The Value of Free

Years ago, I decided to try my hand at teaching. I developed a curriculum that focused on Television Evaluation, designing it for youth groups, school kids, and whomever would want to listen. I eventually got invited to present to a group of adults over three sessions. Because I hadn’t really developed my materials fully – I offered to teach for free. In my eyes, I needed experience, and really needed to see what materials helped people.

When I was finished, I got a thank you note from the group. Inside the card, they sent a “little thank you gift” - a check for $25. I know this is going to sound odd, but to be honest, it kind of pissed me off.

I was reminded of this event when I agreed to photograph engagement shots for a co-worker. Before I get too deep into this story, I have to tell you that I don’t charge co-workers when they ask for photos. I am a longtime photo professional, and my time as a photographer is valuable (mostly because it takes me away from the little free time I get to play Solitaire online…) – but I have come to understand that free is far better than dealing with the issue of “value” that a co-worker might place on the work.

In other words, if I charge, and the co-worker is feeling jilted somehow, my life in the office will be miserable. The point is, I don’t care who at work asks for photos. They can have them. There’s no charge, and I’m happy to do something nice for them. (note, I am not available for their weddings - because I will only attend as a guest - but if they want a portrait with their dog - or their kids, I'm all theirs.)

I must also note that this co-worker and I are strictly professional. We don’t hang out. We don’t really talk that much – and we’re probably feeling fairly neutral about each other. We don’t NOT get along – but we haven’t exactly bonded, either.

This co-worker, however, found my offer of FREE hard to swallow. She said, “My fiancé and I would like to take you out to dinner- really nice dinner…. You can bring Dave.”

A small flag popped into my head, but whatever. She seemed sincere about it, so I accepted.

We had a really great photo session. The photos were fun – and my co-worker seemed to like them. She promised we’d go to dinner soon.

A few weeks later, we were out together, and had to travel about an hour to see a client. We stopped at a diner and ordered a quick lunch. I think I ate a burger or something. When the check came, she immediately reached for it. “Since I’m moving next week, I doubt I’ll have time to take you to dinner, so I’ll just pick this up for the pictures!”

I have to say - and I'm not proud - but I was really annoyed by that.

Ok. I know what you’re thinking. “But Kelly, you said you’d do it for free! What gives? You got a free lunch (and a check for 25$!!!)

Here’s the difference. Yes. I offered my services for free. Without help or influence, I decided to give of my time, expertise, and resources to deliver a product. I am totally cool with that. I am totally cool with a thank you card.

I am not, however, cool when someone else places a physical value on my free gift.
I am especially not cool when someone places a value on my gift – and then downgrades my gift to a six-dollar diner lunch. All I can say is “Thanks, but no thanks.”

It was more fun when I didn’t have any expectations.
__________
Postscript I: If I’m being snotty here – just say so – but honestly – why not let me do my thing? I’ve always loved giving more than getting… Is that so difficult? I mean, I don’t think I’m the one-eyed monster here…

Postscript II: I did headshots for another co-worker’s son the other day. It was fun. We all had a good time. The next day, that co-worker came in, showed me the shot and said “Kelly – I really appreciate this. Thank you.”

It was music to my ears.

The Glorification of Anti-Heroes

Years ago, I was talking to a friend of mine, a freelance videographer. We'd worked many, many gigs together - everything from corporate stuff to live sports. He's an excellent shooter who learned all his shortcuts from years as a news videographer.

I once asked him if he missed shooting the news.

He was quite intense in his response: "No, Kelly. I'm not missing the news. I'll be damned if I'm going to stand for hours out in the rain, waiting for a chance to videotape some murderer's perp walk. I just can't glorify that kind of person anymore."

Amen, I say!

I know news by nature is a certain percentage of perp walks, reporting on criminals, and sensationalizing the horrors of life - but I think my friend is right... that certain behavior is simply not deserving of my precious time...

And yet, some TV exec and some publishing house have done two things that make me crazy: One - Someone thought it was a good idea to publish books with titles like If I Did it, and then - some degenerate ratings hungry tv exec. thought it would be a good idea to put half convicted/yet free men on television to explain how he WOULD have murdered if he indeed HAD murdered. (Don't ask. Even saying that two-lettered name is offensive to me right now. Don't get me started on the ego it took for that two-lettered has-been to agree to participate in these activities.)

Please, News Corp. Even though the book has been canned and the interview cancelled, you have now officially proven to me just how little you care about broadcast excellence. I used to think that it was impossible to fall off of the floor - but you, Mr. Murdoch, have shown me if someone leaves the trap door open, one just might sink to new lows. SHAME ON YOU.

I'm just mortified.

WWKRD?

Kenny Rogers, in my favorite of his songs, quoted the gambler – “You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em – Know when to walk away – know when to run…” Where the song was a metaphor for life, I doubt he’d ever imagine his words would sum up my feelings about Election Day.

