Hot air

I followed the story yesterday of the six-year-old boy who was presumably stuck in a man-made hot air balloon his storm chasing parents constructed. Read the story here.

Turns out he was hiding in the garage attic the whole time.

Why jobs are like boyfriends

When I got laid off in July, I was bummed out. I sat around by myself, I cried, I ate and drank things I probably shouldn’t have. I discovered websites I didn’t know existed through hours of daily Internet surfing.

Now I’ve been looking for a job the last three months, with little to show for it (except an updated resume and a bunch of business cards from people I’ll probably never talk to again). Then I realized, looking for a job is like looking for a boyfriend. Observe.

The break-up

Sure, we had disagreements and fought once in awhile … but I thought I was pulling my weight. I helped out when I didn’t need to. I made you feel good when you were down. I gave you my heart, and you stomped on it. With no forewarning, nonetheless. What did I do wrong? Of course, I had to figure we were both having problems and dragging this out longer than necessary. But we were both comfortable, weren’t we?

Do I talk too much? Did I ignore you? Did I break the fax machine one-too-many times? And much like a severed relationship, I’m left wondering why instead of just moving on and getting over it.

Nesting

Now what do I do with all the hours I would usually spend with you? I can’t go and hang out at your place. That would just be weird, and needy. Instead I sit on my couch for hours watching terrible daytime talk shows and rented movies. I sit in my pajamas and I don’t shower until 2 PM. I eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and/or dinner. Along with ice cream, pizza and cheeseburgers.

When I’m feeling a little better, I try to find some fellow singles to go out on the town on a Tuesday night. But I can’t because ALL MY FRIENDS HAVE JOBS.

The first date

Finally, for weeks, I’ve been searching and searching for that someone special. We meet online and notice a connection. Hey good lookin’. Say, you’re in the Milwaukee area? You need someone with my kind of experience? You like grammar and correcting typos? Let’s meet!

We decide on a day, find the location and pick a time to meet. I have to dress to the nines and make sure I’m on your A-game. I’ve only got one chance to make a good, lasting first impression.

When I get there, I have to talk about myself. Incessantly. Not only that, but you have to make yourself sound good. Not only that, I have to make sure I ask you questions too.

The callback

This is usually done by phone or email. Texting in either situation is absolutely unacceptable. So far, I’ve received at least a dozen emails before and/or after an interview saying why I’m not their type. “You don’t have enough experience,” There were so many well-qualified applicants and it was difficult to choose,” or, my personal favorite, “I’m not sure you’d move for me.” (Not a direct quote) Fine. I’ll move one. It’s not like we knew each other that well anyway.

But the trouble always is, you don’t always know exactly why they didn’t pick you. You can’t read minds, and ask that potential employer why they made the decision they did. What’s that person you picked got, that I ain’t got?

Going steady

I’ve dragged the metaphor on, you can probably figure this one out. It’s when the job you’ve been seeing says they want to offer you a place in their heart. Or a cube, as it were. You want to support me and give me insurance? Let me celebrate holidays with you and meet all your friends? That sounds swell.

In all respects, I’m still single. Sure I’m playing the field right now with a few freelance opportunities; but I have yet to lock down that lasting relationship.

That said, I can still say I learn from every job I meet. I realize that some of the interviews I go to, I wouldn’t want to work for a particular person or company. Or I realize that I really, really want that job … but they found someone that can type faster, joke better or has more, ehem, experience than me.

Lakefront Marathon

I woke up around 6 AM and made the same breakfast I always do before a run: an English muffin breakfast sammich with egg and Canadian bacon, swallowed down with some Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. It was barely light out when I packed up the rest of my gear when Greg and I hopped into my Camry on our way to Grafton High School. Today I was going to run my first marathon.

Lakefront Marathon, October 4: 48 degrees and cloudy at 7:45 AM. Only 2,700 runners. Not nearly as many as my first race this past May; a half marathon in Green Bay, with almost 10,000 total participants. The Lakefront Marathon limited participants mainly because both Ozaukee and Milwaukee Counties can’t completely close down their roads for the race. The route itself starts off in Grafton, and goes along the Lake Michigan lakefront to downtown Milwaukee. One way. No loops or circles – you’re always headed toward your destination.

I made sure to charge my iPod that morning, and created a list with more than 100 songs, or six hours worth, for the entire 26.2 miles. I took off my sweats, down to my running shorts and tank top. A lot of runners wore cheap gloves, cut-off sleeves, or throw-away shirts to stay warm before the race. I didn’t because I knew I’d be warmed up within the first mile.

I went to the bathroom – a staple of any long distance run. I took one Imodium, to avoid any, err, accidents during the rest of the morning. Plus I was dealing with dear Aunt Flow that morning. TMI? Too bad … it’s worse dealing with it, than hearing about it.

I knew the last half would be more difficult than the first. My longest distance in training was only 16 miles, opposed to the 20 miles I should’ve made it up to. I cut back on my distance during training to avoid a knee injury and focused more on strength training.

Miles one through 10 were pretty uneventful. The run consisted mainly of country roads with a few scattered houses. I kept a 10:40 pace, and stuck with the 4:30 pace group for awhile. There were some volunteers that kept music playing in their cars. I also remember a guy playing a banjo in his driveway, while his dog sat by his feet. I knew I couldn’t use too much energy because I’d have to save up for the second half. I looked forward to seeing Greg, knowing he’d meet me at Mile 10.

I ate my first gel around Mile 8, so I grabbed my other one from Greg when I met him at Mile 10.

I made a pit stop at Mile 12 to go to the bathroom. I figured it was the best idea, since I had a full mug of coffee and at least a full bottle of water already.

I anticipated seeing Greg again at Mile 15, and told myself I only had five miles to run before we met up again. The next time I saw him, Greg gave me some Vaseline for my legs, because my shorts were beginning to chafe my thighs. I told him I’d see him again around Mile 22.

I stopped at every water stop, about every two miles, and made sure to drink at least one cup of water. I even had Gatorade twice, because I knew I needed sodium and electrolytes. I would walk for 50-100 yards to get my bearings and not swallow the water to fast. I also went through two gels, which isn’t much considering they recommend having 1-2 every hour that you’re running. (The second one I had around Mile 18.)

I went into the race knowing my mental strength was half the battle. I knew my body could physically handle it. I’m in pretty good shape, and I’ve been working to get here since March. The problem is, you can’t psych yourself out; 26.2 miles can be daunting if you look at it as an entire distance. So I broke it down to numbers, and made it a game. I knew that after mile 10, and every five miles after that, I’d see Greg. That broke the distance up into four (almost) equal segments, with the longest at the start. I could anticipate seeing him (and everyone at mile 22 :D), knowing he’d be there to hand me gear and he’d be there to push and encourage me. (When you’re at mile 15, and you have 11 more to go … you might need someone to give you some motivation.) I focused on each mile, and would tell myself things like, “Once you pass mile 10, you’re in double digits” or “Once I make it to mile 17, I’m in single digits to the finish.” It also helped that the last 8 miles of the race were usually incorporated into my training routes. I could recognize houses, street names, cracks in the sidewalk …

At Mile 19, I ran next to a middle-aged woman who was running her fourth marathon. We talked for about a mile. She told me she wasn’t sure why she was doing this a fourth time. She didn’t like the idea of taking up her entire summer with training. (For more than half the 3+ months of training, you should be incorporating a long run each week between 10-20 miles – there go your weekends.) But we both laughed about the fact that we’d be able to eat whatever we wanted today once we finished. She had baked brownies the day before, and bought a half gallon of ice cream. We were burning at least 2,800 calories each; an entire day’s worth of food.

