that trade and/or protecting the animals, and the fear that drives the animals, their owners, animal welfare and law enforcement, and the general population. It’s not a film for the faint of heart — it visually and verbally draws you in and challenges opinions you thought were firm. I went to bed with the animal and human characters roaring through my mind, and awoke with them still speaking to me. And my firm opinions? Crumbling. Congratulations to Director, Michael Webber.

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Susan Cain on Creativity and Introversion

I love it when an article fascinates and inspires me to read, re-read, and re-re-read it ( as opposed to read it over and over and over again) to be certain I’ve gleaned all I can from it. And while I’m still not certain that the yearly all-access, fully digital family plan with premium products subscription to the NY Times is worth the two hundred-some dollars we are paying (after Chris’ student discount), articles like this make me feel better about shilling out the cash. So, thank you, Susan. Interesting read.

The Rise of the New Groupthink

By SUSAN CAIN  January 13, 2012

SOLITUDE is out of fashion. Our companies, our schools and our culture are in thrall to an idea I call the New Groupthink, which holds that creativity and achievement come from an oddly gregarious place. Most of us now work in teams, in offices without walls, for managers who prize people skills above all. Lone geniuses are out. Collaboration is in.

But there’s a problem with this view. Research strongly suggests that people are more creative when they enjoy privacy and freedom from interruption. And the most spectacularly creative people in many fields are often introverted, according to studies by the psychologists Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and Gregory Feist. They’re extroverted enough to exchange and advance ideas, but see themselves as independent and individualistic. They’re not joiners by nature.

One explanation for these findings is that introverts are comfortable working alone — and solitude is a catalyst to innovation. As the influential psychologist Hans Eysenck observed, introversion fosters creativity by “concentrating the mind on the tasks in hand, and preventing the dissipation of energy on social and sexual matters unrelated to work.” In other words, a person sitting quietly under a tree in the backyard, while everyone else is clinking glasses on the patio, is more likely to have an apple land on his head. (Newton was one of the world’s great introverts: William Wordsworth described him as “A mind for ever/ Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.”)

Solitude has long been associated with creativity and transcendence. “Without great solitude, no serious work is possible,” Picasso said. A central narrative of many religions is the seeker — Moses, Jesus, Buddha — who goes off by himself and brings profound insights back to the community.

Culturally, we’re often so dazzled by charisma that we overlook the quiet part of the creative process. Consider Apple. In the wake of Steve Jobs’s death, we’ve seen a profusion of myths about the company’s success. Most focus on Mr. Jobs’s supernatural magnetism and tend to ignore the other crucial figure in Apple’s creation: a kindly, introverted engineering wizard, Steve Wozniak, who toiled alone on a beloved invention, the personal computer.

Rewind to March 1975: Mr. Wozniak believes the world would be a better place if everyone had a user-friendly computer. This seems a distant dream — most computers are still the size of minivans, and many times as pricey. But Mr. Wozniak meets a simpatico band of engineers that call themselves the Homebrew Computer Club. The Homebrewers are excited about a primitive new machine called the Altair 8800. Mr. Wozniak is inspired, and immediately begins work on his own magical version of a computer. Three months later, he unveils his amazing creation for his friend, Steve Jobs. Mr. Wozniak wants to give his invention away free, but Mr. Jobs persuades him to co-found Apple Computer.

The story of Apple’s origin speaks to the power of collaboration. Mr. Wozniak wouldn’t have been catalyzed by the Altair but for the kindred spirits of Homebrew. And he’d never have started Apple without Mr. Jobs.

But it’s also a story of solo spirit. If you look at how Mr. Wozniak got the work done — the sheer hard work of creating something from nothing — he did it alone. Late at night, all by himself.

Intentionally so. In his memoir, Mr. Wozniak offers this guidance to aspiring inventors:

“Most inventors and engineers I’ve met are like me … they live in their heads. They’re almost like artists. In fact, the very best of them are artists. And artists work best alone …. I’m going to give you some advice that might be hard to take. That advice is: Work alone… Not on a committee. Not on a team.”

And yet. The New Groupthink has overtaken our workplaces, our schools and our religious institutions. Anyone who has ever needed noise-canceling headphones in her own office or marked an online calendar with a fake meeting in order to escape yet another real one knows what I’m talking about. Virtually all American workers now spend time on teams and some 70 percent inhabit open-plan offices, in which no one has “a room of one’s own.” During the last decades, the average amount of space allotted to each employee shrank 300 square feet, from 500 square feet in the 1970s to 200 square feet in 2010.

Our schools have also been transformed by the New Groupthink. Today, elementary school classrooms are commonly arranged in pods of desks, the better to foster group learning. Even subjects like math and creative writing are often taught as committee projects. In one fourth-grade classroom I visited in New York City, students engaged in group work were forbidden to ask a question unless every member of the group had the very same question.

The New Groupthink also shapes some of our most influential religious institutions. Many mega-churches feature extracurricular groups organized around every conceivable activity, from parenting to skateboarding to real estate, and expect worshipers to join in. They also emphasize a theatrical style of worship — loving Jesus out loud, for all the congregation to see. “Often the role of a pastor seems closer to that of church cruise director than to the traditional roles of spiritual friend and counselor,” said Adam McHugh, an evangelical pastor and author of “Introverts in the Church.”

SOME teamwork is fine and offers a fun, stimulating, useful way to exchange ideas, manage information and build trust.

But it’s one thing to associate with a group in which each member works autonomously on his piece of the puzzle; it’s another to be corralled into endless meetings or conference calls conducted in offices that afford no respite from the noise and gaze of co-workers. Studies show that open-plan offices make workers hostile, insecure and distracted. They’re also more likely to suffer from high blood pressure, stress, the flu and exhaustion. And people whose work is interrupted make 50 percent more mistakes and take twice as long to finish it.

Many introverts seem to know this instinctively, and resist being herded together. Backbone Entertainment, a video game development company in Emeryville, Calif., initially used an open-plan office, but found that its game developers, many of whom were introverts, were unhappy. “It was one big warehouse space, with just tables, no walls, and everyone could see each other,” recalled Mike Mika, the former creative director. “We switched over to cubicles and were worried about it — you’d think in a creative environment that people would hate that. But it turns out they prefer having nooks and crannies they can hide away in and just be away from everybody.”