Ok. Today, I had the following choices for Governor:

The democrats present their incumbent: the smart, experienced Villanova lawyer-turned-mayor-turned governor. Yeah, he’s savvy – but he has no moral conscience that I can testify to. He also has a 79-year old lieutenant governor whom his advisors could not convince to leave office (I always thought governors could choose their running mates each election – but apparently – not so…). Also, the governor – might I add – seems to be about one Philadelphia Cheese steak away from a heart attack himself…

On the other hand, the republicans handed me a sports hero with no prior political experience. They forced the other candidates out of the primary race so they could push the sports hero. Ok… I might vote a sports hero with no experience to be the Mayor of Catty… but Governor of Pennsylvania? Our previous governor left PA to pursue a short tenure as Director of Homeland Security… I don’t see the wisdom in putting a plebe into the capitol.

So – how to choose?

Before I get any further, I want to talk about voting in general. There was a time when I believed my vote didn’t really count. When I was in college, I voted via absentee ballot. About a month after the election, I got a letter explaining that my ballot arrived ONE DAY too early to be counted - and they just wanted me to know that my vote was not involved in the election that year. I resented that. I really felt that my right had been stripped away over an efficient postal service. – I began to wonder if my vote ever counted… I didn’t vote for some time after that.

I was young and naïve… and have since changed my mind. Where I suspect that - practically - my vote only REALLY makes a difference if my candidate wins, I believe the whole situation runs a bit deeper. I think my vote counts because I’ve been given the responsibility – and the right – to be a part of the democratic process. I think my vote counts because it validates my status as an American… I don’t have a lot of regard for those who don’t bother voting… because they’re behaving irresponsibly. There, I said it, and I won’t apologize.

None of this seemed to matter much while in the booth today…

By the way, as an aside, I miss the old lever/curtain voting booths…. Mostly because they made me feel like I was part of a historical process in a way a touch screen can’t… well, touch. Also, I remember doing election coverage at the TV station I used to work at. One of the newbie reporters was interviewing a candidate live, on-air, and asked, “So what’s it like to walk into that booth, close the curtain, and pull on your own lever?” – No kidding. Today marked the end of the POSSIBILITY of such entertaining television…

Today, I left the voting booth depressed – because I felt that I had no really good choices for governor in my state – and my state NEEDS good governance right now. We’ve got all kinds of new issues creeping up – and I want a leader I can depend on. It went beyond voting for the lesser of two evils. Each was equally unappealing for different reasons, but in neither of the candidates’ final words have I found an ace that I can keep… (Sorry, I couldn’t resist)

Seriously though… somehow –the first time in my voting history - I honestly didn’t know what to do… How sad is that?

Restaurant Reviews

The owner of a swanky restaurant in the Midwest once told me, “People will tolerate bad food if the service is good. However, people will not tolerate the best food in the world if the service is bad.” He’s absolutely right.

Overall, I’m told I’m an easygoing girl – but one thing I cannot tolerate is bad service at restaurants. Maybe it’s because I have a friend who’s an amazing caterer – who taught me how fantastic good service should be – I don’t know.

I figure if I’m paying for food and a place to sit, I should enjoy the experience.

The other night, my friend Becky and I went to a popular (and crowded) downtown brew pub. We waited a long time for the server to take our drink order. We waited a long time for the cocktail to be delivered... We waited a long time for the server to return... we waited a long time for the food we ordered… which bothered me.

Occasionally a server would rush by and assure us that our food was on its way. Eventually, it came…. It was good food - really good, in fact. However, when I finished both my cocktail and my water, no one noticed. I waited for my server to walk by. He was nowhere to be seen. I finally asked another server for a glass of water. He looked at me as if I had curly locks growing from my nostrils, said ‘certainly,’ and sauntered off.

Ten minutes passed.

I asked another server if it would be possible to get a glass of water. She too, noticed the invisible nostril hairs, agreed to get water, and disappeared forever.

Ten minutes passed.

I finally see MY server, ask for water, and wait. (nothing...) After awhile, I finally get up to get my own water, when he comes around the corner with my glass.

I won’t bother telling you how long it took for the bill to appear… but I will tell you that I had to go and find it myself. As I’m standing at the register, I mention to the host that the wait for food was longer than necessary (it wasn’t filet… or soufle' - it was pub food) – and that I had to ask three servers for water.

“I’m sorry – we’re just swamped here…”

I explained to him that where I understand, it’s not my fault that they’re understaffed. I will go further to note that had they given me the option and told me service was slow, I would have made an informed decision – and whether I stayed or left, I would still have a high opinion of them… I explained that where I’m not a bitch, I wasn’t impressed. I tried to be nice about it… and normally, I’m okay – but I just felt I’d received really shoddy service.

“We’re sorry,” they said. I'm not sorry. They're not the only restaurant in town.

Last week, after I watched my sister’s cat, she and my brother-in-law took me to dinner. “We have a gift certificate to Red Lobster!”