While we were talking, the 4:45 pace group came up and ran behind us. The woman holding the pace sign was wearing bright pink shorts, and a pink and white tank top, and continued to smile and say encouraging things to all the runners she was with or passing.

After the next water stop, I broke ahead of the pace group, and the woman I was talking to. I passed Silver Spring Drive, and started recognizing roads. I knew I was getting close to my next cheering section :)

Then, I saw everyone (Greg, Kate, Ivan, Weeks, Jesse, V and Dexter) at Mile 22, near Lake Dr. and Capitol Dr. That gave me the motivation to get through the next four miles.

And it’s true, marathons have two parts: the first 20 miles, and the last 6.2 miles. After seeing everyone at Mile 22, I knew I wasn’t too far from finishing, but I could also tell that my joints and muscles were killing me. I continued to run past Capitol and told myself to keep running until the huge decline on Lincoln Memorial Drive, about a mile ahead. Once I stopped running, I immediately felt my muscles tense up every time I took a step. I didn’t want to mess up my knee, so I walked down the entire hill. Then I saw the 4:45 pace group … except it wasn’t a group, it was the same woman in pink, with two stragglers behind her. I saw her go about 20 yards ahead, then 100 yards. That was it. I told myself that if I was going to finish, I wanted to make it in under 5 hours. I began jogging again. I passed the Mile 24 marker, and started to pick up the pace even more. Once I passed the first couple people, I felt a second (or sixth?) wind coming on. I felt less pain when I ran than when I walked. I had already figured out my breathing, and the harder I pushed my muscles, the less pain (relatively) I felt.

Once I got going, I started gaining on the pace group. I was in a full-out run by the time I got to the Mile 25 water station, and I could hear people cheering. It seemed like (or maybe they actually were?) the volunteers got louder as I came through, because they realized I wasn’t dragging. I was actually running … probably at a 9:30/mile pace.

One volunteer even stepped out, put up his hand and yelled my name (our names were printed on our bibs). I gave him a high-five, and grabbed a water from the last volunteer in the row. For the first water stop during the entire race, I squeezed the cup and chugged – without stopping to walk.

Then I had a half mile to go. I could see spectators walking to and from the finish line. I kept passing people on my left and right. AND THEN, Queen started playing on my iPod: “We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions.” Perfect timing.

I could hear my breath, along with the music … and occasionally people would yell out “Go Erica!” or “Almost there, keep going!”

I could see the curve that took me to the home stretch, and realized I had about a quarter mile to go. I was going to do this. I turned the corner, and “Times Like These” by Foo Fighters started playing. I can justify why making a playlist for each big run is important.

People around me were walking or slowly jogging in, but I wanted it to be over. I wanted to cross the finish line. I heard the crowd around me, and people yelling my name. Almost there.

And then I crossed. I made it: 4:42:39.

A volunteer put a medal around my neck. I grabbed a space blanket, took a slice of orange and a banana. I felt lost for a minute, realizing I was done. It was over. Then I heard my name. Greg!

I found him, and we walked over to my mom. . I needed to stretch. My heart raced. I limped and stumbled. My joints ached. I shook. I didn’t know if I was cold or hot. I felt sweat caked to my face and arms. I had just run 26.2 miles.

And it was all worth it.

Why we need newspapers

In last week’s issue of Time magazine, I read about how Advance Publications decided to stop printing Ann Arbor News, out of Ann Arbor, Michigan. You can read the story here.

The opportunity for the community to save their newspaper is well-founded, and admirable, if not important for saving journalistic integrity.

See, I have no problem with online news. I read jsonline.com on a weekly basis. It’s how I get most of my news. I’ve set up Google reader to pull newsfeeds from my favorite sites. If anything, I’ve got all the news I need at my fingertips. The problem? INFORMATION OVERLOAD.

When people received their daily newspaper on their front doorstep, they could enjoy a cup of coffee while they read what happened in their community, and all over the world. You could choose what you wanted more information about just by reading headlines. If you wanted to know more, you read on. Of course, online stories have this same format. But, staring at a computer screen is a far cry from holding a tangible object in your hands. You also had someone else choosing the most important news that you should be reading, versus looking up hundreds of different news stories. Or worse, multiple stories on the same subject.

So in all fairness, Ann Arbor News is still in most respects alive. They’ll still print two issues per week on top of having all their content available online. As a business, it’s probably the best thing to do for a floundering art. But it also makes me realize that without having an actual newspaper to read, the Internet bombards me with information I don’t really need, every single day.

Why I (don't) work

YEAH, I haven't been around in awhile; what of it? I've had a pretty busy summer, including camping or traveling out of town at least half the time, seeing the Brewers at least 6x and (literally) running all over Wisconsin. Not that I'm complaining. In fact, I've still got some pretty awesome stuff coming up in the next few weeks.

I'd say this summer was on it's way to making the top three best ever (#1.) Summer of 2003, after my freshman year of college, and #2.) Last year.) Until July 20, 2009. Dun-dun-dunn.

For those of you not familiar ... I got laid off because of financial cuts at the Company. I've also recently found out that the Company filed for Chapter 11, hoping to clear some of it's debt. But that's probably another post.

Optimistically, being let go has given me the potential opportunity to cut ties from Fort Atkinson and will *hopefully* end up being a blessing in disguise. But before I came to that epiphany, I had a few choice words with myself and the keyboard. So without further ado, and any without editing whatsoever, I give you the "Working Rant."


"The look of pity is the worst part.

It hadn’t hit me. It still might not have. I’m sad, but it’s more like a relationship break-up than a job loss. I’ll miss some of the people I worked with. I’ll miss having something to go to on a daily basis. I’ll miss the actual work. But I won’t miss the bullshit of dealing with corporate red tape and preferential treatment.

The question that keeps going through my mind is, “Why me?” It was a purely economical move, so they said … but could it have been some other underlying issue. Was it really only the numbers? When you have a staff of six running two magazines, and four of those individuals are sales representatives, how will one editor handle all of that work? I hope they at least compensate Brendan for the load of work that will now double. Didn’t they realize the assistants and associates (editors) were the ones that do all the work? They’ll find out.

It may have been that I got to work a few minutes later than everyone else. But I also stayed later. Is it because I asked to arrange some kind of telecommuting procedure for working from home a few days a week? Did they then think I’d being my search for another job, because I didn’t get what I wanted? After that conversation, and after reassessing my financial status, I decided I would continue to live in Fort Atkinson for at least another year. But they didn’t know that. Could it have been that?

My being on editorial focus groups, and helping out for different magazines couldn’t have even been a factor. (err, sarcasm.)

The other issue I’m trying to wrap around my head is that I had been doomed from the start. RV Trade Digest, my initial book, had gone under completely. My one saving grace was leaving that magazine – but I still got left behind.

And to reapply for another editorial position at the same company? (HR called to let me know there was another associate editor position available) Really, to work with Brendan, and have a working relationship with some of the people there again, I’d do in a heartbeat. But not at that same company. Why should I even attempt to give anything to a company that believed I wasn’t an asset to their future? We’ll part ways indefinitely, so I can cauterize this wound, instead of wondering if they’ll rip away bandages over and over again.