Privacy also makes us productive. In a fascinating study known as the Coding War Games, consultants Tom DeMarco and Timothy Lister compared the work of more than 600 computer programmers at 92 companies. They found that people from the same companies performed at roughly the same level — but that there was an enormous performance gap between organizations. What distinguished programmers at the top-performing companies wasn’t greater experience or better pay. It was how much privacy, personal workspace and freedom from interruption they enjoyed. Sixty-two percent of the best performers said their workspace was sufficiently private compared with only 19 percent of the worst performers. Seventy-six percent of the worst programmers but only 38 percent of the best said that they were often interrupted needlessly.

Solitude can even help us learn. According to research on expert performance by the psychologist Anders Ericsson, the best way to master a field is to work on the task that’s most demanding for you personally. And often the best way to do this is alone. Only then, Mr. Ericsson told me, can you “go directly to the part that’s challenging to you. If you want to improve, you have to be the one who generates the move. Imagine a group class — you’re the one generating the move only a small percentage of the time.”

Conversely, brainstorming sessions are one of the worst possible ways to stimulate creativity. The brainchild of a charismatic advertising executive named Alex Osborn who believed that groups produced better ideas than individuals, workplace brainstorming sessions came into vogue in the 1950s. “The quantitative results of group brainstorming are beyond question,” Mr. Osborn wrote. “One group produced 45 suggestions for a home-appliance promotion, 56 ideas for a money-raising campaign, 124 ideas on how to sell more blankets.”

But decades of research show that individuals almost always perform better than groups in both quality and quantity, and group performance gets worse as group size increases. The “evidence from science suggests that business people must be insane to use brainstorming groups,” wrote the organizational psychologist Adrian Furnham. “If you have talented and motivated people, they should be encouraged to work alone when creativity or efficiency is the highest priority.”

The reasons brainstorming fails are instructive for other forms of group work, too. People in groups tend to sit back and let others do the work; they instinctively mimic others’ opinions and lose sight of their own; and, often succumb to peer pressure. The Emory University neuroscientist Gregory Berns found that when we take a stance different from the group’s, we activate the amygdala, a small organ in the brain associated with the fear of rejection. Professor Berns calls this “the pain of independence.”

The one important exception to this dismal record is electronic brainstorming, where large groups outperform individuals; and the larger the group the better. The protection of the screen mitigates many problems of group work. This is why the Internet has yielded such wondrous collective creations. Marcel Proust called reading a “miracle of communication in the midst of solitude,” and that’s what the Internet is, too. It’s a place where we can be alone together — and this is precisely what gives it power.

MY point is not that man is an island. Life is meaningless without love, trust and friendship.

And I’m not suggesting that we abolish teamwork. Indeed, recent studies suggest that influential academic work is increasingly conducted by teams rather than by individuals. (Although teams whose members collaborate remotely, from separate universities, appear to be the most influential of all.) The problems we face in science, economics and many other fields are more complex than ever before, and we’ll need to stand on one another’s shoulders if we can possibly hope to solve them.

But even if the problems are different, human nature remains the same. And most humans have two contradictory impulses: we love and need one another, yet we crave privacy and autonomy.

To harness the energy that fuels both these drives, we need to move beyond the New Groupthink and embrace a more nuanced approach to creativity and learning. Our offices should encourage casual, cafe-style interactions, but allow people to disappear into personalized, private spaces when they want to be alone. Our schools should teach children to work with others, but also to work on their own for sustained periods of time. And we must recognize that introverts like Steve Wozniak need extra quiet and privacy to do their best work.

Before Mr. Wozniak started Apple, he designed calculators at Hewlett-Packard, a job he loved partly because HP made it easy to chat with his colleagues. Every day at 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., management wheeled in doughnuts and coffee, and people could socialize and swap ideas. What distinguished these interactions was how low-key they were. For Mr. Wozniak, collaboration meant the ability to share a doughnut and a brainwave with his laid-back, poorly dressed colleagues — who minded not a whit when he disappeared into his cubicle to get the real work done.

Susan Cain is the author of the forthcoming book “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.”

Lease Assumption? Assume Nothing!

In prep for our move to NYC last fall, Chris and I basically took stock of our material lives and decided that we’d simply start from scratch when we arrived in NYC. And we did. We sold anything and everything that had value over and above its sentiment. It worked out beautifully: I had nothing but boxes to load onto the truck, and Chris got to furnish a new place from the ground up. The kicker? The Volvo lease. That damn Vovlo lease.

Now, I’m a huge fan of leasing an automobile. Three years, bumper-to-bumper service and warranty, and by the time you’re bored with the vehicle, you’re on to the next. When it works, it works. Beautifully. But when you find yourself in a city where an automobile is superflous, and you’re paying garage fees, higher insurance rates, and a lease payment on an automobile that still smells new but is sitting un-used in cold storage? Well, cold reality presses down pretty hard and painful. Kiss that money good bye and try not to be bitter about it. The good news? After nearly 5 months on Swap-A-Lease, (“You Want In, I Want Out” — love that tagline) we finalized the assumption of our lease with an interested party.

I won’t bore you with details, but I’ll share a few warning points to anyone considering lease assumption…

  • 99.99% of the “registered buyers” on Swap-A-Lease.com have no idea that they actually need to apply for credit with the leasing bank.
  • 99.99% of the “registered buyers” on Swap-A-Lease.com have bad credit and couldn’t quality for a lease with the leasing bank if they tried.
  • 99.99% of the “registered buyers” on Swap-A-Lease.com also have their own leased car listed on the site, making it virtually impossible for them be approved for a lease assumption of your vehicle.
  • 99.99% of the “registered buyers” on Swap-A-Lease.com use it as a social site, wanting to be friends and “wish me luck on the sale” after they’ve wasted hours of my time, signing off with lines like “it’s a great car and a great deal, and someone will be lucky to get it.” (What is this? A yearbook signing party? A break-up party? “It’s me, not you…”)
  • The other .01% of the “registered buyers” on Swap-A-Lease.com actually assumed our lease, for which I am grateful.

So — if you have the stamina, the fortitude, and the need, automobile lease assumption might be for you. Otherwise? Plan a day trip, go to The Home Depot, hit up Costco, visit your mother. Just put the miles on the car, make your lease payment, and count down the months till you are free to do it all over again.

Cinema, Movies, or Just Two Hours You’ll Never Get Back

Curling up with a good book has its merits for creative rejuvenation, but so does film. I love a good movie. So, in my quest for “creative inspiration slash mindles escape slash a good cry slash why can’t I look like that at my age,” I’ve been hitting the theaters for the big screen exeperience — big, expensive experience — and also hitting iTunes and downloading everything I’ve wished, wanted, or wondered about during my two week Holiday vacation. Of course, I run the risk of embarassing myself with the fact that the rest of the nation has already seen, reviewed, and put these films to rest. But hey, now I’m going to awaken those memories by vomiting my opinions all over you. The rating system is actually simpler than my nods toward a good book. It’s simply DO, do, don’t, or DON’T. Emphasis implied and implored. Enjoy!