I hadn’t been to Red Lobster in many, many years. I guess it's just that the idea of chain seafood doesn't sit right with me, I guess. The thing about this particular restaurant was, the parking lot was always jam packed… Lunch, dinner – there were always a million people there – and I had no idea why… When we arrived, I waited about 20 minutes for a table, and we sat down to order.

The food was pretty mediocre and certainly overpriced... But the fact of the matter was – that the servers were so nice, so attentive, so unassuming and so well trained that I didn’t even care. I was enjoying my restaurant experience.

After dinner, our waitress noticed that I hadn’t eaten my shrimp/scallop dish.

“Was there a problem with the shrimp?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t like it….”

My sister, who had the same dish agreed, “Yeah. It was kind of metallicky”

The server, without a beat, asked, “I’m so very sorry! Can I get the chef to make you something to take home with you?”

“No, that’s okay.” But we ordered dessert instead.

I now understood why the parking lot was always full – it was because everyone who came to Red Lobster was treated with respect and genuine attention.

So I’m giving 5 cat butts to the brew pub, and even though the shrimp tasted like lead (and I won't likely return), I’m still giving a thumbs’ up to Red Lobster for the pleasant evening.

If I Could Raise One Eyebrow...

Yesterday, a client (or more succinctly, a client of a vendor of mine) asked me if I had a nickname... and then demanded at length to know what it was. Does anyone else think that's odd?

Since when do I need to tell a professional colleague that my family calls me "______________?"

Creepycreepycreepy.

The Blissful Oldlyweds

NOTE: Here I go again - talking about faith issues. My beef isn't with faith, hope, charity, love, forgiveness or righteousness.... It's about Christians (I can hear HP chanting, Preach it, sistah!)

More specifically, it's about Christians who want to make other Christians in their own image... Ok, I'll shut up about it and just tell the story.

At a recent church social, I found my near 30 friend "Tina" near tears. "What's the matter?"

"Oh," she began, "Another married guy came up to me and said, 'If I were only single I'd ask you out!' - It just hit me the wrong way - I'm wondering why jerks like him get husbands and I don't.... Bob and Lisa want to pray with me."

The hair on the back of my unwed neck stood on end. Single women should never, as a rule, let married people pray for them in the event they're unhappy with their singleness. It just gives the blissful oldlyweds something to misinterpret...

"I'm coming too," I said as I ran to catch up.

Once inside the prayer area (a storage closet), Tina repeated her story. I looked at Bob, his eyes full of pity and sympathy (note I did not say empathy. I'm pretty sure Bob has been married since he was 12. He's normally an empathetic man - but he was clearly out of his league.)

"Dear Lord," he began - and then prayed that Tina would know the man of her dreams was out there... that she would be patient and understanding...

Screw that, is what I say.

I prayed, "Lord, help Tina remeber that she's not a second rate citizen, is a whole person, and that there's nothing wrong with her. Help her understand that she's not too picky - but just picky enough. Amen."

Sheesh.

The next day, I wrote Bob an e-mail telling him that being single at my church is a difficult, if not ridiculous thing to be... That I want a buck for every blissful oldlywed who approaches me and says one of the following things:

"Kell, you're so smart and talented. Why aren't you married?"

"Kell, you're just too picky."

"Kell, when you want me to stop praying for a husband for you - you just come up and tell me so..."

"Kell, do you ever think you could just settle down and love one man?"

"Kell, meet Gary. He's single too!"

"Kell, I know you live in America, but I have a friend who lives in Russia who's visiting - and since I know you like travel, why don't you come to dinner and meet him?"

"Kell - are you gay? If you are, it's okay..."

"Kell, you look good... My wife also looked good 40 pounds ago..."

"Kell, I'm sorry I didn't say hello to you the other day. My wife gets angry at me when I talk to you..."

"Maybe God will bless you with children some day..."

Bob simply laughed at me - which is distressing, as where the above comments are kind of funny en masse - they didn't feel all that great at the time they were delivered.

Why isn't Bob reminded that Jesus (regardless of what the DaVinci Code says) was single? Paul was single? Blissful unweddeds throughout the centuries - with the exact same amount of baggage as the dis-blissful divorcees, (un)happy oldlyweds, and transient migrant workers - have fallen in and out of love, made a difference in their worlds, and even survived people who said idiotic things like, "Hey. Tina's still single. She must have baggage. What's wrong with her?"

I once pondered making t-shirts with slogans that say things like "No, I'm not interested in your husband," or "Less Baggage than the average Bear..." or something like that.

What's wrong with the blissful oldlyweds? It seems to me that they, of all people, should understand that everyone is not exactly like them...

So hang in there, Tina! We love you just the way you are.

Abandoned Because?

