It’s Moronic Monday!

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Monday is blah. Monday is blue. Monday is the perfect day for complaining. So... Every Monday (time permitting), I will whine, criticize and otherwise carry on about some grammar or spelling goof that makes me crazy. It might be something I spotted recently or just one of those common, irritating errors that the nuns at St. Margaret's Elementary slapped out of me. [Disclaimer: Nobody's perfect. I make mistakes, too. But just for fun, let's pretend I don't.]

Yes, we can!Today's goof comes from syracuse.com, an affiliate of Syracuse's Post-Standard. Given that the site draws more than 58,000 visitors per month -- and represents a metro-area newspaper that boasts a new $40 million press hall -- you'd think the peeps over there would be staffed to the gills with copyeditors and proofreaders. Maybe that would make a difference.

They need me.

Big picture blackout

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So the sugar-addicted husband just called from the grocery store. "What do we need to make frosting from scratch?" Me: "Umm, butter, cocoa, vanilla, confectioner's sugar..." Him: "Okay, all I need is the sugar. Let's see...generic is only 20 cents less. I'll get the brand name." Me: "It's the same stuff...get the generic." Him: "No, I want good stuff. Hey, why does it say 'corn starch' in the ingredients? Isn't corn starch unhealthy? Can't I make frosting without stupid corn starch?" Me: "Unhealthy?! WHY ARE YOU BAKING A CAKE?" <shaking head> Some things need no explanation as to why they are just plain goofy.

Am I an “us” or a “me”?

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I am not a pretentious person. I am an even less pretentious entrepreneur.

Still, following the advice of credible-sounding experts and sage columnists, I have been Sands Communications for the past 20 years. But I am not a CEO overseeing a building-full of little gray cubicles and fancy conference rooms; I don't commute to an elaborate, glassy office building filled with the cacophony of ringing phones, shuffling feet, elevator music and suited-up employees driven to "out-hip" each other.

Nope. It's just me, being paid (most of the time) to craft messages and websites that motivate, inspire, inform, entertain or otherwise serve. Continue reading →

The Museum of Conceptual Art

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image.jpgI stumbled upon this little gem this morning and got sucked right in. It's a highly random but delightfully interesting compilation of essays, humor, letters and other stuff that would be fab in a blog format but rests without pretense on a humble web page. I'm not sure who maintains it or why, but it's worth a visit. I'm still laughing over the "Masterpiece Helper Photoshop Plugin." Proof of my generally easy-to-amuse nature.

Nuts in the tree

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I recently had the pleasure of reading Billy Crystal's 700 Sundays -- his account of the brilliantly kooky family from which he came. Sometimes side-splittingly funny, sometimes gut-wrenchingly poignant, it reminds me that all families have their stories, and that, as I learned from minoring in psych, "sane" is just a relative term. (Pun not intended.) My family of origin is no different in that respect. My parents each came from family trees that bore more than a few nuts, and I loved each and every one. Most are gone now: Kind, warm people with ready hugs, open smiles, and quirkiness that makes me laugh out loud to this day. I miss them, and reading Crystal's book makes me want to set down their stories -- so I don't forget, and so that my kids also can know the joy of relatives that make you go "hmm." After all, my little cluster of leaves on the tree is hopelessly normal. At least, that's what I think. That's probably what those other branches of the family tree thought of themselves, too. So I think I'll add another category here for my own recollections of growing up in the classically dysfunctional Italian-American family of the 1960s and '70s. Stay tuned. Truth is stranger, and often funnier, than fiction. In the meantime, do read Crystal's book.

Jackson House view

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This is the view from a unit on the rental program at South Walton Realty, a website I designed and maintain for the wonderful people there. I painted it in watercolors from a photo, which causes some distortion. The light on Florida Panhandle beaches is very bright, probably because it bounces off all that pure white sand. (In particular, walking on the beach at sunset or dusk feels like walking in a watercolor because the colors are so melded and soft -- pale, pale turquoise water and periwinkle shadows.) It's a challenge to recreate that light. Those railings were a pain but a good lesson in how darker values move an object closer to the viewer. I have a lot to learn, obviously. But it's a blast!

Tired of thinking

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I am tired of thinking. Absolutely, positively burned out. I watched the final presidential debate tonight after attending a benefit for Francis House, a hospice staffed by angels who kindly and gently help the terminally ill with their journeys into peace. Well-fed, well-entertained and well-wined, I find that I am exhausted. Continue reading →

She’s home

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I have a daughter to whom the world just opened itself.

See, she's 17 1/2 -- a soulful, sensitive, intelligent and beautiful girl who stands at the crossroads between childhood and adulthood. From here on out, everything changes. And from my middle-aged point of view, I know that the rest of life is fraught (or blessed, depending) with change, like a sky's parade of clouds and sun, storms and blue.

She came home today, breathless after her very first weekend away from home without me. After her first plane ride, her first out-of-state college visit. And now there's no going back: She knows.

In one short weekend, she's discovered that the stage on which high-school dramas play out looks very, very small from 35,000 feet in the air. She's learned that her life can take her anywhere, with the right ticket... that education is a multifaceted experience that happens both inside and outside a classroom... that kindness can be found even in a great wide frightening world (thanks to a certain friend's grandma who played a very gracious host)... And most importantly that even as she flies from the nest, the nest stays put. Home is and always will be home, and her family will always be the one constant -- the keeper of histories, the protector of her soul, the solid, unshakeable sanctuary in a world that shifts with the wind.

When the time comes for her to go to college, I will miss her beyond words. But I will relish watching her open her life like a big birthday present, like I've done so many times before.

She is my heart, the tiny baby who changed my life, the little dynamo who knows me, perhaps, better than anyone. So for the time being, I am happy and relieved that she is here, and will be for many months yet. It's easy to talk to her about change. It's much harder to listen.

Educational disconnect

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Here's an intriguing, thought-provoking piece on the daily lives of college students. Based on what I'm seeing with my high school senior and sophomore, I'm guessing it's dead on -- except for college debt, which I gotta believe will exceed $20k for most students. (I'm still thinking about the video, but the first question it makes me ask is, how have we, in such a "connected" world, become so disconnected?)