Download:

  • Dolphin Tale: DO.
  • Abduction: don’t.
  • The Help: DO.
  • Super 8: DO.
  • Cowboys & Aliens: don’t (… And that hurts. The premise is actually pretty interesting — aliens in the 1800s. Why not?)
  • One Day: DON’T (Sorry, Ms. Hathaway. May not have been your fault, but still painful.)
  • The Debt: DO.
  • Margin Call: DO. (The best film I saw in 2011. Outstanding performances.)
  • Crazy, Stupid Love: do.
  • Angel’s Crest: do. (I wanted to use all caps, but just couldn’t quite make it work… maybe just a capital D?)
  • Atlas Shrugged Part I: do.
  • Dylan Dog: Dead of Night: DON’T, DON’T, DON’T, DON’T, DON’T (point clear?)
  • Captain America: don’t.
  • Water For Elephants: do. (Not as good as the book, which I really enjoyed; beautiful cinematography.)

In Theater:

  • Rise of the Planet of the Apes: do (Only because I had a crush on Roddy McDowell from the original… how did I know he was gay even in all the ape make-up? Gaydar lives in the Tween years.)
  • We Bought A Zoo: DON’T. I walked out. Within the first 20 minutes.
  • Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (US version): DO. (I loved the trilogy, and was ready for it to be ruined. It wasn’t. But definitely more graphic and violent than my mind was capable of conjuring…)

2012. Unwritten.

The Esplanade: Battery Park City

Harkening back to my previous post (come on, how often do you actual get to write “harkening back”?) about the produndity of language and words on a page, I was walking around the southern tip of Manhattan today, enjoying the new esplanade that runs from the Brooklyn Bridge over to Battery Park City. So beautiful. And it was the perfect day for a contemplative walk — New Year’s Day, sun shining, moderate amounts of people strolling, and a new playlist on my iPhone. I had just hit the gravel paths and foliage past the Staten Island Ferry Terminal facing the Statue of Liberty, and was relaxing on a stretch of benches facing the NY harbor when “Unwritten,” by Natasha Bedingfield started playing (Hey, I said new playlist, not necessarily new music). Now Natasha has her share of over-produced, pop culture, bubble gum music for teenage white girls — think “White Chicks” with the Wayans Brothers in 2004 and you’ll roll right with me — but strip some of her songs down to the words on the page and poignant becomes an operative adjective:

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

View from the Esplanade

It was a perfect moment, with just the right song — and the right lyrics —  encouraging me to embrace 2012 with a fresh perspective, with arms wide open, and begin anew. Hmmm, maybe Natasha and teenage girls are on to something. Or maybe I’m just gayer than I ever thought. Only 2012 will tell. But in the meantime, check out some of the music, the lyrics, the voices, and the songs that have found their way onto my playlist over the last year. If not Natasha, perhaps someone else on this list will inspire you in the coming year.

  • Christina Grimmie — Advice,  Liar Liar
  • Tyrone Wells — Pull MeThrough, Give me One Reason, Remain
  • Cary Brother — Ride, Feel Like You Make Me, Belong (favorite new artist discovery)
  • Graham Colton — Pacific Coast Eyes, Everything You Are, There Comes A Time
  • Ryan Starr — We Might Fall, Perfect, The One You Know (still one of my favorite voices — incredibly gifted)
  • David Cook — Let Me Fall for You, Fade Into Me
  • Rob Thomas — Someday, Feel So Bad, Sunday Morning New York
  • Maroon 5 — Moves Like Jagger (sexier every day. ridiculous)
  • Parachute — You and Me
  • Boys Like Girls — Two Is Better Than One
  • Kimberly Caldwell — Mess of You, Dsperate Girls & Stupid Boys
  • Owl City — Fireflies, Hello Seattle
  • Selena Cross — Warrior Spirit, Silence, Memories Won’t Fade
  • Safety Suit — Apology, Annie, Anywhere But Here
  • Stone Sour – Through Glass, Hesitate
  • Collective Soul — Staring Down
  • Leigh Nash — Between The Lines, Blue, Along The Wall
  • Grace Potter & The Nocturnals — Ah Mary
  • Andy Grammer — Keep Your Head Up
  • Michelle Branch — Everywhere, Loud Music, Breathe
  • Gavin DeGraw — Not Over You
  • Celine Dione — Where Does My Heart Beat Now, The Power of Love, Alone and, of course, I Drove All Night ( my personal tribute to Ann Arbor, MI, and my road buddy Ed Dziedzic — it was a “best of” album… I HAD to buy it… like I said, maybe I’m gayer than I ever thought…)

The Blog Is Dead

At least mine is. Was. Right now it’s more of a haunting. At least for me. But given the recurring, massive number of page views (6) and flooded email inbox (0) requesting  more posts since my last, I’m inclined to oblige. Can’t let the public outcry go unanswered. Well, that, and the fact that my karpel tunnel is acting up, so I might as well aggravate something other than Chris for a change.

Courtesy Fragonard

It’s funny that it’s been so long since I posted, given how powerful words on a page are elsewhere in my life. Newspaper. Film. Stage. Magazine. Song Lyrics. Literature. Pop Culture. I thrive on everyone else’s words, but have noticed that when I’m not spewing forth a few of my own, however random or unimportant, my view of the world — and how I see myself in it — becomes more and more myopic. I noticed a few months back that the more and more I dove into work, the less and less I was participating in the parts of my life that rejuvenated my creative spirit. I was screaming at everyone else – okay, encouraging — to make sure they have outlets and people outside of the office that ensure what they’re doing inside the office is inspired and connected, but rarely applying my own, very sage advice to myself. So — a couple of months ago, I jumped back onto the “word wagon” and have been digesting and devouring anything and everything that can be spell-checked, grammar-checked, airbrushed, subtitled or critiqued. I won’t bore you with reviews, just a simple nod toward a recommendation or not. Please, no judgement. I’ve got that angle covered. I was raised Mormon, remember?