The other day, Dave and I decided to go and see the famous Kutztown Pennsylvania German Festival. We thought it would be fun to walk around, look at cows, participate in the world famous Ox Roast (If you're a vegetarian or member of PETA, I'm kidding - but it's worth mentioning because they make a big deal out of it - so I will too.)

I ask you - What festival closes its gates at 5PM? Yeah. That's right! The Kutztown Festival. I'd never have imagined it could possibly close at 5 PM - but when Dave and I arrived at 6 PM to a virtual ghosttown of a festival (meaning: There was a tractor-drawn wagon full of Mennonite boys picking up the trash, a few vendors cleaning up, and a pen full of Palomino Ponies - and just about no one else.) Why, oh why didn't I take my camera in?

You may ask yourself why I didn't call first - Here's my reasoning: Never ever in my wildest imagination did I imagine that a festival COULD close at 5 pm. I had no clue. In fact, I ask myself many times - Am I responsible for the things I can't fathom?

Anyway, when we asked the lone vendor why the festival was closed. We expected something exotic like 'bomb threat' or 'water main break...' Instead, he waxed poetic about attending this festival since he was 11. He was now 48 - and as long as he could remember, at 5 o'clock, the festivities simply ended. He waxed at length about traditions of the festival - and in the morning by 9 AM, thousands of cars lined up for miles down the highway - just to get in. He waxed eloquently about the throngs of people that filled the pathways around the cattle judging, the quilt barn, and the festival stages... He waxed and waxed and waxed as Dave and I backed ever-so-slowly away.

We decided to investigate. Empty festivals seem perfect fodder for Stephen King novels. I looked at Dave and said, "Kinda creepy, huh?"

"This is the kind of thing that makes me wanna hightail it back to Philadelphia, Kell."

"But you hate Philadelphia."

"I know!"

We walked the empty aisles for a bit longer, and noted all the fun we may have been having, had the shoofly pie booth been open - had the lemonade stand been vending, and had the mule-drawn carousel been circling. It was eerily quiet. We half expected an ambush by the "IT" clown - or worse - Raymond the Amish Comic.

We headed toward my car, clearly curious as to how such a phenomenon as a festival closing at 5 pm could possibly happen.

Such pondering makes one (or at least two) thirsty, so we headed for a local restaurant. We asked our server, "Why does the Kutztown Festival close so early?"

"You know," she replied, "I've been asking myself the same thing for years. I've lived in Kutztown forever, and I've never been able to go because I work all day..."

When she returned with our drink orders, she reported that she discussed the matter with her co-workers. As it turns out, the Kutztown Festival has no electricity outside - so the lack of lighting forces everyone out early. Ok, if all the food is cooked with gas grills and the beer tent is cooled by generator - Maybe... but how crazy is that?

I'm thinking this is the most absurd thing I've ever heard - A festival that runs in the evening would make a lot more money...

But maybe the farmers, carousel drivers, and lemonade squeezers don't care about that... I guess that also explains why they had no fireworks show...

Day Off vs. Working at Home

I'm having a day off. It's not even 9 AM EST, and I've been on the phone 2 times with the office.

$.50 Screw

It’s Backwards Day:

Priceless: Me trying to figure out why my gearshift fell apart last night. I couldn’t find any spare screws. The headstalk was spinning on the stick. I moved it. The gear-button-thingie popped out (spronnng!) – followed by the spring. They were greasy. I wrapped them in a tissue and called Dave.

“Bring it on over,” says Dave, “Does it drive?”

I assured him that I could still press the greasy, headless gearshift stalk and put the car into drive.

Once at Dave’s, the whole thing seemed hopelessly… apart.

85$ - The cost of the Honda Mechanics to reassemble my gearstalk thingie.

1$ - The cost of the two replacement screws…

You Can Do It; We Can Help

I was in the Home Depot tonight - buying a quart of paint so I can finish these chairs I've been making - I'll post a photo of them when I'm done - Anyway, while the young 20-something mixing my paint was waiting on me, a co-worker of his came up and handed him an in-store test. It was a completed employee test administered by Home Depot.

Co-Worker: Here ya go. Just fill it in.
20: But it's already filled in!
CW: Yep. Just your name.
20: Wow! This is my kinda test! All right! Thanks, man!

20 then smiled at his audience of me, and two others standing at the counter:

20: This is just like it was in high school.

At that moment, I had a strange flash of a vision. The kid stood in a house (presumably his parents')... swatting at flies as the building's foundation was being eaten by termites...

I grabbed my paint and went home. It had better be the right color.

Fickle Fixes and Magnetic Fields

When I was in college, I had a Pentax K1000 35mm camera that I took most places with me - I loved that thing. When the light meter started to go, I was devastated. It was a sporadic problem. There were times it worked perfectly - other times, it didn't work at all... Back in the day when we all shot film (and weren't particularly interested in our manual light meters), this was a big deal.

I brought it to a camera shop in Grand Rapids. Of course, as soon as I explained the problem and handed the camera to the repair man, the meter worked perfectly.