I’ve come to terms with the publishing world. It’s not the happy-go-lucky, laid back job I thought it’d be. It’s pure cutthroat.

Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy what I do. I take pride in my actual job, and the tasks I complete. Along the way, I meet a few pretty cool people. But in this industry, it’s not what you know. It’s who you know. Networking can be a bitch. If done properly, it’ll get you to the top of the mountain. Not doing it can leave you stranded.

After my mom discussed the possibility of working for Social Security, I thought about it. Why wouldn’t I at least #1: go into a government job, which might have a little more security, and #2. Work in customer service again. I understand the ropes. I also get that it’s treating others the way you’d like to be treated. No more unethical business about running a lax company. I won’t have to deal with the skewed views of middle and upper management trying to handle a financial crisis.

In customer service, at least your job is to help others. That idea is also extended into the workforce. People enjoy helping others, but also enjoy the satisfaction of being treated equally, and with respect based on not only how they interact with their peers, and serve their clientele, but also on their performance. That’s the one thing that distinguishes a service industry career from a media career."


At this point, I'm not sure where I'll go next. I'm still applying for editorial jobs. But I'm applying for more consumer-based publications, or online-focused media. And, I'm keeping my options open.

Some like it hot

...but I DON'T.

Since summer started (which starts mid-May for me, since the conditioning of summer vacation for 20 years of my life), Mother Nature has maintained a pretty pleasant temperature. A few showers here and there, a couple humid days in between. All in all, I can't complain. Until now.

Last week, meteorologists explained we'd be reaching the mid- to upper-80s. That's great for all you central air folk, and perpetual beach junkies; but what about us full-time cube dwellers? We're forced to wear business casual -- Or, here, jeans, as compensation for all the economy business causing us to get pay cuts and lose our 401K matching).

No problem. They've got AC, you say? That's right. I'll deal with walking to and from the car. nbd.



BUTWAITDERSMORE.

It's not so much going to work that bugs me. In fact, I don't mind because I'm getting paid to sit in air conditioning all day. The problem is, when I have to head home.

As mentioned before, most of you know I live in an upper unit apartment in a very, very old house. Without air conditioning.

Last year, I bit the bullet and bought a cheap AC unit, to use when Lucifer decides to vacation in SE Wisconsin a few times each summer. It's been a godsend.

Problem is, the heat started Monday morning ... and I didn't get a chance to set up the unit until Monday afternoon. I cranked it on high until going to bed, hoping it'd at least cool my bedroom a few degrees. The thing rattles like someone beat it with a sledgehammer, so I decided to turn it off before falling asleep.

Terrible, terrible idea.

I woke up at least three times, drenched in sweat. Then I got out of bed in the morning pissed off at the world for being so EFFING HOT. I didn't want coffee. I didn't want eggs. I didn't want anything having anything to do with warm. I didn't even want to shower unless the water felt like icicles.

Tuesday: I go to work, come home and turn the AC on. I put up a sheet between my kitchen and living room.

The cold air comes from my bedroom, and some will make it into the living room; but in order to cool my kitchen, it would have to go through the living room and front hallway first. That's a lost cause, making my bathroom and kitchen unbearably hot. For some reason, all of the heat from the day is not only trapped in that insulated box of a room, the oven/stove puts out some kind of ridiculous heat from the pilot light. (I checked repeatedly, all the knobs are set to "off." And yeah, it's probably not safe.) Yesterday my kitchen and bathroom sat at about a balmy 120 degrees. I'm not exaggerating.

Anywho, I stick to the BR and living room as my main areas. Don't get me wrong, it's still about 75-80, but some of the humidity gets eaten up with the cold air.

I slept with the AC on all night. The rattling didn't even bother me, because I knew my internal body temperature wasn't rising above 100 degrees. In fact, after awhile the rattling turned into white noise, and seemed to lull me to sleep.

Another great thing? I don't pay for electricity. That means the AC can run without any financial consequences. Of course, I still limit use to days when the dew point matches the temperature, and the temperature's above 80 degrees.

DIrty mouth? Clean it up.

Many of you who know me in person, know I have a tendency to drop a few eff-bombs here and there, On occasion, I'll sprinkle my conversation with synonyms for feces, Hades and, err, dammit. But I love love love dropping eff-bombs.

These verbal onslaughts are okay in front of friends; but mixed company sometimes doesn't appreciate my colorful vocabulary. This is especially true if I'm around kids at a Brewer game, or hanging out at the zoo. So lately I've been trying to incorporate some more unique verbiage in place of swearing all over the place.

Generally, I try to replace any f*ck with "eff." As in, "EFFFFFFF, I just deleted file full of pictures on my computer."

Besides substituting that word, here's what else I've got so far:

GODDAMMIT = God... bless it.
WHATTHEFUCK = For crying out loud; what the what?! (Thanks Liz Lemon.); Really.
FUCKME = Oh dear; You gotta be strokin' me.
SHUTTHEFUCKUP = OMG; Shut the front door.

Any others?

Birthday suits

Last night, I finished reading Naked by David Sedaris. It only took me about a month (High five! to myself.) The reason? It's effing hilarious.

That's not to say the main character, Dave, isn't flawed. This dude's got some of narcissistic, selfish problems my friend. But he's laugh-out-loud (yeah, I spelled it) funny, regardless. I think one of the reasons might be that he's still so relatable, and tells the reader like it is, no holds barred.

The characters he describes and stories he tells (working in a mental institution when he was 16, hitchhiking across the US, harvesting apples in Oregon) make you laugh and cringe at the same time, mostly because you probably shouldn't laugh, but still are.

You might be asking yourself, why is the book title "Naked?" I wondered the same thing until I got to the last, self-titled chapter.

After ordering a nudist colony brochure as a joke for his brother, Sedaris receives the pamphlet and actually considers booking a week-long reservation. He's apprehensive, mainly because he doesn't even walk around his house without shoes, let alone without clothes. Over the course of a week, he finally becomes comfortable walking around a (for lack of a better term) nudist trailer park. The first couple days wearing a t-shirt and shoes for some cover ... then finally exposing himself for all to see.

A nice way to end a book, where he finally developed to be comfortable in his own skin, I guess. But it got me thinking ... what if the entire world were a nudist colony?

First things first; no clothes! That means, no one would worry about buying updated clothing, and I wouldn't have to replace my ever-expansive wardrobe. (I'm a lady, what of it.) No need impressing others with the latest fashion crap. Wearing shoes and socks without clothes might look kind of ridiculous though.

It might get cold, so I figure I'd plant myself in some kind of Arizona- or California-based colony. Sand might be a problem.

Usually you have to worry about washing your hands after touching things; but what if you're putting your bare ass all over the place? Sedaris' colony recommended carrying a towel everywhere. For sanitary reasons, I would too.

But the other issue I'd have, would be seeing other people naked. A geriatric WWI veteran? Or, a 40-year-old mother of six? Yikes. Once you get used to it though, I suppose it'd be common place. It'd be like Faces of Death, where you couldn't look away -- but after awhile, all the train wrecks start to look the same.

Initially I'd be nervous because I'd be pretty self-conscious of baring all in front of them. Honestly though, I love not wearing clothes.

When I wake up in the morning, I generally prance around in my underoos for a good hour. I start by making breakfast, sometimes in the buff. It's one of the perks of living alone.

But that's really only in the privacy of my own home. I can handle seeing myself in the nude, but I'm not ready to see the rest of you.