Memoir/Literature/Fiction (focus on the latter… again, no judgement, please…):

  • The Art of Fielding, Chad Harbach. Recommended. See review. And read. Please read. Okay, that was more than a nod.
  • Dean Koontz’s take on the classic tale of Frankenstein: Prodigal Son, City of Night, Dead and Alive, Lost Souls. Recommended. Read one, read the series. Fast and furious. Brain candy. But if you’re really looking for a twist on Koontz, read his Odd Thomas series. Lovable  character, interesting premise for the series.
  • The Mill River Recluse, Darcie Chan. Recommended. But be ready for a little schmaltz. But in a good way.
  • Kill Alex Cross, James Patterson. Recommended for planes.
  • The Drop, Michael Connelly. Recommended for planes.
  • Angle of Investigation, Michael Connelly. Recommended for planes.
  • Zero Day, David Baldacci. Recommended for planes. (Seeing a pattern here? Travel much, Alan?)
  • All 14, yes 14, of the Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher. Recommeded. For complete real world escape. Check out the short-lived TV series on iTunes or Hulu, if you want a quick gander.
  • LIT, Memoir by Mary Karr. Maybe recommend. I admit, couldn’t finish it. Just couldn’t go there with the author. I tried.

What I’m reading now:

  • Conquistadora, Esmeralda Santiago.
  • The Dovekeepers, Alice Hoffman.
  • A Kiss of Shadows, Laurell K. Hamilton (of Anita Blake fame).

So… nodding, yet? In agreement? Or because you’re sleeping? Either way, stay tuned for more drivel coming your way.

That Buck Will Cost You…

A buck is a buck is a buck. As one of my nieces  aptly named it, “a green paper penny.” On its own, it doesn’t buy much, but backed by FICO or a creditor? It increases 100-fold. Perhaps 1,000-fold. Here’s the story…

Remember my celebration when closing my BofA Gold Account? All those years slaving away to wipe out that debt? Well, BofA actually made an error in the pay-off amount, and after that final payment? I still owed them a buck. Yep. A lousy buck. Now to their credit (pun intended), they waived it, and still settled the account closed. No harm. No foul. But they forgot to notify FICO that they had waived it. So, almost a year later, I happen to be checking in on my credit score (giddy that it should be GREATLY improved) and I see that I have a couple of “black marks in Heaven.” Yep, the old “potential negatives” on my credit rating. Turns out that the credit bureau never got word that BofA had waived the $1 (nor did I, mind you, so I never thought to check after the account was paid off and closed… lesson learned). No word. Nada. For nine months. In credit bureau terms, that means “seriously delinquent.” For nine months. Not pretty. All for a buck. Needless to say, I’m in the throes of drafting memos via email and hard copy to all parties. BofA says its not their problem. The credit bureau says that while they appreciate my bringing it to their attention, their report is accurate. So… back to more letters, more time, more energy, all to clear a smudge on my credit history that in today’s lending landscape may as well represent a foreclosure or repossession. All for a buck.

Another story…

Chris closed out his T-Moble account, and it turns out that T-Mobile OWED him $1. And because they owed him a buck, the company couldn’t close the account, and continued to send him monthly bills alerting him to the credit due him, but to a wrong address. And until he actually spoke with a representative by phone, acknowledged that they owed him a buck, and gave them the correct address, they could not close the account. When made aware of the error, he simply asked them to waive it, so that he could close it up and move on. Oh no. They refused. They had to send him a check for $1. “But after all this time, haven’t you spent about $20 trying to locate me and get me the $1 check?” Doesn’t matter. Have to write the check. It’s in the mail.

So… I wonder… Can we just sign the $1 check from T-Mobile over to BofA and see if the Credit Gods call it even? Remotely possible? Or simply too much to ask? I’m guessing the latter.

Overheard, Overhead, and Just Plain Over It

courtesy independenttraveler.com

We’ve all been there. We’ve all participated. Whether we wanted to or not. It’s the latest in business travel communications: the ONBOARD CONFERENCE CALL (OCC). Ah yes, it’s coming back to you, isn’t it? The boarding process is nearly complete, stragglers are filing in, and then that ONE individual boards who just happens to be in the middle of some self-important business call. And then the OCC kicks in. It’s something none of us ever really anticipated, this opportunity to brainstorm and provide real time feedback on a piece of business we don’t own, nor for which we can ever bill. But it gets dropped in our lap, nearly every time we take to the air.

One of my favorite things about the OCC is that the host is typically oblivious to anyone or anything outside of the ongoing call, and always seems to obnoxiously project the conversation all the way to the back of the plane. Hell, even the ground crew can hear it. And his briefcases or backpack beat fellow passengers up side the head with every twist and turn as he moves down the aisle toward his seat. Iced coffees get handed off to seat mates — or land in their lap — while he maneuvers past the aisle and middle seat to the inevitable window seat, only to discover he is in the wrong row. And then begin the apologies — not to fellow passengers, mind you, but to the person on the other end of the phone. “OH, SORRY, RICK. JUST BOARDED THE PLANE AND TRYING TO GET SETTLED. SORRY CAN YOU HANG ON A MINUTE?” Requests to wrap up the call by a flight attendant are met with a smile, nod, and a “one minute more” index finger that all of us want to return with a smile, nod and a “shut it up now” middle finger. But instead, we share eye rolls and sniggers, listen a little more intently, and secretly hope the competitive data and merger next steps being discussed on the OCC might prove potentially valuable to us or our clients.

Oddly, this same individual seems to dial right back in to the same OCC the minute wheels touch the runway, even pre-taxi status. “OH YEAH. MADE REAL GOOD TIME. SO, LIKE I WAS SAYING…” And so it begins again, but this time around, the OCC host cradles the phone against his shoulder, grabs his briefcase in the other, and then — while continuing his OCC — shrugs, smiles, and pantomimes that there is no way he can get his roller bag out of the overhead compartment while keeping the phone conversation going, visually pleading for some poor schmuck across the aisle to lift his bag down for him. And inevitably, someone does. And in unison, the silent screams of the rest of the passengers race toward the heavens and universe at large in the hope that cosmic karma will prevail, and the OCC host will hop in a cab with a driver he can’t understand, who won’t take credit cards (when all he has is cash), drop him at the wrong hotel, and drive away with his Blackberry buzzing on the back seat.

Is that so wrong?

One Large Coffee To Go (with a little beauty on the side, please)

So, nothing like a little back pain to make you stop and smell the roses… I found myself shuffling along like my grandparents in their nineties to get my coffee this weekend (and I cherish those walks with Grandma along her driveway to view the peonies and snap dragons), and I actually looked up, and down, and around. And it was pretty glorious. Check it out…

Color Only Found In Nature

Love Me Some Potato Vine For Contrast

The Secret Garden?

"...One Grecian Urn..."

A Dress By Bob Mackie?

Simply Stunning!

Today’s Question: Now Exactly Why Didn’t I Sue?

