Next stop: Croatia

Trepidation. That's the word I was looking for.

Everyone's asking me if I'm excited about my trip to Croatia with my mother. (We leave tomorrow morning). "Excited" isn't really the word.

Here's the thing...I'm used to traveling alone. No one there to check if they're having a good time, no one to make me late for a flight, no discussions about how early is too early to get up or too late to be out.

It's just me. And except for a few trips with Firecracker, I usually prefer the solo route.

Coming and going on my mother's time will cramp my style, but I can live with that, I guess. But my mother isn't a young traveler (78!) and she's used to putting her luggage in the hall and having it magically appear at the next destination. I had to remind her that I didn't pack a valet.

I have a Croatian colleague who's been advising me on my travel plans. Well, yesterday I asked about tipping in Croatia. In some countries, leaving a tip is tantamount to wearing a t-shirt with an American flag on it and blowing your nose with $50 bills.

Suffice to say, I should be careful with my money in Croatia. It seems, at least according to my colleague, that all Eastern European nations have a tendency to cheat the tourists. "That's just the way it is," he said.

Fabulous!

After my trip to Spain, I got a little more comfortable with the euro, so I thought 'this will be easy.' But NOOOOO!!! Croatia doesn't use the euro, they use the kuna! One kuna equals about 17 cents American.

How's your math?

Smart girl that I am, I created a wallet-sized cheatsheet of kuna/US dollar conversions. By looking at this, we should at least know not to spend $80 on a sandwich and a Coke. Hopefully.

Usually, I get very excited and can't sleep the night before I take off on a trip. I don't know if I'll sleep tonight. Maybe a vodka and tonic will help.

Better late than never???

After receiving an extremely sincere-sounding apology the day after the ass-grabbing, lip-chewing, drunken slobber of a "date," I decided to give Newzie another chance and agreed to meet him for a Cubs game. We made arrangements, but the day before the game, he called to change the plan.

Seems he had been asked to substitute teach for a friend's college class. Could he meet me at the game, probably by the 4th or 5th inning?? Since I had been planning to attend the Cubs game before he offered to join me, I didn't mind the adjustment.

During the game, he said how happy he was that I agreed to see him. He was feeling bad about his behavior the night we met. I told him that I was giving him two choices: 1) we could pretend we just met and this is the first time we've gone out, or 2) he could pick up where he left off that night, but he'd have a very deep shit-hole to dig out of.

He wisely chose option #1.

From there on out, it seemed very much like a first date. Small talk. One beer each. A few laughs It was a beautiful evening and the Cubs even won! After the game, we decided to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, and headed to the same post-game watering hole where we met.

Two drinks later, Newzie insisted on walking me home. From my perspective, he was still on probation, so I didn't respond when he put his arm around my waist as we left the bar. Standing in front of my building, we kissed a bit but nothing like the tonsil-hockey of the first night - - fortunately.

"You're getting me excited," he said.

"Then I'd better send you home."

We spoke briefly a few days later and, I thought, made plans to have a drink after the Bears game. When no call came that night or in the following days, I figured he was just looking for nooky and when I didn't oblige, he bailed...

Till he called a few minutes ago to wish me a safe and fun trip to Croatia.

He wanted to see me tonight but realized that I'd be packing and there was no chance. Newzie asked me to please save an evening for him when I return when he wants to see pictures and hear all about my trip.

That day

All across the web, people are remembering where they were on this day five years ago. My first memories aren't of a place, but of a face.

My coworker came to my desk, his eyes red and swollen. He collapsed into a chair with a shell-shocked look on his face. One of our clients - - one of his clients - - had an office in one of the World Trade Center towers.

They weren't there anymore.

Technically, this specific scene happened on Sept. 12, but back then, time was meaningless. At least for a few days.

As for the events of Sept. 11, 2001, they are as clear in my mind today as they were then. The first inkling I had that something had happened (strange how people say 'something had happened' like there was a traffic accident) was a cell phone ringing for a fellow passenger on the CTA bus that I took to work. Normally, no one cared about a call, much less bothered to listen to the conversation. But it seemed like the phone wasn't ringing for her, but for all of us as she hung up and said to no one in particular, "a plane just hit the World Trade Center."

I didn't understand the implications. How could I?

When I arrived at my desk, I noticed that everyone was in the next room, gathered around one of the few televisions on our floor. I thought it was a replay on CNN as I saw a plane flying unbelievably low in the Manhattan sky. Then it hit the remaining tower!