Crossing the finish line

Last Saturday night, I had trouble falling asleep. I got to bed pretty early -- 10 PM. But I tossed, I turned. I woke up three times. I yelled incoherent things in my sleep. And I had dreams that I missed waking up on time.

But I got out of bed at 5:30 AM, right on schedule. I'd make it in time for my first half marathon.

The family piled into the car at 6 AM (ish...), heading down to Lambeau Field for the start of the 10th Annual Green Bay Cellcom marathon.

I've been training since January to run the complete 13.1 miles.

In the Atrium, we sat around, stretched, listened to music. All 10,000+ of us. Amazing.

Awe-struck by the volume of people that just showed up to this thing, I couldn't believe all the runners AND spectators wandering around before the gun start.

I began at the start line with Michelle's mom, Brenda, and Brenda's cousin, Mike. Both had run before, and encouraged me I'd do great. All I could think about was running through Lambeau Field and crossing the finish line. I couldn't wait for it to be over.

We started off at 7:30 AM. Masses of runners huddled together out of the corrals. I was going to run over someone, or get run over. Holy crap. Looking ahead, it's like an ocean of heads bobbing. The first two miles, I felt like I didn't need to do anything ... this river of people was going to push me along the entire way.

By the first water stop, some people broke off. I grabbed Gatorade (oops), tossed it and realized water was at the second station. I knew around Mile 3 I'd see Gregor, which kept me going.

Right after though (about Mile 4 or 5), I thought, 'Wow, this would be a whole lot better if I were at Mile 10 or 11 right now.' No dice. My side cramped up a little, and I slowed my pace so I wouldn't overexert myself. I refused to walk.

I noticed some people passing me, and watched the sweat rings around the necks of people ahead I was keeping pace with slowly get bigger and bigger.

Around Mile 8, runners pass the Gu station. I've never had this crap in my life, and didn't want to do anything differently than training. I grabbed some anyway, and kept it in my left hand for three miles. The (briefly) cold packet helped for two reasons: 1.) It was like an ice packet in my hands for about 5 minutes, and 2.) When I run while training, I usually carry a small water bottle in my left hand. I kept it there to psychologically put me in the place I usually was when running at home. The adrenaline rush wasn't there, so I needed to try something else. It worked.

In two more miles, I'd see Gregor again ... which was encouraging. I finally found my groove. I started passing people, and felt like a ran faster when the course headed east, because we were looking into the sun. Each water station, I'd briefly walk while drinking and hop back in to the run.

At the Mile 10 water station, all of the volunteers and spectators were cheering, on both sides of the runners. It felt amazing. I told myself I only had three more miles. This was cake.

A little after Mile 11, the half marathon and marathon split. I thought, 'Thank GOD I don't have to run another 14 miles right now.'

I knew I was close. I could hear people yelling ahead. In less than a mile I'd be heading into Lambeau.


Running up to the gate entrance, a bunch of spectators were cheering as runners were entering the stadium. Then I heard the familiar "WHOOOOOOOOO-OO-OO" to my right -- from Gregor. And he was with my mom, George and Matthias! Oh HAI! (Pffft I GOT THIS.) I'll see you guys in 10 minutes!

Running into the stadium, we got to come out where the Packers do during games. "Celebrate Good Times" was blasting and the spectator section cheered for passing runners. I passed at least a half dozen people while looping the stadium. Pushing myself didn't even hurt. I knew I was almost done.

I saw the finish line about 200 yards ahead, when I noticed Gregor's mom waving as I passed. And there he was with his dad too!


I shot to cross the finish line under 2:30:00. I crossed at 2:06:38, but because my chip time was 2 minutes behind, I actually made the 13.1 in 2:04:06. That's a pace of 9:28 per mile. Awesome.

The next day, I signed up for the Lakefront Marathon on Oct. 4.

Goodbye GMA

Almost every weekday morning, I wake up, stumble to the kitchen and start my coffee pot, and turn on the TV. It's usually past 7 AM by the time my omelet's ready, so I end up watching Good Morning America on my favorite news station, WISN-Milwaukee. I dig the local news, but each day I watch GMA, I feel more and more stupid. Literally -- like my brain is turning to mush because of the shit they air.

The only valuable time spent watching that show is from the 90 seconds of actual news Chris Cuomo (mmmm, Chris Cuomo...) usually shares about 15 minutes in. Otherwise, IT'S CRAP.

I don't mind mindless dribble, but I can find that on my own time all over the Internets. I don't need to be hand-fed spoonfuls of feces for breakfast.

I understand it's a morning show, so they're upping the entertainment value, instead of just providing news. But give me a break.

Besides hearing about NY bus drivers who sing opera to passengers, or British toddlers that can name 150+ world capitals, viewers are CONSTANTLY bombarded with DAILY (I'm not kidding...) videos and "news" about the doom of the swine-flu epidemic (including today, when they had a five minute segment about stores running out of hand sanitizer) and Susan Boyle. If I hear another fucking story about Susan Boyle, I'm going to punch someone in the jugular. Her 15 minutes is UP.

And she is the reason I'm turning off my TV.

In the meantime, I've been slowly turning to NPR in the morning. That way, I can still get bfast ready, and even sit around while I eat. And I can also read while the radio's on.

Ultimately, my argument comes down to offering cable TV stations ala carte. If I could have ESPN, HGTV, National Geographic and the Discovery Channel, I'd be a happy lady. Instead I pay $9.95 a month for doubles of Madison's and Milwaukee's basic channels. And subsequently, two Good Morning Americas and Today Shows each morning. And Bob Saget's Funniest Home Videos, which I did end up watching today.

Keeping the glass empty

I'm attempting a feat I haven't accomplished since before college: Not drinking. For a month.

Now, I know you're thinking "Ric -- YOU crazy girl!"

But really first off, that's not that long.

Don't get me wrong; I don't drink nearly as much as I did at UW-SP. Or since most everyone moved away from Whitewater, my college away from college. At this point, I'd probably the be worst choice for a beer pong partner; and the Beast hasn't touched my lips since at least a year ago.

But I still drink on a weekly basis.

I usually have a glass of wine once or twice a week when I eat, or relax while surfing the nets, or reading a book. I'll get over that. I'm usually pretty busy M-F anyway, so I'll bide my time.

My achilles? Beer.

I'm not talking about that watered-down, flavorless crap Miller and Budweiser try to pass for triple hops, barley special edition brew master fresh, blah blah blah... (which, I can enjoy on occasion). I'm talking about full hops IPAs and nutty amber ales. See, I don't know much about beer. But I know when it tastes good.

So relaxing on the weekend, I've been sitting back, grilling out with a burger and Beck's Dark. Or hang out on the porch, enjoying a Guinness.

But I've noticed it's affected my marathon training. Last week, after tailgating for a Brewer game Monday night, and heading to Thursday night trivia at the Milwaukee Ale House; I noticed that the combination lack of sleep and too many pints put me over the edge. I kept up with my training schedule, but struggled each time I put on my running shoes.

Instead of cutting back, I'm going cold turkey. But wait, derrs more!

A couple weeks ago, I won a six pack of Special Edition Jim Gaffigan Point Pale Ale (and his new comedy album) from the Pabst. Awesome! I still have to pick it up...

Then, in compensation for writing a cover story at work for my old magazine, my bosses bosses boss said he'd pick up a 12-pack of any brew I wanted, instead of cash. (Apparently we've resorted to the barter system at the office...) Cool. Gimme some Newky Brown!

