With my current job, I can honestly say that I never thought I'd be called upon to travel. Coordinating/maintaining/inputting data more or less rightfully confines itself to a cubicle; however, in the past three weeks I have traveled to CA and DC, and it's been cool because I absolutely love going places (literally and figuratively). I haven't traveled nearly as much as I thought I would have by now, but at least I have at last discovered that my idealisations of travelling match up to my reality. Some lamented the packing, the time zone changes, the trek to the airport, the jet lag, getting smacked by the snack cart because you're in an aisle seat. I fastened my safety belt, relaxed and waited to reach 10,000 feet, became one with the podcast and happily wheeled my incredibly well-packed suitcase into my hotel room and slept like a queen.
The change of pace has been quite a gift to me, completely unexpected, yielding just the sort of workload that currently looms as a challenge. (And I think we can all safely assert that I have long-since been in need of a workplace challenge that falls outside of the how-many-f-bombs-can-she-drop-in-a-day's-work category.) However, it has left me with little opportunity or mental energy for cubicle shots; and, although I've scribbled prompts here and there, I've had no time to write here - in my safe place; my harbor; my brick house where I just let it all hang out.
Traveling during the work week has somehow obliterated my ability to keep up with the news cycles, and despite an almost ever-present internet connection I've not found a way to make time for posting from my hotel room or in between training sessions and meetings, but my delightfully new Motorola Cliq XT just may solve all that. I can Wordpress from my phone, Facebook and gchat, see your tweets and holla back. I'm thrilled if for no other reason than my long-held love affair with Inspector Gadget has somehow been fulfilled.
But enough about traveling for work because it is, after all, work and this is the weekend and I have a few observations to make.
Returning to the comforts of home I found myself watching TV and was quickly confused and bemused:
- Confused: I'm not even going to dignify the Brawny folks by inserting their ad into this here place for your viewing displeasure. I'm a writer so I'm going to describe what I caught of it: You hear "Lean On Me" definitely being sung by a whiter, peppier Bill Withers impersonator. You look up because you wonder why the tempo is so fast and suddenly you see the Brawny man with his big ol', burly but affable self multiplied to infinity neatly stacked on a store shelf near you. He hasn't had Botox, they haven't changed his shirt from plain ol' plaid to Madras; he still looks a lot like Clark Kent's cousin from Idaho. Suddenly, as "Lean On Me" plays on you see Brawny's arm move, followed by his lips and you think, "WTF?!" as you hear him join in the song. Visually he does it like he's singing "Oklahoma" for the first time on Broadway as Hugh Jackman, but as you listen and watch, the ad goes all Charlie Chan Chinese-dubbed movie on you as you realize that Brawny is pulling a Milli Vanilli. I ask you, why in the hell does Brawny need to sing? I prefer him for what he is - the strong, silent type. These are paper towels, people. We all know Brawny is the best and not just 'cause they both start with the letter "b." Everybody has at one time or another shirked the price of Brawny only to be damned later when nearly an entire roll has been unfurled to account for one hastily over-poured soda. You don't need to sell me on how I need to lean on Brawny, particularly if it involves him miming with an animated face that made him look like he got straight botulism instead of botulism-friendly Botox.
- Bemused: Gilbert Gottfried as the new Billy Mays is pure advertising genius. Granted, I was both startled and annoyed when his voice came a-screeching through my living room, but I totally viewed the Shoedini ad in its entirety and laughed out loud - you can even use it on SNEAKERS!
You know you're getting old but are forever young when you successfully convince yourself that it's okay to buy the box of Froot Loops because they now come with fiber. That's just a two-fer. I mean, really.
Speaking of things not being what they once were, I went to write a letter to my dad today and realized that I only had notecards left. Having sent him 2 postcards - one of which had a picture of Alcatraz and was signed "with love, from one prisoner to another" (I know. My sense of humor is outstanding and always timely.) - I knew a notecard wouldn't cut it. Since I decided to write by hand I knew I couldn't use plain ol' printer paper because my handwriting has become something altogether schizophrenic. I scrounged around and discovered an entire pack of notebook paper. I held it in my hands for what had to be 2 minutes, gazing upon it like the lost artifact it so is, and my mind whirled through years of Trapper Keepers and clipboards and first drafts and cootie catchers and folded notes during class plus a whole heap of drama with teachers eschewing college-ruled in favor of wide-ruled.
This was wide-ruled paper I held in my hands today and I had the nerve to get all disdainful knowing my mother had obviously bought it because I remember I had vowed some seventeen (GEEZUS!) years ago that I would never use wide-ruled paper again. Because it looks so juvenile being only one step above the brown bag-colored landscape paper of my 1st grade year. But I used it anyway, and smiled at how quickly the rhythm of writing upon notebook paper came back to me: how I wrote the date neatly in the upper right-hand corner on the top line just outside of the faint red border; how I had to tilt the paper to the left as my cursive leaned to the right; how the pen I was using wouldn't allow for me to write on the back sides of each page. I resisted the urge to doodle in the margins and eleven pages later I marveled at how obviously I have grown. There wasn't a "U" in place of a "you" to be found, not one heavily-bubbled "i," and the pages were folded neatly with no origami-inspired flair. I did manage to find a sticker for the envelope though, because the entire exercise caused me to reflect on the years that have passed and my dad's place in them and how suddenly so many years later I can see that about two things he has always been right:
Never hurry, never worry.
Keep your eyes and ears open with your mouth shut and you just may learn something.
But more on those hopefully in time for Father's Day ... and the start of my creative writing class.