One of our board members turned to me and instructed me to close the office. We had only just opened for the day.

I'm normally the last one out of our office and this day was no different. Actually, it was different because all of my colleagues waited at my desk until I was ready to leave. We closed the office together and walked out of our building together. Instinctively, I looked up and west to the Sears Tower and wondered if that skyscraper would still stand the next day. (Ironic that we now work in the Sears Tower. Or maybe it's just scary.)

With no particular place to go, we wandered without purpose, thought or speech among the thousands of Chicagoans that were released from their offices. We stopped momentarily at a TV in an office window and watched as one of the towers fell.

We walked for blocks and I couldn't help but think to myself, "this isn't supposed to happen to us! We're the United States of America for chrissakes!" Instead of screaming my anger and indignation, I just walked on in numbed silence.

Eventually, we decided that we would each go home and deal with the situation in our own way. For me, that included taking a transistor radio, a bottle of water and my keys and getting the HELL out of my high-rise apartment and to the relative safety (?!) of the lakefront.

God speed to my friends across the globe who are thinking of us today.

Newzie

When he called for the third time that day, I suspected he might be "one of those." You know the type. He generously offers to not only father your children, but put them through college and retire with you to Maui - -and that's in the first five minutes of conversation.

I met "Newzie" after the Cubs game on Saturday. Having attended the game alone, I began to enjoy a post-game cocktail at one of my favorite haunts when I noticed him peering at me through the crowd.

Describe him? Well, if this were a police blotter, he'd be the epitome of "average:" average height, average weight, medium dark brown hair, brown eyes, late 40s.

Strangely enough, our conversation seemed to click with similar interests: baseball, travel, people-watching, etc. Newzie apparently had some friends in town from California but was ready and willing to ditch them and take me to dinner instead.

Pasta and a bottle of wine later, Newzie leaned over and kissed me. (He had already been silently smooching my hand and telling me how beautiful I was throughout dinner). It was a nice, polite kiss, nothing terribly aggressive so I enjoyed it although I hadn't yet decided where this date would lead...if anywhere.

After dinner, we enjoyed a few more drinks with Newzie getting tipsy and me, well, of course, I wasn't even buzzed because I have the alcohol tolerance of a Mardi Gras parade grand marshall. We landed at a nearby jazz club which, despite being almost empty, gave us the VIP super-secret back booth. Newzie ordered another bottle of wine.

Beer + wine + post-dinner cocktails + more wine = one horny bastard. What started out as nice, polite kisses quickly turned into an almost violent tonsilectomy with a few ass grabs thrown in for good measure. He was very interested in having sex with me and I think he would've started the proceedings right then and there had I not put the kybosh (sp?) on that.

Trying to bring the evening back to more secure footing, I backed out of the last kiss and tried to continue what had been interesting conversation. I learned that he'd been married for 10 years but was now divorced. How long since the divorce? About a year!

There it was, the answer to the question that had been itching the back of my psyche all night: why is he interested in spending so much time with me? Why not get the phone number and move on? That's the answer! He's not dating, he's auditioning replacements!

The liquor/truth serum kicked in and he admitted that after getting divorced, he dated a 22-year-old for a little while. Oh, did I mention that he's more than twice that age?!?!

Strange how the mind works sometimes, huh? It was just then that it occurred to me that I've been offered sex two times in the past 10 days!!! By two different men!!! On two different continents!! Yay for me!

Maybe it's because I haven't been in a relationship (read: sex) in two years, but I decided that Newzie had some redeeming qualities, particularly when sober. BUT...If you looked up the definition of "rebound," the dictionary would show his picture.

It's a minefield, I know. Newzie suggested joining me for a Cubs game soon. We'll see...

Sangria, tapas and dinner at 10

BARCELONA, SPAIN- -
It's hard to know where to begin to describe my unfortunately short visit to Spain for my friend JT's wedding. Food, however, was an integral part of the festivities - so much so that I don't think I have the vocabulary to tell you how amazing it
was.

I must say, though, that when I think of all things Spanish, I think of sangria (but maybe that's because I'm an alchoholic!!) Anyway, it seems when you order a Coke or even water in Spain, you are lucky to get about six ounces - - maybe! But order sangria and you get a gallon jug with a slice of lemon and a straw! Gotta love Spain!

I do plan to tell you about the wedding, but first, the photos. The top three are examples of Antoni Gaudi's work (the middle being Sagrada Familia). He's one of Spain's most famous architects. The rest are scenes from La Rambla, a wide boulevard in central Barcelona full of shops, restaurants, hotels and markets.