Alas, they'll have to sit in the fridge. For now, I'll stick with resisting temptation to focus on the big picture: kicking that half marathon's ass.

Bills, pills, pills

I started taking the BCP about five months ago, and my doctor said if I had any questions, wanted to switch up the type of prescription or awkwardly talk about the weather with my pants off again, I should give her a call. A few weeks ago, I decided I'd had enough with the current pill and wanted to try something else.

I called the doctor's office to explain what I wanted (a new prescription) and why (because it makes me crazies/go blind/not sleep). The woman on the other end of the line said it was absolutely necessary for me to see the doctor. But not before making me feel like an idiot because my symptoms sounded ludicrous.


*Three weeks later, after hassling with a reschedule.*

I go in for my appointment, tell the Dr. my problems and she goes over the options. We decide on a low-dose BCP. Problem is, there are no generics. That means spending at least 50 percent more for the EXACT SAME THING. (Think Tylenol versus Target brand acetaminophen -- there's no difference, they just use different color dye for the pills.)

Next day, I head to Walgreen's to pick up the prescription. But in exchange for those 28 little baby blockers, they want $60. WHAT?!!? That's more than my food budget for the WEEK. I ask them to call the office back and ask for a prescription of the second option we discussed. But they don't call doctors at Walgreens, they fax them. It's 2009, not 1991. But whatevs. They tell me the request should go through and to come back tomorrow.

Day three: On top of not hearing back from the doctor, Walgreens refuses to call to confirm. I have to call. It's 4:55, the doctor's office closes at 5 PM and I have to get home to look up the number first. UGGH. No dice.

Rather than deal with Walgreen's ineptitude toward customer service, or using any ounce of common sense, I decide to go the mail route and order the pills via NextRX. Although it takes about two weeks to fill, an entire 3-month supply costs $90.

Then a week ago, I got a bill in the mail. (See... ...Medical Bill Errors: Fighting Mistakes, it happens more than you think.)

Because I was, IMHO, forced to make an appointment to see my doctor in person, versus a simple chat on the phone, I have to pay $20. I didn't know that. Funny -- last time I checked, swindling people out of cash was a crime.

Per a conversation with mi madre, it's best to request to talk to the doctor if at all necessary to avoid an extra trip to the clinic. She said I should also be thankful my co-pay's only $20, instead of $200. Yikes.

Or maybe I should just follow the rest of America and bend over while health care takes advantage.

Cube scavengers

As part of my "worst week ever" series, I found out that our magazine group had to move to a different set of desks on Wednesday. Same cube farm, two aisles over.

So today, the six of us got some boxes together, called IT and started the transition.

My problem, mostly, is that the move seems completely unnecessary. I'm still about 10 feet from the office door. But now they took away my window (poor Leon!), and I have a muzak speaker and blasting air vent anchored to the ceiling above me.

Moving, in general, sucks.

To see the silver lining, I can say it's a good thing because I had the opportunity to clean out my desk, and some of the drawers and filing cabinets that haven't been touched since I moved a year ago.

And I also got to hunt for new things. I went out in search of a drawer organizer; because my junk drawer's brimming with random crap like socks, gum and whiteout.

I wandered around the office looking in abandoned cubes for some cool new gear. I found some metal separators for my drawers in an old publishers office, and a drawer organizer for some pens and paper clips.

I also found an ergonomic chair, but Brendan stole it before I had a chance to take it to my cube.

this morning, too, I even dug through my closet to find some posters I haven't had up since college, to try and decorate my workspace a little bit more.

So here I am all settled.


I moved the wall over, so my entrance is in a corner instead of the center. That makes my cube look luxurious. Notice, too, how big Leon's getting.


There past my cube, you can see the one lone window I have access to again, instead of the wall of windows I had previously.


Easy exit.

April fool

Tuesday night, I had planned on heading to my friend Kim's house in Milwaukee with Michelle, so we could see a concert at Turner Hall. (Margot& the Nuclear So-and-Sos and Cloud Cult were both amazing.) Kim's apartment has four parking spaces; because her downstairs neighbors have two cars, one parks in the garage next to Kim, and the other usually takes up the entire cement parking slab. Kim said it'd be cool to park on the cement slab in her alley because it was designed for two vehicles.

We get home from the concert around 11:30 PM and start winding down for bed, only to get a knock at the door about a half hour later. The downstairs neighbor just got off of her second shift and wondered why there was someone parked in her spot. Kim explained the situation, apologized and agreed to move her car from the garage out onto the street for the night, so the neighbor could park next to her boyfriend's car in the garage. Cool.

But after Kim took care of the situation and moved her car, we looked out the back window to see the neighbor's car still parked in the alley.

But see, the thing was, it wasn't just parked in the alley -- but perpendicular to my car, parking me in completely.

We were wiped, and headed to bed thinking she might just move it and everything would be taken care of in time to leave for work in the morning.

I previously set up with my editor to work from home yesterday, and had decided I'd head to Gregor's Wednesday morning to work from his computer.

Before Kim and Michelle left for the office, Kim knocked on the neighbor's door around 7 AM. No answer. She wrote a note explaining the situation, asking if they could move the car as soon as the boyfriend was up, seeing as he usually left for work before 9 AM.

I sat around Kim's apartment, checked my work email, got a few things done. Around 8 AM, I went downstairs myself and knocked on the door. The note was still hanging there. Quiet. No answer.

At 9 AM I tried again. I walked downstairs, knocked at three separate times, and rang the doorbell. Then the dog started whimpering on the other side of the door. I rang the doorbell again. The dog barked a few times.

Then I heard a woman's muffled voice, calling the dog away from the door. And that was it. I knocked at least another five times, and rang the doorbell. WTF.

I wasn't sure if maybe she couldn't come to the door. It crossed my mind for a minute that she might be in trouble. No such luck.

I walked back upstairs, called Kim and explained everything. She decided to call her landlord and get their direct number. She called the guy, who had already left for work and explained to him what was going on.

In the meantime, I decided to try knocking again, rang the back doorbell, and headed to the front, ringing that doorbell too.

Kim called back. The dude neighbor told her, blantantly, that his girlfriend wasn't moving the car. That also meant that he left the house and saw the note, but also refused to be the bigger person by moving his GF's car.

At this point, I'm livid. Not only had we tried to remedy the situation the night before, but this chic was being a crass bitch who refused to move her car out of spite. And was doing it to a complete stranger.

I called Gregor around 9:30, who had called in sick to work (really, because he was sick :(), and told him what happened. He agreed to pick me up, and we'd pick up my car later that afternoon when the neighbor left for her second shift again.

Ugh.

I can't believe that any person would have the audacity to deliberately choose to be that spiteful, or inconsiderate.

All I have to say is, Karma's a bitch.

Got gum?

This afternoon, I walked over to the gas station to buy a cup of coffee. I knew I had at least a dollar's worth of change in my coat pocket, so I wandered over, filled the cup and walked up to the register.

As I pulled out my handful of change, I noticed there were blue, sticky bits plastered to all the coins. WHAT IS THIS?

I tried to cover up my unruly pocket full of quarters and dimes by hovering over my hand while picking out the correct coinage.

Apparently, I left a stick of gum (unchewed, thank you) in my pocket awhile back. After all the abuse of jingling change, the gum couldn't handle the pressure and EXPLODED all over.

