Category: karma

Oh Snap!

Richardson drops bid for commerce secretary post

Yeah…Oh Fair New Mexico…you were thisclose to having one of ours seated firmly in the cabinet of our new president.

The presidency that will certainly be historic. The one that promised change.

But instead, you sit on the sidelines, dress torn, makeup smeared, hair all a mess, not yet ready for the Miss America contest.

C’mon you crazy mixed up state! Let me take you out for a nice plate of enchiladas and a pitcher of margaritas.

You can even have the extra sopapilla.

We’ll get ’em next time, tiger!

Near and Dear to my Heart

Sit back, I’m about to go on a bit of a rant, inspired by a story I read today in the SFGate.

About six or eight years ago, I was living in a small apartment in the South Bay, in a small eight unit building. The building dated back to at least the 1930’s, if not earlier, and featured this breathing dragon of a wall heater as its only source to take the chill of cold rainy evenings.

I had gone home to New Mexico for Christmas, and my mom, ever the practical one, had given me a carbon monoxide alarm as a gift.

Fine. Whatever. I took it back to California with me where it sat, unused, in the box for quite a while. A year or more, if truth be told.

One day, I was cleaning up the place when I found that thing and figured, “oh well”. I put in the batteries and hung it from my ceiling. Fine. Look at me. Miss Practical.

A couple months later, the damn thing started going off.

I was frustrated. Surely this was defective. Busted. Whatever.

I unscrewed it from the ceiling and moved it farther back.

And the damn thing kept going off.

Weird.

Fine. So after dealing with the piercing noise for, again, if I’m telling the truth here, several months, I finally called PG&E. I knew it would take them *forever* to fit me in, but whatever.

I told them that my carbon monoxide alarm kept going off and could I get an appointment for someone to come out check.

Anticipating at least 30 days before I got an appointment, I was surprised when, instead, the call dispatcher said, “someone will be there immediately” and further, “open all the doors and windows until someone arrives.”

Uh. Ok. Much ado about nothing, right? But at least I’d get quick attention.

Good for their word, a guy showed up within about ten minutes.

He took a reading in the center of the room and said, “I’m going to cap off your gas, you have fatal levels of carbon monoxide in here.”

Well blow me over.

Turns out there was a center tube of metal inside the heater that had slid down when the house settled or from age, and it left a crack about an inch wide that was venting the heater right into my apartment.

The next day, I absentmindedly told this story to a friend at work, and she started crying. One of her dearest friends had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Her life could have been saved with the simple installation of a carbon monoxide alarm, but it was, instead, lost.

When The Good Man moved into our place, I told him this story and said I will never live in a place that does not have a working carbon monoxide alarm.

I refuse.

I was reminded about all of this today when I saw the headline in the local paper say:

Two Bay Area families survive carbon monoxide poisoning

“The mother said the family started feeling sick around midnight…When their symptoms failed to improve in the morning, they headed for the emergency room.”

That woman’s good thinking saved her family, her kids, her own life.

It scares the crap out of me. Apartments are required to have a smoke alarm, but not a carbon monoxide alarm. They even make dual alarms these days, both fire and carbon monoxide. Easy peasy!

So please, anyone who is reading this, don’t hesitate, don’t call it “some remote possibility”. Don’t put it off.

Get thee to a Wal-Mart or a Target or a Home Depot and BUY a carbon monoxide alarm and install it where you will spend most of your time.

Buy two, one for the living room and one for your bedroom. Just do it, okay?

Thanks. Your life matters to me.

Haaawhoof!

That approximates the exact sound I made at about 10:55 this morning.

I had a “meet and greet” with the boss of my boss, a high ranking and incredibly powerful woman.

I mean, she’s brilliant. Has a degree in chemistry and another in finance. Worked for an oil company in Houston for many years and then made her way west. The continuing upward steps in her career are admirable.

Her background is deep, diverse and amazing.

Let’s just say this: She is a force to be reckoned with.

And as a new employee in her organization, I got the chance to have an hour of her time so she could get to know me and so I could get to know her too.

I was told by my mentor that I should, “come with an agenda, don’t leave open air”. Her time if valuable, to be sure. And so I did. I came to the table with a print out of questions I jotted down and I noticed she took note that I had.

I asked her about her background, her management philosophy and what I can do to be effective here at the company. And she answered very candidly.

I even asked her what is her nitpick so that I can manage to that. She told me two.

That’s some managerial self-awareness!

So it was an intense hour, but good, meaningful and filled with useful information.

When it was over, I came out of her office pitted out (meaning, I needed a Right Guard moment, raise your hands if you’re Sure, etc).

So, for me, the life moments that cause me to get pitted out all get measured on the scale of completing the orals for my Master’s degree.

Wearing a suit, in front of my professor committee, at the marker board, explaining economic theory. Yeah, despite two coats of D.O., I was WAY pitted out that day. That was the worst.

So if we call “Master’s Orals” a 10, today’s moisture was about a three. So low, but still…

I musta been more nervous that I even thought going in.

When all was done, I came out of the boss lady’s office, went up two floors to my office, ripped off my cardigan, and uttered a long drawn out “haaawhoof!”

You know the sound. The one you make when you’ve finished your laborious taxes. The one you make when your shaky team is up by one with three seconds on the clock in a playoff game and they manage to win.

The one you make when you want very much to make a good impression on someone who could literally make or break you and your career.

Haaaaawhoooooof!

It’s not okay.

You know, over the years I’ve heard many a grownup yell and throw things at the television when a commercial came on using a song that meant something to them “back in the day”.

Let’s be clear, advertisers are sluts. They’ll use any jingle, tune or icon imagery if they think it will sell.

Oh, yes, the howls over The Beatles “Revolution” being used to sell Nikes.

The Rolling Stones “Start me up” for Microsoft and “Satisfaction” for Snickers.

Carly Simon’s “Anticipation” used to sell ketchup.

And Bob Seger’s “Like a Rock” used for Chevy Trucks. To name but a few.

Yup.

I always agreed and smiled mirthfully while my older friends lamented the demise of their meaningful music.

Until just a few days ago. Yes, a few days ago, I saw this commercial.

And suddenly I was yelling and throwing things at the television.

They have abducted The Fixx!

“Saved by Zero”, an iconic song (at least to ME), is now used to shill freaking Toyota cars and trucks at “amazing zero percent financing”.

It’s wrong.

I had to cleanse my senses by watching the original, sort of nonsensical video.

(YouTube says this one can’t be embedded, so here’s the link.)

Ok, I get it. I’m in that “key” 35-50 demographic where they *hope* we have jobs, responsibilities, and the wherewithal to finance a new Toyota automobile.

But come ON!

It is, for me, a loooooong leap from my New Wave cool “we’re not going to be like you” days in high school to tooling around town in a sensible Prius.

And. They. Won’t. Stop. Playing. That. Ad.

Especially during post-season baseball.

Ugh!

I have to wonder, in twenty years, which current modern pop songs will be used to shill products?

The one about the stripper? (Ray J’s “Sexy Can I”)?

The one about the stripper (Flo Rida’s “Low”)?

Or the one about the stripper (T-Pain’s “I’m in love with a stripper”)?

Ah well, I can rest easy knowing that in 2028, these young whippersnappers will be hollering and throwing things at the television.

“Hey you kids, get off my lawn!”