But back to the food at the wedding reception...One of the first trays of hors d'oeuvres featured a tall martini glass filled with thick orange cream. The foot of the glass was submerged in a beach of black poppy seeds from which shards of fried tostadas stuck out. The idea was to grab a tostada and dip it into the cream, which turned out to be mango puree. Yum!!

Another tray contained martini glasses brimming with cloudy water in which floated several specks of spices. Hmmn?? Melon juice!

A third tray (of approximately 15 hot and cold appetizers) was loaded with miniature shot glasses that contained murky water with some unknown item in the bottom and a tiny spear in each glass. What is this mysterious food item??? Shots of mussels! Okay, I'm not a big fan of seafood, but that was pretty cool.

Also on the menu for appetizers was foie gras, salmon, lobster, anchovies and squid. No cheez-wiz here!

As for the wedding ceremony, it was pretty memorable, too. A bus whisked all of us to a small village about an hour outside of Barcelona. The church itself was a tiny stone building on a hill. The afternoon turned a bit warm so a friend of the bride gave to each woman a delicate paper fan - - how wonderfully Spanish!

At the mid-point of the ceremony (which was almost entirely in Spanish), a husband-and-wife duo sang what became the anthem of the day, "(Say that you love me) Before the Sun Goes Down." The woman's voice was accompanied by acoustic guitar and the almost tribal, hollow THUNK of a bongo echoing off the stone walls of the chapel. It was quite stirring.

Sitting down to dinner, I noticed that each place setting featured FOUR wine glasses! Gotta love weddings like that! Okay, one glass was for water, but still!

After dinner, we adjourned to the outdoors for dancing. A small dance floor was set among the pebbled patio. I was afraid to introduce my brand-new four-inch heels to tiny stones and my fears proved true during the first painful dance. In another stroke of wonderfully creative thinking, the bridal couple provided all of the women with various sizes of silver flip-flops for dancing!

Oh, did I mention that I was dancing with this French guy who was quite sure he was going home with me (to my hotel, not to Chicago)?? Unlike so many American guys who find a girl and stick to her like glue for the remainder of the evening, Frenchy danced with me, other girls and even the guys (not slow dancing!) but made it clear he was interested in the blond American.

Um, no I didn't sleep with him. But I did stay out until 7 am!!!

Killing time in Dublin Airport

Please excuse the late posting, but I didn't have internet access during my foray into Europe.

DUBLIN (AIRPORT) - Highlights of a 3-hour layover in Ireland:

• Got a bit worried about finding the airport when my view out the airplane window featured miles and miles of green grass and a few tiny white buildings scattered about. Nothing to suggest a city, much less an air traffice control tower and runways.
• Taxiing to the gate, I saw a small herd of cows grazing alongside the runway. Gotta love Europe!!
• In the ladies restroom in the terminal, I spotted an ad for a nearby hotel described as being located in the "airside retail park." Sounds like a lovely, picturesque venue, doesn't it?
• Walking toward my connection gate, my path took me up a flight of stairs in the terminal..a flight of wooden stairs!
• The "transfer hallway" was something out of a fun house. With each right- or left-handed turn, the hallway became substantially narrower until the corrider was no more than 30 inches wide! Fat Americans need not apply.
• Instantly I was swept away from the glass and steel of Terminal B and transported into the rich, dark wood and even darker beer of the Ol' Sod at The Gate Clock, a fabulous pub in the airport.

And this is where I sat for an hour, nursing not a Guiness, but a latte. (Gimme a break, it was 8:30 am Ireland-time).

I love international terminals! The bookstores, coffee shops and souvenir stores all look the same no matter if you're in Chicago, Dublin or Sydney. But the dark or light or freckled faces! and the lilting, gutteral or twangy voices!! Fantastic! One of my favorite low-cash entertainment venues used to be O'Hare's Terminal 1. The dramatic hellos and teary goodbyes were better than any Hollywood flick. Of course, that was a wonderful way to spend an evening until bastards turned the numbers 9 and 11 into a horrific date of infamy.

But I digress.

All eyes glance up periodically, digesting the numbers and letters that flicker across the arrival and departure boards. More than once I've seen someone glance quickly at the monitor and break into a dead run for a departure only moments away. These situations, however, are reserved almost exclusively for Heathrow Airport in London, also known as Heart Attack Central.

Two older gentlemen sit at the table next to me, sipping Guinness from small glasses. I think they're speaking English, but I'm in Ireland and this native tongue is a totally different animal altogether. The clock reads 10 am local time. I wonder what time their bodies say it is?