Keep on keeping on

"The long run puts the tiger in the cat." --Bill Squires, marathon trainer

As many of you already know, I made a few New Year's resolutions in January. To update everyone on the status, and keep myself motivated, here's a little update:

Read books
I've taken certain liberties with this first one. Right now I'm reading The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Good so far. I've also been keeping up on my Time and New Yorker subscriptions, for the most part.

Other than that, I've become more familar with other forms of literature, including comic books. We'll blame Gregor. But don't laugh yet. I've read Watchmen, and became completely enveloped with the story. I focused so much on it, I was able to finish the whole book within a week, in time to see the movie in theaters. (Which I found mildly disappointing.) Also for Christmas, I got the beginning series of Y: The Last Man, about the only dude left alive after a plague wipes out everyone with a Y chromosome. It's written by Brian K. Vaughn; also one of the lead writers for the TV series, Lost. Reading Y is like watching an episode of a TV show, but you're actually reading. Awesome, and highly recommended.

Visit another country
Completed this last month with a trip down to Florida. Headed to Miami and took a short cruise over to the Bahamas. But even though I showed off my passport to customs, et al, it wasn't that gratifying -- no stamps! But my stepdad promises to remedy this by taking all of his and my mom's kids to Mexico next March.

Control my finances
Working on it. I'm still using mint.com, and it's come in handy to keep me on track (for the most part). I also write down every expense in my ledger, religiously. So, not only do I keep track of things going in and out of my account online, I record how much money comes out exactly when I spend it.

I just have to keep in mind summer's coming up; where I'll want to go to every Brewer game possible, along with camping trips, Summerfest, music concerts and cookouts. Gotta keep it frugal.

Participate in a marathon
My final, and most ambitious feat. (ooh, punz.) I promised myself I'd train hard for a half marathon first (13.1 miles compared to a full marathon at 23.2 miles), because I'VE NEVER RAN A LONG DISTANCE IN MY LIFE. No cross country, no 5Ks, no H.S. track.

Since beginning my training I've had bloody feet, blisters, caluses, shin splints, sores and aching muscles.

Up until recently, I had started falling off the training schedule. I struggled walking into the gym three times a week, not anticipating staring at myself in the mirror while I pushed through five miles on a treadmill. Ugh. It was mundane, boring, overdone.

But two weeks ago, I threw on some sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt and my kicks, and decided to head outside. Only about 45 degrees, I immediately regretted the decision of not bundling up -- until I started running. And I kept running. I made it about 5 miles running, with another 2 miles totaled before and after, for a 7-mile loop.

I had never gone long distances outside, but figured I needed something to change it up. I didn't take for granted the fact that my scenery was changing. I wasn't just running in place, I was going somewhere. It felt amazing.

Then I did it again last Thursday. I planned out a loose trail to follow via mapmyrun.com for my long run of the week, and went to it. I ran a full 7 miles, with an additional 1.5 for warm-up and cooldown, totaling 8.5 miles. And I'm certain I experienced my first-ever real runner's high.

For the second time since I started training, at the end of my route I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and break through the finish line. I felt like I had accomplished something. This was bigger than me.

So, in the final stretch of training -- I know I won't compete professionally with some of those other runners -- my body has already done things I would've never even dreamed of. Here's to finishing up the last seven weeks of training.

On Wisconsin

For some reason, I thought Wisconsin's slogan was always "Forward." But that's a motto. I don't know what the difference is.

Anyway, Governor Doyle, et al, enlisted a company to come up with a new state slogan for the Department of Tourism. What'd they come up with? This:

"Live like you mean it." It reminds me of a Killers song. And what's with that dude doing a cartwheel?

Creative? Not really. Catchy? Meh. Scrutinized by the public majority? Oh, you betcha.

Check out what Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel columnst Jim Stingl has to say about the new slogan:New state slogan raises ridicule to a sport.

What was wrong with the old one, "Life's so Good?" Why fix something that's not broken. Not that that one took much either. Besides, the Department of Tourism already laid off all of the meet-n-greeters at state border visitor centers.

But wait a tick -- this isn't the first time that slogan has been used. Back in 2005, Bacardi came up with a marketing scheme based on that same phrase. Fitting I suppose, since we're known as the state of drunks.

Here are a few examples of other potential slogans I've found on different message boards, or heard on the radio during "Kramp & Adler" on 102.1.

-Wisconsin: The other white state.
-Eat cheese or die.
-Wisconsin, where it's always windy because Minnesota blows and Michigan sucks.
-I love dairy air./Smell our dairy air.
-Honk if you love cheeses

And, my favorite:

-Wisconsin: the state shaped like an oven mit.

The last one

Yesterday my friend Kim baked some delicious Irish Soda Bread for St. Patrick's Day.

I ran over as soon as she hit "send" on the email announcing her baked goodies to pick up a piece. But what struck me as odd happened about three hours later; the fact that there was still a slice sitting on top of the filing cabinet. Just one slice.

It happens a lot with food -- That last tasty nacho chip, the last bite of a sammich, the last slice of pizza. (Man, now I'm hungry.) But I've also seen it at stores. The last magazine on the shelf, or the last bottle of shampoo.

It seems like the last of anything is there for a reason. It's somehow tainted and has remained neglected by everyone else. What's wrong with it? Why doesn't anyone want it?

Oohooh that smell

Few people are familiar with the unique landmarks Fort Atkinson has to offer. We have the world-famous Fireside Dinner Theater, where visitors can enjoy a delicious meal during a broadway show; Nasco, a manufacturer of educational materials, arts, crafts and farm equipment; and the National Dairy Shrine (right across from my house!).

You must be thinking, "Gee, what else could Fort Atkinson possibly have?"

Let me tell you.

Along with all those glorious attractions, Fort has all those beat with one little subsidiary of a manufacturing plant. For McCain frozen foods. Along with preparing and cooking things like french fries, tater tots, Aromatic Thai Corn, Rising Crust Pizzas and Old South juice concentrates, they have one item that trumps them all: onion rings.

I'm not saying in terms of delicious. I won't argue that onion rings are any better or worse than tater tots, or aromatic Thai corn. I'm arguing in terms of the rank production smell factor.

Generally, the stench doesn't get too foul until mid-summer. Some days, you can't smell a thing unless you're driving right past. And sometimes, it's just like the smell of cooking onion rings -- which is delicious for about 20 minutes. After smelling it for five hours, it becomes nauseating.

But on days like today (even though it's 20 degrees), when the wind's just right, a stronger onion-y aroma envelopes the town. And by onion-y aroma, I mean it smells like a bear got into a patch of onions, ate every last one, and shit himself while walking around the entire city.

Ride on

I knew it was going to happen. My baby would grow up. So, on my way to Milwaukee last Friday I figured I'd be ready, camera phone in hand, for the big moment. My Shaniqua was going to hit her 100,000-mile mark.

But on our way to Germantown last Saturday to see The Toys, I realized she was going to do it for Gregor instead. YOUUU BITCH.

Good thing I was sitting in the front, so I could document the action anyway. Kind of.

PROOF!

I bought my black 2003 Toyota Camry, a.k.a. Shaniqua, in October 2006. She had about 75,000 miles. With the exception of replacing the battery and tires, she's been pretty low maintenance. Of course, I still get routine oil changes and tire rotations, plus check the fluids, car washes regularly, etc. If I'm good to her, maybe she'll return the favor.