"There's nothing wrong with your light meter," said the repair man.

"But I'm telling you, there is a problem. It doesn't always work."

"You'll have to bring it to me when it's not working."

Hardly. Everytime I drove past the camera shop, I checked the meter. As if some divine magnetic field surrounded the area, the light meter ALWAYS worked at the camera shop. It never worked when I was shooting.

This is not the last time something like this happened to me.

Throughout the past year or so, my car sporadically refused to start. The engine cranked - just no juice. Sometimes it happened in cold weather, sometimes in hot - sometimes after it sat for a long period of time, sometimes after I had driven to the store.

The fact is, the idea of my car not starting is horrifying. In fact, anything that happens outside of my realm of control is horrifying. I kept panicking - wondering if I'd miss a big shoot because of my sporadically not-starting car.

The first time it happened, I thought, "I have AAA. I'll call them, and they'll take it to the garage and get 'er fixed." - Well, by the time the tow truck arrived, the car started on its own. The driver was ticked at me. I was kind of ticked that the car embarassed me... Grrr. The situation ensued. Most times, the car would start within a few minutes' time - or at worst, by the next morning.

After it happened the third time, I took it to my local mechanic.

This guy is a good mechanic - but said he couldn't diagnose the problem with my car unless it failed while in his presence. Now, this posed a big problem. When it failed, I could hardly bring it on over... I couldn't predict when it would fail (although it seemed to happen more in the summer) - In fact, even if I called him when it failed, by the time he theoretically would arrive at my house (in all his mechanic-knight-in-shining-armor glory), chances are the car would start perfectly. I could just picture him, with the same "Isn't she cute and attention-starved" look on his face that I got from the camera shop guy.

After a few futile attempts to solve the problem, I gave up on my normal mechanic. I called Dave's mechanic. They looked into the records and found no repeating issue matching my car's symptoms, and told me the same thing: "We need to see it while it's failing..." Great. I had no idea how that was going to happen. Finally, I decided to take the car to the dealership.

I'm deathly afraid of the dealership. I'd rather cut off my right arm than take the car to the dealership. Dealer prices are so insanely high that it's difficult to imagine how anyone pays them. (Except me, because I had no choice.) So with trepidation, I drove it over, thinking it would certainly fail if left to sit in a hot parking lot.

Well, it didn't. I picked it up later that evening. They were really nice about it, though, "We'll keep the ticket open - just drop it off when you can and we'll try it again."

A week or so later, I dropped it off again. After a day, my rep called, "It didn't fail. Would you like us to fix what I'm 99.9% sure is wrong with your car?" (fuel injection pump or something)

I asked them to wait another day. Another fruitless effort. My car refused to fail for the dealer mechanics.

I'm beginning to think that magnetic field surrounding the Grand Rapids camera shop now surrounds me. MY magnetic field is what causes my car to fail, and it's not fair.

I called the dealer, "Go ahead. Fix whatever you think it is."

So far, the car has started every time I've asked it to (twice) - which makes me glad. The catch is - I'm still, of course, worried that they got the wrong part - and the $33 worth of metal (and the $150 worth of man hour(s?) won't solve my problem... My mind wanders - What if I get stuck in a not-so-great section of Philadelphia (or Allentown - or Detroit, where I never even go...) and can't get home? What if I can't get to a shoot? What if blabbiddy blah blah blah?!!

I guess I'll have to wait it out. While I do, I'm going to look for a doctor - to see about that mag field. sheesh.

Hey, You're From Pennsylvania, Aren't You?

About a year ago, I was staying at a New York City hotel. I needed some cash, so I asked the concierge for a MAC machine.

"You're from Pennsylvania, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I replied. "How'd you know?"

"Cause you asked for a MAC machine. No one has MAC machines except Pennsylvania. The rest of the known Universe has ATM's."

"Really?" I had no idea. Apparently, Money Access Centers were purely a Pennsylvania-run company. We're an unusual state... All of our liquor stores, for example, are still run by the state Government... So why WOULDN'T we have our own MAC's? And why not have ATM's? (Perhaps because Automatic Teller Machines make my nephew, TJ wonder what exactly it is that someone has to automatically tell someone...)

Okay - all this to say nothing of what I wanted to write about today.

I have trouble with the ATM's associated with my bank. Perhaps they assigned me pin numbers I can't remember (which is weird, considering the way my brain works - for some reason, I can still tell you my security access code for my college workplace... the zip code to the town I grew up in... and my first boss' home telephone number) Perhaps it's because my bank branches tend to build their ATM's with their screens facing the setting sun - so using them in the afternoons is an exercise in guess work. Perhaps it's the braille keypads on the ATM's (with no speakers). Perhaps it's the fact that the ATM's associated with my branch never seem to work when I get to them...