Best t-shirt seen today: "Mumbassa Univ. 98"

List of things I can't have in my carry-on

Okay, so I leave for Spain tomorrow night. I'm attending a former co-worker's wedding (to catch up any blog-reading late-comers.) Now that I think about it, it's the fourth such wedding in the past 18 months. Yeesh!

Anyway, back on topic. I was planning not to check any baggage at all, BUT NO!!!! those shitheads had to screw up the already screwed-up airline security systems and now almost all of my Barcelona-bound items will be shoe-horned into a former carry-on bag.

In my carry-on:
Purse (intentionally devoid of lip gloss and hand cream)
Passport (with flight and hotel confirmations)
Euros (and some USD)
Wedding cards from me and also two of my colleagues
Brand-spanking new digital camera
Not-so-new cell phone
Beat-up, but still working iPod
Mini AM radio (for Cubs game while coming home Sunday)
Jewelry (including pearls bought in China)

Sounds heavy, doesn't it?

Checked bag items:
Four days' worth of clothes (including new dress, new shoes, new purse for wedding)
Hair dryer and flat iron
Fire Jolly Ranchers for new CEO (yep, I'm a brown-nose, what of it??)
International adapter(s)
Chargers for above-noted cell phone, iPod and camera
Hair products (shampoo, conditioner, hair spray, styling lotion)
Makeup (including lip gloss, mascara, perfume)
Shower gel and moisturizer
Contact lens solution
Nail polish

**** Wait! I was just reading the TSA (Transportation Safety Administration) website regarding what we can and cannot bring in a carry-on. Toothpaste is still a no go, but "personal lubricants" are allowed! I guess that's so we can join the Mile High Club enroute to Europe! Note to self: stop at Walgreens on my way to the airport.

Oh, and nitroglycerine pills (and sprays) are allowed. Um, wait. Isn't "nitro" the stuff that Batman's enemies were always trying to use to threaten Gotham City? And that stuff's allowed on board my plane?!! Sure, now I feel secure...

See everyone next week (and I promise to post pics of Barcelona, if Blogger will cooperate!)

It's always something!

How's this for stupidity? I've just heard on CNN that some moron is suing the Oakland A's for discrimination. Here's the deal: the team sponsored a Ladies Night giveaway of pink baseball caps. He asked for one and the ballpark employee laughed, but wouldn't give him one. This goofball wants $4,000 for himself and EVERY man at the game that night! He claims that the marketing ploy discriminates against men.

Apparently, this same genius also tried to sue the LA Angels for discrimination when he didn't get a totebag during the team's Mother's Day promotion.

Did someone not get enough love as a child?? OR does he secretly want to be a woman?? Maybe he just has an unnatural love of the color pink?

If there is any justice in this world, a judge will drag this toad into a courtroom, force him to buy a ticket to tomorrow's game for everyone in the courtroom and then smack him upside his noggin and physically throw his ass out of the courtroom!!!

But you know how things work in today's world. He'll probably settle out of court and force all baseball teams to re-think their marketing plans. The hard part? this asshat's a lawyer!

Hold onto your floppy hats, keychains, replica jerseys, bobbleheads and refrigerator magnets!

What I did this summer

Diamond mind

You KNOW you've had too much exposure to baseball when the following happens:

While typing an email to a colleague while at work, I heard CNN say "Babe Ruth is under attack." I couldn't help but think, "what? the guy's dead! who's attacking a dead guy?" But then I thought maybe they are doing a soft news story about baseball and the Babe Ruth homerun record and they mean that his RECORD is being threatened. You know, the whole Barry Bonds homerun thing.

I looked up at the television in our office and saw that CNN was actually doing a story on Beirut!

Um, okay, now I get it.

Weekend in Washington

I've been to many professional baseball parks in my travels and this past weekend found me in our nation's capital, visiting Jada, my sister J and, of course, catching a few Cubs games at Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium.
And you can't be in Washington DC without seeing some political figures. But I'm pretty sure our forefathers didn't see this coming...

On the road (?) again

In one of my favorite movies, "It's a Wonderful Life," Jimmy Stewart's character wistfully details his future, one he envisions will include travel to exotic destinations. George tells Uncle Billy, "the three most exciting sounds are plane motors, anchor chains, and train whistles."

I couldn't agree more! Nothing puts me in a better mood than knowing I'm going on a trip.