On average, car owners put about 10,000 miles per year. I'd say I'm right on track, and since Toyotas stay on the road for an average of 900,000 miles (give or take?), I'd say I've got years to go with her.

Stand by... for news

Back when I was a young tyke, my mom helped my brother and I avoid sweltering Milwaukee summers, where we'd inadvertently be stuck inside, blasting AC and watching TV. She sent us to stay with our grandparents each summer on the lake in Door County.

Every day at lunch, my grandpa turned on his beige Bose stereo to the local radio station, WDOR, tuning in to hear radio news broadcaster Paul Harvey announce and discuss the day's headlines.

After the announcement for News and Comment, "This is Paul Harvey (pregnant pause)... stand by for news!" we didn't say much at the table. Everyone sat facing the radio as we ate and listened -- sometimes my grandpa would grumble or make some comment. Otherwise, we willingly obliged to keep the noise down.

We even kept quiet during the commercials, which Harvey read with the same enthusiasm and voice inflection as the news. The one I remember most was Bose radio; which is why I'm sure my grandpa had one too.

Harvey had a distinct voice, and announced with clear pronunciation. Although he was pretty conservative; from what I remember, he still broadcast the news without a noticeable bias (Then again, I was only eight). Harvey had a way of explaining what was going on with the rest of the world, and helped me appreciate that I wasn't so isolated stuck in a cottage near a lake in northeastern Wisconsin -- even if he was thousands of miles away.

I think it's also why to this day I like hearing news on the radio (like NPR) instead of watching it. At eight years old, I didn't understand how adults could sit through an entire half hour of local news on TV. What about Tail Spin and Duck Tales? But I still listened to Paul Harvey.

In the afternoons, we had to keep the TV down, go outside, or keep quiet in the kitchen, so grandpa could listen to Harvey's The Rest of the Story. Since the show broadcast at 3 PM -- snack time! --, I'd sometimes opt to sit in front of the radio with grandpa with my two gingersnaps or some juicy slices of watermelon.

I liked The Rest of the Story program more, because each segment focused on a certain person, place or thing. They were short interest-pieces, with a twist at the end, where Harvey would finish with "And now you know, the rest of the story." (See: News and Comment is to New York Times, as The Rest of the Story is to Time magazine.)

Last Sunday, February 28, Paul Harvey passed away. He started broadcasting on April 1, 1951, and continued up until a week before he died. He was 91 years old.

Down by da beach, boii

Stock photo. I forgot my camera at home.
So, Gregor and I took a long weekend to spend a few days down south in the Caribbean. Gorgeous weather, beautiful sand beaches, salty sea water, ample people-watching and a visit to Chadley made the trip complete.


Twenty things I took away from the trip:

1. Black women love Carlton, and subsequently, Gregor. White people think that Carlton is MLK Jr.
2. Cruises attract more foreigners than you think. We heard at least a dozen different languages in three days.
3. If you go on a cruise, get a window or a porthole in your room. Mirrors are sufficient in tricking you into thinking you're in a bigger room than you are, but they don't make good substitutes for real light, so you don't know what time it is when you wake up.
4. Stingrays are scary motherfuckers.
5. I can't wait for summer.
6. While napping on the beach, move magazines and other reading materials away from you. Heat and sweat make the ink stick to your face like a temporary tattoo if you fall asleep on them. Oops.
7. 1 nautical knot = 1.8 km. (1 mi = 2.2 km)
8. Small children speaking a different language is pretty much the most adorable thing ever. Especially Italian or French.
9. I discovered my new profession: Haggling. (At the Straw Market in Nassau)
10. People watching is the best lazy sport ever, especially with Foster's oil cans and Stella Artois.
11. The more European, the smaller the swimsuit. (Dudes, too. Especially dudes.)
12. Made of Honour is probably the most terrible movie ever made.
13. Just because a chicken "club" sandwich is $24 doesn't mean it tastes amazing. Or actually has bacon on it. Rich bastards.
14. No one in Florida knows how to drive. NO ONE. Maybe it's because 92 percent of them are talking on cell phones at any given time.
15. Said driving made me become an increasingly aggressive driver. By that I mean white knuckled and swearing at everyone.
16. "All you can eat" really means all you can eat.
17. You'll have sea legs for at least 24 hours after getting off the boat.
18. Drug dealers in Nassau will try to sell to anyone by discreetly announcing "need some ganj... weed?" while they pass you on the street.
19. Cougars love wearing hot pink and singing along to classic rock covers.
20. No matter what the guy looks like, the chick he's with is always hot. We think it's cuz their European, or rich. Or both.

And... Coco loco, yummy yummy!

Mixing business and pleasure

I remember the first time I heard about Facebook -- the summer before my senior year of college. My friend Amanda, who went to UW-Oshkosh, told me I should join. I hopped online and went to the site. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how in the hell to sign up. Turns out, UW-Stevens Point hadn't even been added to the list of FB-friendly colleges yet.

Back in 2005, the networking site was set up solely for college students; and not even all universities had the luxury of joining. Profiles were limited. Customization was non-existent. Members had a place for their picture, a wall for friends to send public messages to, and a section to fill out basic personal info like interests, movies and quotes.

As the networking site expanded, so did its members. Now, more and more people are joining Facebook. First with the addition of high schools, then expanding to the entire interactive community. That's all well and good, but what do you do when acquaintances at work, or professionals from your industry request to be your friend.

I never personally seek out anyone on Facebook. If I went to high school with you -- we'll leave it at that. No offense, but if we haven't talked in eight years, and barely conversed in high school, what do you think we have to discuss now? I don't care if you're "shopping at the mall!!!" or "have an aweful cold." Those everyday things can be left to your real friends.

In order to limit my invasion of privacy, I've severely limited my information posted online. I still have pictures up from drunken debacles in college, or family holidays. But, only about 30 people can see that information. If you can, consider yourselves lucky. If you can't -- don't be offended. The only way you know about those pictures is by that stupid newsfeed anyway. Not many people actually log on with the intention of looking at my personal page. If they do, they have full access anyway.

I'm reluctant to add friends by request too. Lately, more and more people from work add me to Facebook. My publisher, sales reps, cube neighbors... where do I draw the line?

I already set up the "Limited Profile" section, but to avoid embarrassing or more personal information from leaking out at work, I set up a "Work Profile" for people whom I hardly talk with, or have even had a conversation in person.

If you're not my friend, my picture and networks don't even show up.

A couple months ago, my editor decided to join Facebook. Once he established himself in the interactive community, he knew I was familiar with the site and came to me wondering how we could get our two magazines more face time with younger readers.

I was initially excited -- then reluctant. I set up Fan Pages for both magazines, added links to all the back issues, video of tool reviews and product previews, listed upcoming events. But that meant I also had to be a fan.

The Fan Pages are still a work-in-progress, but readers who are familiar with the networking site are becoming fans of our magazines.

It's a double-edged sword. The project itself has become my baby. And it looks good to integrate different communication mediums for our readers. But now, the lines are blurred.

So don't take it personally, this is strictly professional. If I don't know you, I just don't want to be your friend.

Meet Julio

My step-dad George is a pretty unique character.

Whenever he eats fast food, he gets the kid's meal so he can save the toys and give them away for Halloween, instead of candy. He has mated and attempted to sell a litter of his and my mom's Yorkie's puppies, always buys random crap from HSN (with the help of my mom), and frequently pushes for vacations to Vegas or Mexico.