Years ago, while free-falling 75 feet from the side of an NCL Cruise ship, I wasn’t exactly  focused on whether or not a law suit might be appropriate. I was more focused on surfacing and surviving. And I did. A nod to heaven on that front. But the residual long term effects on my lower back — yeah, flat on my back from that height –  have begun to raise their ugly, painful, “remember me?” little heads with more frequency twenty-some years later. I’m still opposed to litigation for litigation’s sake, so a law suit was never in the cards for me. I walked away — okay, swam away — with my life, and that was enough for me. But as I start to watch the dollars add up and my productivity go down as a result of these little reminders-by-way-of-debilitating-spasms occur, I must admit, I wonder.

naturalremediesforbetterhealth.com

To that end, and to celebrate the fact that FOUR co-workers of mine — spanning early 30-somethings to late 40-somethings are all enduring this same pain together via various recovery methods (or methods that may later require recovery), I thought I’d just shout out a few back pain statistics for fun and for personal vindication. I’m not alone and I am not weak. But yes, Chris had to help me put my pants on this morning. Enough said.

This from the ACA (American Chiropractor’s Association):

  • 31 million Americans experience low-back pain at any given time.1
  • One-half of all working Americans admit to having back pain symptoms each year.2
  • Back pain is one of the most common reasons for missed work.  In fact, back pain is the second most common reason for visits to the doctor’s office, outnumbered only by upper-respiratory infections.
  • Americans spend at least $50 billion each year on back pain—and that’s just for the more easily identified costs.3
  • Experts estimate that as many as 80% of the population will experience a back problem at some time in our lives.4

A few more factoids from our friendly ACA:

  • Low back pain is the fifth most common reason for all physician visits in the United States.1,2
  • Back pain is the most frequent cause of activity limitation in people younger than 45 years old.3
  • Most cases of back pain are mechanical or non-organic—meaning they are not caused by serious conditions, such as inflammatory arthritis, infection, fracture or cancer.
  • Low back pain is also very costly: approximately 5 percent of people with back pain disability account for 75 percent of the costs associated with low back pain.5
  • One-half of all working Americans admit to having back pain symptoms each year.6

Our friends at PainScholar.org concur:

  • It is the most common excuse for activity limitation in people below the age of 45.
  • 80% of the world’s population experience Lower Back Pain at least once in their lifetime. Americans tend to complain of it at least once in every three months.
  • Lower Back Pain is also the most common reason for people missing work, second only to headache.
  • Americans spend 38 to 50 billion dollars every year on treating Lower Back Pain. Over 300,000 operations are conducted annually for the same.
  • Neck and Lower Back Operations are the third most common surgery in the United States.

Do chiropractors have an edge? I say yes. Chris says no. Given that my pain and incapacitation worsened after my Tuesday visit this week, we’re at odds on this front. Speaking, yes, but barely. Me, because I’m in pain. Him, because he’s laughing at me. But as long as he continues to help me get dressed? I really don’t care.

Negotiating the Truth

I finished a run in Prospect Park this morning (okay, a walk/jog, but I was out there, dammit) and was waiting in line at Connecticut Muffins to buy my Vitamin Water REVIVE (shameless plug for whatever firm is out there monitoring its social media landscape for organic conversations about their product. Enjoy.), and overheard the following conversation. Now for some parents, this may be everyday. But Chris and I are childless — I love that phrase. Always sounds like it should be delivered with a sob. But in our case? No. Please, our parrot is better potty-trained than our dogs. What does that tell you? And besides, Chris would spoil the kids absolutely rotten. He already puts dinner plates on the floor with a gleeful, “Treats, puppies, treats! Hurry! Before Alan makes you ‘sit’ for them!” So, you see what we would be up against…

Courtesy Retro-Housewife.com

So, the father/pre-teen son combo next to me shared (okay, I eavesdropped) this:

“I can buy my own drink today. I have money.”

“That’s okay, let me buy it for you.”

“But I can buy it.”

“Where did you the money?” (Clearly, Dad’s paternal instincts kicked in.)

“I found it in my wallet. I opened it up and it was just there.”

“Is it your money? Or were you supposed to use it for something else?”

“I had it left over from my metrocard.”

“How much did you put on the card?”

“Nothing, my friends and I skipped under the turnstyle.” (This was the breaking moment. Son divulged 1) friends’ poor influence, and 2) cheating the system. Clearly he felt the need to confess, but was trying to find the right moment. Which way would Dad go? I was fascinated. I secretly hoped the woman in front of me would order a very complicated drink so I could continue to eavesdrop… er, observe.)

“Right now, your small and that’s easy. But it can become a habit to start taking shortcuts, and that can lead to trouble. Cops watch that stuff. And if you don’t know how much money is on your metrocard, and you spend the rest, then you’ll have to call Mom from where ever you are and she’ll have to come find you and get you home.”

“Hmmm. Yeah.”

“I’ll buy the drinks, and then we need to go load your metrocard.”

“Okay.”

And, scene. Ah, a run in the park, a refreshing VitaminWater, and a teaching moment. Not a bad way to start my weekend.

Petal to the Metal

There is just something about riotous color and the wonderful madness of plants in bloom. Check out these city gardens — They’re bold and boisterous, and whether they’re carefully groomed or almost ignored, it’s still all about them. As it should be.

Uptown Minneapolis

The Lion House: Salt Lake City

The Japanese Garden: San Francisco

Downtown Cincinnati

San Francisco

Uptown Minneapolis

State Street, Salt Lake City

Minneapolis

San Francisco

 

I can't remember where this is... too much flight time...

 

Golden Gate Park, San Francisco

The Lion House: Salt Lake City

 

A garden gate... somewhere...

 

Not a bloom, but amazing in and of itself... San Francisco

 

Just A Little “I Heart NYC Moment”

The Westin New York may not be much to crow about, but it definitely knows how to serve up serendipity in spades, or, at least in a glass of Pinot Grigio. See, I’m the guy who checks into the hotel, heads to his room, dumps his stuff, slips his key card into his wallet, and then heads out into the city for dinner, a client meeting, a quick walk, etc. And those key cards? Yeah — they don’t have a room number on them. Not usually a challenge unless you are in a habitual state of channeling your mother (see “I am my Mother’s Son“), which, of course, I am. So… you see where this is headed…

I come back to the hotel after dinner, head to the bar to grab a glass of wine, only to be met by a bar tender who is cute as a button and believes I’m a regular (remember, I live in Minneapolis), so we chat about old times (who am I to disappoint?), and he asks if I want the wine billed to the room. Absolutely. Let’s do it. Room number? I have no idea. Absolutely none. There’s a vague memory of four digits, but I’m not seeing them come together in a fog, let alone in solid, bold print. The guy offers to check in with the front desk, but in the meantime, hands me my bill. The total? $17.42. For a glass of wine? Yeah, for a glass of wine. But more randomly, I think that’s my room number. No really, I think that’s my room number. He looks at me strangely, but calls the front desk, and yes, they verify that Alan Newbold is a guest at the hotel. And yes, his room number is 1742. The bar erupts in cheers and applause.