Funny thing is, I've got so many trips planned for the next few months that I had to remember which airline I'm flying and out of which airport I'm leaving for my trip TODAY!!! Yep, I'm off to the East Coast where I'll visit Jada and my "Sister J" and, um, okay, so I'm going to two Cubs/Nationals games too! You knew THAT was happening.

I bought the game tickets months ago, before I ever met The Announcer (for the Nationals). But, yes, I did call and let him know I'd be in town. He sounded pleased, so we'll see. Hopefully, he can meet us for drinks tonight.

But what REALLY made my heart beat a bit faster today was the booking I made for my annual birthday trip in November. We have a precarious situation at my office currently, one that would prevent any normal human being from planning a disappearance. But, hey, this is me! and travel is a big part of who I am, so damned! I was defininitely going...somewhere!

For the past five years, I've been fortunate enough to be able to celebrate my birthday in another city, usually another country. It's totally hedonistic and I love it! Originally, the plan was to travel to new and exciting places every year without seeing the same country twice, at least until I'd seen every continent.

And then I went to Australia.

Unless you've been there, there is no way to explain the love affair I have with the land Down Under. The Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef, Melbourne. I can't help but smile when I think of my old friends, having visited them three or four times in the past six years.

I'm always home in time for Thanksgiving, and that's where it gets tricky. I try to use frequent flier miles for my birthday trips (who wants to pay for their own birthday??), but the freebies are severely limited and snatched up very quickly. So, when Erin of United's award travel told me that she could get me on flights to take me to and from Sydney, I wanted to crawl through the phone line and hug her!

Happy Friday everybody!!!

It's a look

My hair is getting pretty long. Actually, it's longer than its been in years. Celebrating this burst of cranial protein, I flat-ironed my hair yesterday. It's just something I do occasionally when I'm bored and I'd like a different look. Of course when I did it, I didn't realize that I'd uncovered my alter-ego...

Solitary Confinement

Yep folks, it was strep throat and for about two days, I was locked up. That's never a good thing for me. Makes me crazy.

On Thursday, I almost drowned in my own saliva because it hurt too bad to swallow. My wonderful doctor gave me some drugs, including a prescription for amoxycillin (sp?).
Okay, answer me this: if I can't even swallow my own spit, how I am expected to choke down this horse pill?? The answer? My answer for everything - - ice cream! My dad would've been proud to see me pulverizing a pill. I then sprinkled said drug on vanilla ice cream, added orange juice and VOILA! an amped-up dreamsicle!

After sleeping for no less than 11 hours, I awoke on Friday and COULD SWALLOW!!!! Okay, the throat was still sore, but solid food was no longer the enemy. Question of the day: does anyone know what Alexander Fleming was famous for?*

Sitting at home wallowing in my misery, I got a bit cranky (hard to believe, I know!!) and toyed with the idea of getting all dressed up and going out, spreading the joy of strep throat. Specifically, I planned to hook up with ex-boyfriends and play tonsil-hockey for a while and then merrily go on my way to the next victim. A modern day Typhoid Mary! Fortunately, I had not taken the other drugs yet, or else the trouble REALLY would've started.

The other drug my doctor prescribed was steroids. I wanted to say, "Hey doc, I'm not in the lineup today, what's with the juice?" She explained that the steroids would bring down the chipmunk-like swelling in my throat. The side effects she mentioned were hunger, sleep disruptions and possible depression. Little did she know...

I discovered a few other side effects when I went to bed on Friday. I set my alarm clock so that I didn't sleep all day on Saturday. I can't even explain why I set the alarm when I had nowhere to go and nothing to do on Saturday. Anyway, when I awoke to no alarm and checked the settings, I realized that I had set the alarm to wake me up Saturday NIGHT!
Steroid side effect #1: stupidity.

Saturday was so beautiful and warm that I wanted to get some sun, so I pulled on a bikini and trotted up to the rooftop deck where I knew I'd be alone. Everyone else has freedom!!! Everyone else is at.the.beach! Half asleep in the sun, I noticed that my tall, dark-haired, cute Irish neighbor had taken a spot about 10 feet away from me on the deck. A smile crept across my face as the fantasies began.
Steroid side effect #2: horniness.

In light of those two interactions, I guess it's probably a good thing I was quarantined.

*Oh, I forgot! My hero, Alexander Fleming, was a Scottish scientist who discovered penicillin in 1928. Why we won't have a worldwide holiday in his honor is beyond me!