He once seriously considered buying an alpaca farm. Yeah, those.

He bought 500,000 in Iraqi Dinar -- maybe about $500 US -- to give away as Christmas presents two years ago to all the kids and family.

So last year, circa June 2008, when my mom told me George was trying to grow avocado plants from leftover pits, I didn't think much of it. Just another crazy idea.

But it worked.

He submerged three pits in separate glasses of water. They sat for two months, until finally they split open and roots formed. My mom transplanted each to their own pot.

So without further ado (or, adieu?)... allow me to introduce you to the newest member of my plant family. Meet Julio!

Julio!

Notice though, how his leaves are starting to shrivel? They grow too big and start to brown and shrink up as new leaves grow on top. Julio's getting to big for his britches.

On the market, fo' FREE!

In the next week, I plan to move Julio to a bigger, better pot. It's like moving from an overstuffed trailer to a $1.2 million estate.

"I'm gonna be disss big!"

Then, he'll be able to grow into a real boy, err, tree. Maybe he'll even bear me some fruit.

Penny pinching

In an effort to save money, I've discovered some ways to stave off the spending demons.

Over the last six weeks, I've stuck to my guns (for the most part), and held back on wasting away my entire paycheck on frivolous crap. After about week four I started to get antsy, and thought my impulses might get the best of me. But I'm slowing finding ways to keep a balance between living like a homeless person and Kim Kardashian.

(Blatant props to Gregor for the majority of these tricks. If not for suggesting, at least for guiding me to come up with these frugal ideas.)

1. Look for sales.
Simple enough, right?
When I go grocery shopping, I now make it a point to write lists before I go. I don't always get a chance to check out the ads before heading to the store, but I'll still make sure to include the necessities (eggs, milk, bananas, etc.). Everyone needs fruits and veggies, but why not stock up on the cheaper stuff? 5-lb. bag of grapefruit one week, Golden Delicious apples the next. Variety is the spice of life anyway. Along with that, I make sure to cover the other basic food groups. Protein? cottage cheese and peaches, or tuna and crackers. Dairy? Yogurt or string cheese. But it's whatever I find on sale.

2. Take lunch to work.
If you eat fast food 3x a week, that can add up to $15 by Friday. I could buy a loaf of bread, sammich meat, lettuce, string cheese and a bag of apples for less than that, and it'll feed me the whole week. Plus, it's better for you.

3. Use what you've got.
I have a ton of shit in my pantry. I mean, some of that stuff expired in June 2008 (Hello, sugar-free caramel ice cream topping. WTF was I thinking). Why not make some crazy concoctions. I have tons of spices, flour, mac n' cheese, granola bars, oatmeal. Everything. Instead of buying more crap, why not eat what I've got? With all these ingredients, I'm also starting to expand my cooking horizons. For instance, I used up the week-old mushrooms in my fridge by adding olive oil, balsamic, garlic powder and thyme, then boiled some noodles. Voila.
On the list this week? Chad's PB cookies. I have every single ingredient in my cupboard already.

4. Shop consciously.
I've taken a few trips to clothing stores since Jan. 1; but I've done better than before. Instead of buying something just because it's on sale, I'll think "Do I really need that?" and "How many times will I wear it?" I'm a jeans and T-shirt kinda gal, so I'll generally go for the basics anyway. Places like TJMaxx (think the Big Lots equivalent to Wal-Mart) offer everything from suits and ties for dudes, to Express jeans and name-brand purses for ladies, all liquidated or discontinued from top-of-the-line stores. For at least half the price. Also check out Goodwill or other thrift stores. Besides some clothing, I've found crock pots and dishes, plus decorations for my apartment.
Also, starting in the next couple of months, people are going to start spring cleaning. You know what that means? Rummage SALES.

5. Take what you can fo' free.
Here's one example from today. I keep a filing cabinet full of important papers (insurance, bank statements, etc.) that needed expanding. I bought a new cabinet this weekend -- but why buy more folders and tags? Instead, I headed for my office's paper graveyard. Tons of magazines throw out and reorganize their info all the time, so they're constantly getting rid of hanging folders, manila folders, binders, etc. Now I'm just giving them a new home.

Also, I've been looking to replace my refreezable ice packets for my lunch since mine started leaking. On my way back to my cube, I came across a table full of free stuff. People were trying to get rid of vases and Tupperware containers. There I found some still-packaged Rubbermaid Blue-Ice re-freezable packets. Hot damn!


6. Turn off the lights.
This'll be a tough one when the time comes. Right now, I don't pay for heat or electricity. Or water. Hell, the only bill I have besides my chintzy cable is rent. Once I move out of my lavish apartment, I'll have to start being more conscientious about my consumption. For now though, I'll let that be my one luxury.

That's what I've learned so far. Got any other tips?

Thems the banks...

Rant #2 for the week. SRY.

Read this first: Associated Bank plans its own fiesta after bailout party.

That's right, Wisconsin's own Associated Bank has joined the list of bailout offenders to use federal aid to send 100 employees on a vacation TO A RESORT IN PUERTO RICO.

WTF.

President and CEO of Associated Bank, Paul Beidemann justified not canceling the trip by saying these "top performers" deserved to go, namely because the bank still pulled a profit last quarter.

Wait a tick; I thought I read you received $525 million from the federal government. That's millions of dollars of taxpayers money, being spent for bank employees to spend more than a week drinking watered-down daiquiris and getting sunburnt.

I'm not saying that employees shouldn't be rewarded for a job well done; but there's a time and a place. Give them a weekend getaway to a waterpark in GB, or a $100 gift certificate to Best Buy.

As a preferred stock holder and past employee of the company, I'm a little sore. As far as I'm concerned, the bank has two options:

#1. Take me on a vacation to Puerto Rico too. Or,
#2. Let me sell my stock for the price I initially paid, so I can stop supporting such an inept business.

Throw away your television

As some of you might know, Congress passed a law pushing back the DTV Transition conversion date from Feb. 17 to June 12. What this means is television stations broadcasting in analog will be forced to switch to digital no later than that date. If you want to know more, visit www.dtv.gov.

I'm not going into the differences, or the benefits of either type of broadcasting. Strictly speaking from a societal perspective, postponing the inevitable is just a damn silly idea.

The government has already spent millions of dollars on marketing to notify Americans of the change. Commercial after amateur-quality commercial has littered local stations for the past 18 months. Broadcasters have been advising viewers that they need to make sure they have one of the following:

1. Cable/Dish. If you already have an auxiliary jack flowing precious sitcom after sitcom to your TV, you're fine.

2. A TV that accepts digital broadcasts. I know some retailers have taken advantage of this, but they were forced to put up signs advising customers about the switch, and which TVs support the switch, sometime back in late 2007.

3. A digital conversion box. These are available at retailers too. And, the government will provide you a voucher for reimbursement.

One of the issues pushing the law back was the fact that the government is having trouble reimbursing vouchers for the $40 conversion boxes eligible to every American household. Fine. Hand them out for free then.

The fact is, only your grandma doesn't have cable; and you've probably already gone over to her house to set up her digital conversion box, or brand-new 42" HDTV with a remote she'll think is a telephone.

If by God's grace and having your head stuck up your ass for the last year and a half, you haven't heard the news, you will when you don't get a signal on your TV.

You've already been watching that much TV, so you must have seen the commercials. You should be prepared. I don't want to hear it. Stop wasting time and spending my hard-earned money to cater to a couch-potato society.