I drive Dave crazy sometimes. Not to my credit, I've been with him on several occasions when one or more of the above issues have kept me from depositing or withdrawling the cash I needed to deposit or withdrawl. I have lost my temper in front of many of these machines (I'm bad that way - It's kind of embarassing thinking that I'm being mocked when they show video of my tantrums at the Branch's annual Holiday party. "Oh, there she goes again...")

Anyway, today, while riding with Dave, I needed to deposit. I asked him, not thinking about getting angry, to stop at my bank.

"Kelly, how bout if you drop me off, then take my car back to the bank? - or we do it another time."

Now I'm really embarassed... (There are days where I am undeniably calmer than the given situation should make me... That is rarely the case when it comes to me and computers, but really, a lot of people think I'm very calm..)

"C'mon. Gimme a shot. I'm better now."

"Kelly, if you lose your temper, it'll ruin my day."

"I need a shot!"

"I'm telling you, I'm not ....."

"Just give me a shot. I'm cool as a cucumber." (I'm positive that I've never actually said 'cool as a cucumber' before in my life...)

Dave reluctantly hit the turn signal, "Ok..."

"I need a shot - that's all."

So we pull up to the machine, and sure enough, like clock work - the machine won't even accept my card - It won't even push through the slot. (It wasn't the card - it was the machine. Down for maintenance - again... Infuriating, yet, I am as serene as my vegetable counterpart.)

"Okay, let's go"

"Wow, Kell," said Dave, "You did a lot better than you ever did before."

I simply starred down the barrel of the security camera and said, "You guys should fix this MAC machine. It never works."

I just said that so when I'm in New Jersey or Delaware sometime, and a stranger walkes up to me and says, "I work at your bank. I've seen you on video. You're from Pennsylvania, aren't you?" I can say that at least, for once, I was calm.

Where I can't really fathom life without my ATM card - I must say that for the most part, technology just makes my life harder.

Let's Take a Vote

Sometimes our legal system enrages me... For example, I cannot believe Zacharias Moussaoui is trying to pull the mental card. OF COURSE he has mental instabilities. How else could he do what he's done? How could anyone of sound mind commit heinous crimes? Yes, he's got mental issues - but I'm not exactly sure how that makes him any less responsible...

I don't want to sound loony. I will say it should add to the judge's ability to successfully sentence - but I'm not convinced mental instability should commute a sentence...

The other aspect of that trial - or more specifically - the news coverage of the trial - are the photos of his abusive father and his sisters' interviews "oh, he had a rough childhood..." Where I understand how a parent can adversely affect his child... (I've seen it in my own family to a certain extent) - and genetics aren't always kind - but isn't there some point where people must claim personal responsibility for their actions? If not, why aren't more parents on trial for their children's crimes? It's clearly their fault, right?

No Longer a Cingular Girl

I got my new phone tonight. It was relatively painless - I walked into the Verizon store, told him what I wanted... and he told me he could cancel my Cingular Account right there... If I had my account number, which I didn't.

As fate would have it, Cingular had a store two doors down. So I went there. The guy was with two customers who looked like they were signing up. I told him I just needed my account number.. He was processing some computer info, so he looked at me and said, "So why are you leaving us?"

"Cingular doesn't work on my couch at home (or my office, or on the road between work and the office... I silently added)." I looked at the two newbies. "I"m sure it'll work great for you guys!"

They looked at me. "What town do you live in?" (great, I thought) I told them.

They looked at each other.

"What street?"

(Oh phooey!) I didn't want to tell them - but then they guessed! "Uh. Yeah!" I said. It's a known dead spot.

Then they just looked at each other. I *assured* them they'd be just fine and left as quickly as possible.

_____________

Oh. In High school news, I attended my neice's choral ensemble dinner theater the other night. My 16-year old neice did her thing on stage, and it was lovely... Until their choir director sang not one, but FOUR duets with her high school student. What really creeped me out was that she sang FOUR LOVE DUETS with a student. I've never seen anything like it and I'm not over it yet. I actually sent her an e-mail telling her she creeped me out (I was nicer than that about the whole thing. I said something like "You have a very lovely voice - and I'm sure there are adult choirs or bands that would be thrilled to have you...") I just really needed her to know that students should sing at student concerts - and teacher's shouldn't call such creepity-creepy attention to themselves.

(For all you Broadway buffs out there, she sang "All I ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera with a 16-year old kid.

ew.

She merely sent me a note back saying thanks for the note - and she'd keep it in mind for next year.

Why There's No Olympic Medal For Body Builders (And Other News about Baseball)

Conversation Du Jour between Kelly (who loathes Baseball) and Dave (who Loooooves Baseball):

Kelly: Wanna watch the Olympics?
Dave: Oh, please no! The entire Olympics are comprised of people sliding from one place to another... They slide down hills. They slide on ice. They slide down ice chutes... They slide lying down. They slide standing up... They slide big rocks...
Kelly: Kind a like Baseball?
Dave: What?
Kelly: They slide into first! They slide into second. They slide into third. Sometimes they slide feet first. Sometimes they slide head first. Slide, slide, slide.