If I wasn’t a regular before, I am now. I’m so regular I’m history. And the bartender is glowing. And me? Yeah, me, too.  Just the little “I love New York” moment I needed. Cheers, NYC.

Where’ve I Been?

You know you need to slow down a bit when you have the titles for three fabulous blog posts saved in your drafts, and have NO IDEA what they were going to be about. “Generations.” “The Age of Inaccountability.” “You Don’t Pay Me Enough to Care.” I’m sure there were some events that triggered these titles. And the stories were going to be raucous, scathing and humorous. They had to be there. But they’re gone. So, just know that those three titles and a whirlwind of business travel have triggered this one: “Early Onset Alzheimer’s or Simple Overload?” , which boiled down, becomes: “Where I’ve Been.” Of course, this title infers the double-entendre of literally, where have I been, I can’t remember, in addition to where’ve I been, I’ve not been on my blog. Bored, yet? Getting there? Me, too. So, let’s just say that I’m upping my anti-oxidants, the B6, B12 and folic acids, hitting the gym harder, grabbing a yoga class or two, and taking some time off. And the world will benefit. Okay, my world. But that’s good enough for me. Stay tuned.

Can You Hear Me (Flush) Now?

Courtesy pointsincase.com

As a business traveler, I’m all about connectivity. Email me, text me, IM me, Facebook me, DM me, or yes, call me. But do not expect me to answer the phone from a urinal or, worse, a bathroom stall. It will not happen. I promise you. It. Will. Not. Happen. However, I can’t vouch for the rest of the male world. Sorry. It’s definitely happening. There are men all across the country who are downloading their co-worker on a client meeting or updating their boss on financials while adjusting their junk at a urinal or sitting on a toilet with their pants around their ankles. Classy, right? It’s true. And so very wrong. I came across a statistic in a training session the other day that boldly claimed that roughly 46% of people have used their smart phones while in the bathroom. And when asked for a live show of hands in the session, that statistic was embarrassingly confirmed. And yes, ladies, you are included in that statistic. I’d like to believe that the majority of that “use” percentage reflects surfing the Web, but the phone conversations I’m not only privy to, but inadvertently participating in, at the urinal, lead me to believe otherwise. Huffington Post Tech recently shared stats from a Google survey calling out that 39% of smartphone users have used their phones while going to the bathroom. Not in the bathroom – going to the bathroom. These conversations also beg the more important questions: Are our bathroom conversationalists washing their hands? Are they washing their phones? If there is a stat on that, I don’t think I want to see it.

Color Code My Pain

I’m always amused by a dentist’s ability — and my dentist, in particular — to translate human language around any amount of cotton guaze, metal instruments or suction devices. It doesn’t matter how gutteral my answer, my dentist can translate it with 100% accuracy. But what I didn’t realize was that if I listened closely — and left my “drilling happy place” for a moment or two — I could do some of my own translations. And trust me. Your dentist is communicating about you, for you, and sometimes in spite of you, all while masked, goggled, and robed within inches over your face. It’s all there for the observant mind and attentive ear.

Case in point…

Courtesy eStore

First of all, know that I love my dentist. She’s smart, funny, gets to the point, and let’s me show her all my new iPhone apps when I come in. But during my last visit — while in the chair — I observed my dentist and her assistant in discussion about whether or not to use “blue” or ” yellow”  for the injection procedure (blue or yellow “what” was left up to my imagination). “Blue” was the answer. Hmmm… she’s going to be injecting my gums with novocaine, so I’m assuming they must be talking needle size. BINGO. Score one for Alan. Engaging her in garbled conversation, she acknowledged that that was exactly what was going on.

“A patient doesn’t really want to know what guage needle is going into their body, so we color code and can talk right in front of them.”

“Your cover’s blown.”

“It was bound to happen. Open, please.” (Note the sense of humor I appreciate)

Next observation.

Courtesy dreamstime.com

“Thz dztf taztz luh bpen golahd”

“Yes, the numbing agent is supposed to taste like Pina Colada. It’s to remind you of beaches and summer so that you don’t focus on the injection point or the prick.”

First, she gets points for translation. Second, she loses points for mentioning injection and prick in the same sentence.

“Bpen golahd? Weh-eh?”

“Yes, Pina Coloda. Really.”

“Itdth nah woh-ng bah weh.”

“It will. The novocaine’s on it’s way.”

“Bluh, wah?”

“Yes, blue, smart alec. Now quit talking and open up.”

More observations…

Courtesy cocktailsattiffanys

While my dentist was out on maternity leave (story of my life in recent years at the office… subject of another post), her associate had made a recommendation for a procedure on a few of my teeth. Every time we revisited the proposed process after she returned to work, my dentist would call out that the recommendation had come from her associate. I finally asked her if she was truly in favor of the procedure minutes before she was ready to begin. I was ready to bail.

“Of course I am.”

“Every time you speak to it, you refer to the fact that your associate made the recommendation, so I’m getting the sense that you don’t agree with it and don’t want to proceed. Do you really feel this is the right procedure?”

“I’m so sorry. I absolutely feel this is the right procedure and would have recommended it myself.”

“Thank you. Based on how you kept acknowledging your associate, I was getting the impression you were not on board.”

“Not the case at all. I’m really sorry.”

Then, while a mold was setting up in my mouth in preparation for the procedure, she engaged her assistant in a conversation about how they should be very careful in how they are communicating to their patients to avoid any misunderstandings or lack of confidence.

“Ah ih dah wuh.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Occupational hazard. Didn’t meant to talk about like you weren’t here. I just wanted to make sure we took this as a learning moment right while it was happening.”

“Gah ah kuh hep.”

“You’ll help more if you quit talking and let the mold set.”

That actually got a laugh from me, complete with a bit of a choke on everything in my mouth. From her? I’m pretty sure there was a smile behind the mask, because there was definitely a sparkle behind the goggles… at least in my translation.

Getting in Touch with my Feminine Side…

You SO thought you were going to click on this link and find photos of me in drag. Admit it. Hate to disappoint. No, I’m talking about music — and not the “angry lesbian music” Chris always accuses me of listening to (though Amanda Marshall still rules, and is not a lesbian, no matter what Chris says). No, I simply realized that all of the bands and solo artists I’d been downloading of late were male, so decided to change it up a bit and follow some female vocalists. Check out a few of my new favs below.  Though some may be incredibly mainstream, the way they approached a certain song or attacked a vocal lick caught my attention. So, while they may not be new discoveries to you, their feminine wiles are definitely winning me over.

Fergie: The Duchess – Fergie steps out from behind all the glamour and delivers a beautiful, honest performance on “Finally.” It’s a nice surprise — though I still love her in-your-face approach to everything else she touches.

Alison Sudol (A Fine Frenzy) – “One Cell in the Sea”: “Come On, Come Out” on this album was my introduction to her, and it has stuck. Her glorious red hair is not nearly as memorable as her take on this song. The piano leading into the bridge is beautiful, too. And once she sells you the melody, she makes the simplest lyrical changes as she moves through it that are really interesting and surprising.

Bird York: Have No Fear – I discovered her renting the movie “Crash” — the song was “In the Deep.” There was actually a lot of good music to that sound track, but she was the find for me. She has this earthy quality in her delivery, coupled with a very articulated, attack on her consonants when closing off her words. “Until the Lightning Comes” and “Near You” are excellent.

Amy Winehouse: Back to Black – What? Amy Winehouse? Yeah. “You Know I’m No Good” is just sexy. Just listen to it. Over and over.

Kelly Rowland: “When Love Takes Over” with David Guetta is the absolute happiest song I have danced to, worked out to, commuted to, or escaped to in a very long time. She just nails it, and I can NEVER sit still when I hear it. Ever.

Donna Lewis: In the Pink -- My choice in over-produced bubble gum pop. “I Love You Always Forever” is so absolutely cheesy that I love it. You can memorize it, harmonize with it, and visualize any number of Dawson’s Creek, Vampire Diaries or O.C. episodes.

Adele: 19 – ”Right As Rain” and “Chasing Pavements” are just the best. Crank the volume to really feel like you’re right there in the room with her. “Rolling in the Deep” is a no-brainer, but check out this album to get a deeper taste of her.

Grace Potter (Grace Potter and The Nocturnals) – The way she nails “Paris, Ooh la la” on the self-titled album is just dirty. I love it. Makes me break out in a crooked smile and want to just grind it out on the dance floor. But then she takes you somewhere else complete on This Is Somewhere crooning “Ah, Mary.” And the twist on that tune is when she delivers the last line that unveils who the song is really about.

Floortje: Fearless – The album is nothing that blows you away. Her voice is even a bit on the thin side, but the simplicity of her vocals and the happiness in her licks is interesting. She’s consistent and committed to every line.

Rachel Taylor (He Is We): My Forever — The way her vocals blend with Trevor Kelly (the other half of We) “All About Us,” “Happily Ever After” and “Blame it on the Rain” is reminiscent of Everything But the Girl. She’s comfortable out front or subtly in the background, but either way she carries their music beautifully. I’ll look forward to hearing her voice ten years from now. That maturity is going to be amazing.

Katharine McPhee: Unbroken – Anyone who knows me knows how I feel about the American Idol audition process. I just can’t take it. So I just keep an eye out for some of the winners and runners up after a few years. Katharine has definitely come into her own on this one. “Unbroken” comes together nicely with the piano, strings, and her clean melody lines. She only pushes as hard as she needs to, and isn’t afraid to move and mix through her registers comfortably, instead of powering through, as the show seems to mandate. “Had It All” delivers in a predictable, produced, poppy sort of way — but she’s good at it, so why not?

Michelle Branch: Hotel Paper and The Spirit Room – “Everywhere” (from the latter) is probably the most recognizable, but “Are You Happy Now” (from the former) actually lets her deliver a little more powerfully and get out of her light and airy comfort zone. And I would swear she likes where this type of music sits in her voice than the other. It certainly feels that way when you listen to them back-to-back.

Natasha Bedingfield: Pocketful of Sunshine -- She grew on me with this album. She just sounds better. More settled. More grown up. “Pocketful of Sunshine” drives on with a memorable beat, memorable lyrics, and a memorable melody. That’s rare. Then she gets haunting and emotive on “Soulmate” — I know, right? Natasha? But she delivers.

Pink: Glitter in the Air – She wins me over every time she releases something new. The release of this single was no different.

Samantha James: Rise – I discovered her listening to some Kaskade remixes (love me some Kaskade). “Waves of Change” is amazing. So I sought out some of her other music. “Rise” and “Angel Love” from the album Rise  are great for ambiance at a cocktail party or just for hanging out and cooking dinner.

My Kobe Beef

(Photo: Lucy Nicholson/Landov)

Yeah. I’m going there. The Kobe Bryant gaff. The slur. The fated epithet. The sharp, collective intake of American breath and clutch of pearls at the realization that calling someone a f–got — or in this case, a f—king f–got — happens all the time, or more absurdly, could actually be committed by a celebrated professional athlete. Really? Come on! Who are we kidding? It happens on the court. On the street. Under a breath. Through a car window. In the mall. It just so happens that in this case, it happened in front of a crowd so large that the powers that be thought something ought to be done about it. Now, am I turning my nose up at a $100,000 fine slapped on a straight man for calling another straight man a f—king f–got? Hell no! Thank you! Let’s do it again! And then again! And I’m proud of GLAAD for seizing this opportunity to forge a partnership with the Lakers to make something good come of it! But seriously, when it comes to the actual slur, why the feigned surprise? Was it really all that shocking that Kobe might let it slip? Or that he should get caught using it?  Perhaps the real shock should come from the fact that a straight man calling another straight man “gay” — no matter how derogatorily — is still considered fair game as the lowest of the low verbal slurs. That’s worth a thought. No worries. I’m not going that deep right now. I’ll leave that for another post. But think about it when you have a moment.

Back on the court with Kobe and friends? Slurs happen. And this one, in particular with some regularity. Check out all the quotes by gay ex-NBA ball player John Amaechi. It’s really no surprise.  But let’s take it off the court. As an adult gay man, I’ve heard it behind my back, to my face, and to those standing right next to me. As a gay teen, and even younger, I heard those words — and multiple derivatives  — behind my back, to my face, and those standing right next to me. Those words are the reason I support the “It Gets Better Project.” Those words are the reason I support the “Matthew Shephard Foundation” and love The Laramie Project based on his story. Those words are the reason I marched down Broadway in NYC when Prop 8 passed in California. Those words are the reason I take the time to give a co-worker a hard time for calling the copy machine “gay” when it gets a paper jam. It’s why I take the time to post on a nephew’s Facebook page that if he uses the word “homo” derogatorily on his page again, I’ll fly home and take him to task. Those words — as ugly as they are — are the reason I am who I am today.