Then, Dave just looked at me, kind of cockeyed. Then he didn't say anything else. He did, however, make me watch, in lieu of the Olympics, a TLC story about a female body builder who didn't *exactly* deny steroid use. "No one gives us credit for the exteme athletecism body builders exhibit..." said the she-male, deep voiced, waxed and polished woman with 2.8% body fat and breast implants.

I just want to watch someone slide down a hill. Badly.

Code in my Dose

Everyone at the office today has told me today that I either LOOK sick, sound horrible, or has offered a heart-felt "poor Kell..." No one has suggested I go home. No one suggested I get some sleep, although my boss bought me sushi for lunch - because wasabi clears the nasal passages like nothing else.

It's interesting what this amazing steamroller of a cold has done to me. I could taste the hot - and for awhile, it helped. I could NOT taste coffee. I could taste salt. Couldn't taste tea, although the hot helps.

All day I've been working on a project with the tightest deadline imaginable. (which is why no one has sent me home) - It looks good - and I am grateful (eternally grateful, really) I just need a vat of Vicks Vapor Rub. And a massage... And some juice... And a pillow.

Ok. I promise no more whining. I want to say that I heartily endorse the following Superbowl Ads: The Budweiser Streaking Sheep, The Fed Ex Caveman, and the Aleve Spot with Leonard Nimoy. Very clever, ad execs. Very Clever.

I'm panning the Pizza Hut/Jessica Simpson Ad - and even though the "Code Black" promos made me watch Grey's Anatomy, I feel I've seen the same basic plot on ER. That's it. The Cold Report, and my Superbowl Critique - all in one neat, easy-to-read blog.

Girl Interrupted

Life has such a way of changing my plans.... And it seems every time I have an overbooked weekend, something happens, and nothing goes according to schedule. This weekend, it was all about illness... For some reason, I've developed yet another cold (Could it be that I should've had a flu shot? My doctor said I probably caught it from the generous children I videotaped last week). I was so sure it was a sinus infection that I ran to the doctors for some fast remedy. "I'm sorry, Kelly. I see a lot of this run through my office, and I'm afraid you have a cold."

I also had a gig on Friday - and was so worried I wouldn't be able to sing. It's bad enough I'm short a guitar player (Fran is still in Singapore, living a life at a luxury hotel that I remain unaccustomed to) - In addition, I'd volunteered to cook at a camp I used to work for. In addition, I was bringing my nephew with me. I was thoroughly looking forward to spending some time with him. Following cooking, I was going to watch the Superbowl with Dave and his father.

To make a long story short, I managed to get through the gig. I sang for three hours before my throat began to ache (and hasn't stopped). My sister called late in the day to tell me my nephew was also ill and wouldn't be able to come with me. I cancelled my Superbowl plans, too...

I will say Dave took good care of me yesterday - and brought me soup... (Isn't that nice?)

I'd try to nap, but I had a work issue and needed to go into the office for awhile this afternoon (It's amazing what one can accomplish when no one else is around) -

I'm sorry to be such a whiny-puss, but between the coughs, congestion, and cancellations, I'm just so... interrupted. sigh.

Costumed Mascots, Parties, and Weddings

Friday Night’s fabulous Philadelphia party celebrated our friend Danny’s 40th Birthday. The event was held on the 50th floor at the Top of the Tower – and the view was beyond belief (photos coming soon)! I think Danny was shocked, shocked, shocked. The food was perfect, the band was absolutely the best cover band I’ve ever heard – and the guests were just happy to be there.

Only one little low point: Everyone was surprised when a woman arrived, wearing a natty and off-brand Big Bird costume. She sang, made bad jokes, and did the Chicken Dance… much to the mortification of my friend Laurin (who threw the party)… “Kelly, please delete all the chicken pictures.” Thankfully, the spectacle lasted a short few minutes.

I feel obligated to present “Kell’s Guidelines for Costumed Mascots.”

1) As a general rule, costumed mascots should only make appearances if the costume is high-end, good looking, and well maintained…

2) Content-wise, costumed mascots should only appear if the material is appropriate for all ages present (no stripping gorillas around the kiddies!).

3) Over all, if a costumed mascot is required for some reason that fits into someone’s warped sense of humor – or someone’s patriotic duty to feed into someone’s economy, limit your costumed mascot appearance to the delivery of singing telegrams at house parties, or maybe, if appropriate and not too illicit, at an office birthday lunch. Other appropriate events include grand openings, children’s birthday parties, and of course, civic events like fairs… (you can always send a singing phonegram instead. Much classier)

4) If the event is a wedding reception, or party at the Top of the Tower, don’t hire the mascot!

5) When the costume is natty, fragmented, incomplete, smelly, torn, cracked, or dirty, it should be cleaned, repaired or replaced.