And that’s my beef. My Kobe Beef. Just when you think we’ve evolved a little. Just when you think that maybe Prop 8 may actually be seen as embarrassment. Just when you think your former religion may actually come around just like it did for African Americans and the priesthood. Just when you feel like the work of so many for so long is finally paying off — that Millennials are so completely mainstreamed that Gay Pride is an oxymoron and Glee is the norm — Kobe Bryant opens his mouth, unleashes a world of hurt, and you realize there’s still a boat-load of work to do on the gay front. Actually, just on the “being human” front. Oh well, I’m in. Are you?

Immunocompromised by Children

I am living proof that love does not conquer all. And so is Chris. Oh, it has nothing to do with our hearts. Just our lungs. We’re walking test cases that those of us without children are not only more susceptible to everything from the common cold to influenza, but are hit harder, experience it longer, and recover less quickly than those with the little munchkins in the household. I’m 10 days into a cold-turned-bronchitis, and he is 9 days into the same thing. So, what’s love got to do with it? Everything.

My brother Paul came to Minnesota visit his daughter, her husband, and their three small children 12 days ago. Eleven days ago, Paul and I met them for lunch before he went to stay with them for the remainder of the weekend. Adorable. All three of them. So smart, so cute, so funny. Lunch was a crack up. I loved it. It was great to spend time with them. But I couldn’t help but notice the occasional cough from each of the kids, and the runny noses that needed attention throughout the meal. I kept telling myself: “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. You’re strong. Just wash your hands. Stay positive.” Lunch went on, we chatted, played, and then I loaded Paul and them into their car and away they went. Or so I thought. A part of them stayed with me, and as more than a memory… That was 10 days ago. Nine days for Chris. The rest is bronchial history.

Photo courtesy Kyle Simourd, Flickr

Now, I’m not a sick-a-phobe, but I am fairly conscious of health and wellness, given the amount I travel by air. Air travel is brutal when you’re ill, and even more brutal when you are the one who is NOT ill on the plane, but in the vicinity of someone who IS. You get the picture. But I digress… I came home that afternoon, mentioned to Chris that the kids were adorable, but I thought they might have all had the sniffles. All it took was that look from him over the top of his readers, and I turned right back around and hit the pharmacy for Airborne, EmergenC, Dayquil, Nyquil, Robituson DM, Orange Juice, Grapefruit Juice, and a prayer shawl. The race against incubation was on, but we had already lost. There is just no way that an adult household with absolutely no contact with infants, toddlers, tweens or teens can survive an attack of the pre-school sniffles. Just no way. We are living proof. Oh, we kept the full-blown attack at bay. We cloaked the symptoms. We went to work. We traveled by air. We pretended. And by day 6, it had mutated to bronchitis, which, of course, we endured in ignorant, phlegm-filled bliss until days 9 and 10, certain we could beat it the old fashioned way — with a lot of cursing, coughing, and the occasional cry for help.

The dark humor in all of this is that whenever I recounted my tale of germ warfare and woe (between wheezes and unproductive coughs) to my “married with children” friends and co-workers, I was met with looks of bemused judgment. But all of them were human enough to acknowledge that they have immune systems of steel, all thanks to the little guys. Apparently, a runny nose is the status quo once a child hits day care or pre-school age. However, my “child-free” friends and co-workers who would even come close enough to hear my story were definitely more sympathetic — once they understood I was on the Z-pack — but still more interested in exactly how I came in contact with children in the first place. “So, wait, you had Sunday brunch with a 4 year-old, 2 year-old, and a 3 month-old?” Not helpful.

But behind the dark humor and behind this bout of bronchitis stands a man who hopes his immune system — and Chris’ –  is somehow the stronger for it… because the lake is thawing, the boat’s going back in, and I’m dying to get those three little guys out on the water! And there is no runny nose a little lake water can’t wash away, right?

The Art of the Press.

Morning coffee, courtesy manoneileen.com

Coffee is as much about the ritual as it is about the flavor in our house. And the ritual is mine. All mine. It’s clockwork. The beans. The grind. The maker. The cream. The sweetener. The color. The “ahhhhh, coffeee” first sip. So, when I came home from a business trip to find out Chris had chucked the coffee maker in a fit of passion? Yeah, my own fit of passion ensued! “What do you mean we  no longer have a coffee maker? It was here when I left!”

Granted, his fit was warranted. The hard water where we live basically killed the machine. Just mucked it up. Too many minerals to fight. It gave up the ghost — and he helped it (I’m still finding bits of that coffee maker in odd corners of the condo… something tells me it must have been a very “dramatic toss” into the garbage). But to come home and find not only my ritual, but the actual machine gone? Brutal. Just brutal.

So, we opted for a French Press. “It’s such good coffee,” everyone stated. “The flavor is amazing.” Even our Starbucks barista boasted he started his day with French Press coffee. Simple. Clean. Authentic. Perfect. NOT! Who are they kidding? The process is a PAIN IN MY ARSE!

The evil alternative to my coffee maker...

My mornings are now completely off kilter. My deceased coffee maker? Simple. You add coffee, press a button, go about your morning, and the coffee magically appears when you come back to the kitchen. If I’m feeling sassy? I program it the night before and wake up to the aroma of fresh-brewed java — just waiting for my final caress of cream and sugar. Near bliss… But with the French Press? I boil the water (6 minutes), add coffee, add water, let it “brew” (4 minutes), press the damn thing (slowly and painfully) and finally get that first sip (2 minutes), and you’ve had to stand around “waiting” for roughly 12 minutes! You heard me, 12 minutes! That may sound like nothing to some of you, but that means I could have showered, could have fed the bird and changed his cage paper, could have fed the dogs and changed their pads, ironed a shirt and emptied the garbage… You get my point. And now I still have to rinse the grounds, flush them down the toilet (god knows the disposal can’t handle them), and load the thing into the dishwasher. Miserable. The bliss of that first sip is so tainted now, I may as well have burned the coffee and added sour milk!

A French Press requires commitment. You have to be INVOLVED in the process. Who has time to be INVOLVED in the process at 6 in the morning? Who WANTS to be involved in the process at 6 in the morning? Not me, that’s for sure. I JUST WANT MY COFFEE AT SIX IN THE MORNING! The other morning, I let my feelings fly like Chris let my beloved coffee maker fly. Fierce, forceful and free… Something tells me our coffee maker is on order. One can only hope. And in this house? Hope floats!

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