6) Sporting events, kids restaurants, Toy Fair, and theme parks should be the supreme examples of appropriate mascot use. The costumes are cool – the actors inside them are energetic and entertaining, they are professional – and don’t purport to be anything other than the character… no strippers, no would-be singers, blah blah blah.

Take Saturday’s wedding as an example of the appropriate (if a little eccentric), use of a character… Spiderman. The great thing was – no one came in costume as Spiderman, yet he left an indelible mark on the proceedings – Because it wasn’t overdone, I’m okay with it… Note, this kind of stuff isn’t for everyone, but I think weddings should be a reflection of the couples’ personality – and this fit.

As I said, the wedding was a little unusual. Before I start – know that the bride has been reading Spiderman comics for 20 years. She’s seen the TV shows and the movies. She recognizes that the movies did not represent Willem Dafoe’s best work…

But I digress. The wedding was held at a summer camp. The outdoorsy couple “zoomed” into their married life by flying down a 40’ zip line over a lake (photo to follow). The bride had her gown cut in two pieces so she could remove the skirt to fly down the zip line. In lieu of the skirt, she sported a pair of baggy Spiderman shorts. The groom zipped down the line shortly afterwards. I have to hand it to him. He’s allegedly afraid of heights, so good for him. Way to support the wife.

The flight marked Spidey’s third mention at the wedding. The groom’s vows included a sentence something like, “And I’ve even accepted Spiderman.” As a joke to the bride and groom, the best man handed the groom a spider ring instead of the traditional wedding band. (The real gold band appeared two seconds later…)

Later, when the newlyweds were introduced, they entered to the ‘60’s TV theme, “Spiderman, Spiderman – Does whatever a spider can…” The bride even re-worked the lyrics to the same theme song to fit the wedding. It was silly – but fun.

I guess for me, the jury’s out on theme weddings – This one certainly didn’t go over the top (which I appreciate) by hiring a natty-stocking clad superhero… Think about it. It could have been really ugly.

Mascots belong on the sidelines of basketball courts, baseball diamonds, and football fields. They belong at Disney, Chuck E. Cheeses, and costume parties. I’m not against them – but overall, if the dress code is semi-formal, there’s no real place for stripping gorillas or chicken-clad lounge singers.

Oreo

BTW - here he is - in all his smug escapee felicity.

I Apologize for Being Petty

Ok, kids! Here's the lesson of the week: I've come to realize that when I write or tell someone about something that is outrageously frustrating to me - nine times out of ten, it's going to sound petty and ridiculous. (Let this be a lesson to you!). Then I realized It's not just me. Other people's problems often seem petty too... (just hit the "next blog" button...).

Here's what I mean. This week was frustrating to me - I had some issues with a co-worker. I mean - it was a little issue that blew to astronomical proportions for no reason - and somehow I was firmly embedded in the middle. (I should be used to this by now!). I was embarassed for my co-worker - then I made the fatal error of mentioning it to someone else in my company. In the middle of my rant, I started to feel really sheepish... I got a blank stare. To make a long story short, at the end of the next business day, my co-worker came in, I explained. He explained what happened, we apologized - and it was over.

What an amazing thing an apology is!

A few years ago, I was at a writers' conference on Faith & Writing at my alma mater. I loved it. I was inspiried. I came home and re-read all my notebooks. I though carefully about what was said. I read a lot of Anne Lamott. I listened to so much Bruce Cockburn I could become his archivist.... I became very interested in a group of musicians who did a panel discussion about songwriting. I was elated. The subject matter covered there literally changed my life...

Last week I attended a Buddy Miller concert. (Buddy is Emmylou Harris' guitar player.) Honestly, I didn't know much about Miller's music - I was really there to see the opening band, Ollabelle (wow.). Anyway, Buddy's set blew me away - and I was shocked and pleased to see one of the musicians from the writers' conference on stage, playing the Hammond (And. For the record, there's nothing like a Hammond when it's played right!) I approached him after the concert. He was in a hurry, and brushed me off until I told him I'd heard him at that writers' conference. He stopped. Said he hated how he was treated at that conference, and he'd never go there again. He then thanked me for talking to him - and left.

The next day - I sent him an e-mail via his agent and said, "Hey, sorry the administration didn't treat you how you envisioned, but in an effort to redeem the event, I really learned a lot from you, blah-blah-blah..." He sent me a note back - which sort of surprised me. "Thanks for the note, and thanks for liking my music." I don't know if I was being brushed off or not - but I was so sad about meeting someone - and hearing a complaint I had nothing to do with. The nice thing is I could at least remind him that there's another perspective (I became the blank stare...)

Oh well. I guess he's a musician - and we feel things too deeply at times... Maybe we're all too petty.

So I thought I'd tell y'all how much I apologize about being petty - and I give you permission to ask me (in six months) if I'm still being petty. I hope I learned something.