Fire in the hole

Daggers. Hundreds of them. They sit poised just between the jagged shards of glass and just behind the pools of fiery gasoline that line my vocal cords. My body tenses to absorb the explosion of torture that comes with every swallow.

Sleep is not an option.

Is this what strep throat feels like?

I'll find out this afternoon.

Wish me luck.

Belly lint??

On one of our rare sunny days recently, I threw on a bikini, packed up a mini-chair, book, radio and some sunscreen and trudged the two flights of stairs up to the roof of my building in search of a tan. Knowing I would get hungry the moment I finished applying sunscreen, I also packed a granola bar and a bottle of water. Smart, huh?

Reclining into my green sun chair, I crunched into the granola bar and was a bit embarrassed to see a tiny crumb of granola roll down my chest and disappear into the canyon of my belly button. I have to say that the "navel" is an area of the body that's always grossed me out. It's the leftover knot where once a life-giving hose was attached. Needless to say, I really didn't want to have to go digging in this mysterious crevice for a miniscule food item.

Not to attract the attention of my fellow sunbathers, I remained in the reclining position and brushed my hand down my belly in an attempt to dislodge the offending item. The crumb flew up in the air momentarily and then immediately disappeared once again...kind of like an ant on a trampoline.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful (but highly entertaining) brushing, I rolled over to my side and out skipping the bit of granola. At the same time, the sun went behind some newly arrived clouds and my fun in the sun was over.

I tried to avoid the concerned look of my neighboring sunbather as I quickly collected my belongings and retreated to my apartment for the evening.

Bulls-eye

I'm sitting here at my desk with my mouth hanging open and staring at one of the TVs in our lobby.

The reason for my shock?

A manager for the Sears Tower (my office location) has just said that the Sears Tower is no more a target than any other building in the city or the country.

Um, what?!?!?!

So, why did the FBI just arrest a bunch of hoodlums in Miami who were trying to concoct a plan to blow up my place of business??

Let me guess...These goofballs held a meeting in their Florida warehouse where they randomly pulled out a map of the US, closed their eyes, spun around a few times and blindly pointed to the Sears Tower?!?!?

Kind of a terrorist pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

CNN just featured some high-level flunkee from the Sears Tower management office who stated that our security is the "best in the business." (You'd think he was running for office!)

This crack security team is the same group of folks who recently trashed a local restaurant's food cart when they tried to make a delivery in the building but doesn't bat an eye when my outsdoorsy colleagues carry in several highly flammable cooktops for camping.

I carry a backpack and a purse to work every morning. I usually place the backpack on the conveyor belt so that the security guard can scan it (if he's looking at the screen and not chatting with a coworker). THEY DON'T SCAN MY PURSE....EVER!

Yep, just gives you that warm and cozy feeling of safety, don't it???

Crumbs to a starving person

"I'm glad you handled everything."

I had to hold onto the corner of a desk to keep from falling down when one of our bosses said this to me today, the first day of a local conference at which my company exhibits. This guy has been here for over two years, but is just NOW learning some of the many reasons that I am a valuable employee (any why our new CEO is thrilled that I still work here after eight years).

The Exhibitors' Handbook instructed participants to send all of their conference materials to a conference services company, located about an hour away in the far northwest suburbs.

Our company, however, is located about a mile from the conference site, a veritable hop, skip and a jump away.

I dutifully ignored the silly, unnecessarily expensive shipping instructions and sent our materials directly the show site via a local messenger service.

Why was this a stroke of genius?

1) shipping costs will be approximately one-third to one-quarter of those from the conference services company, and
2) our materials arrived on site in one complete shipment unlike one of our competitor's materials, which were somehow shipped to Milwaukee!!!

Music to my ears!

Slow sports day

What's going on over at ESPN??? Since I work in an international company, we've been watching World Cup Soccer. Okay, the "foreigners" are watching and the Americans are enjoying a diversion from internet surfing.

First off, what the HELL, US team!?!?!? You guys looked like shit! Getting beat, 3-0 in the first round?!?!? We shoulda sent the Chicago Fire! I hear they're pretty good.

I left the televisions on ESPN after the soccer game (mostly because I was busy doing actual WORK, believe it or not!) and when I looked up, ESPN was broadcasting...get ready for this...CHAMPIONSHIP DOMINOES! No kidding! We didn't have the sound on, so I couldn't hear any of the commentary, but it appeared that the teams were made up of four black men.

Did R. Kelly finally get a new hobby?

15 seconds of fame, again

Yep, that's me you're seeing on our public television station in Chicago. According to one viewer/colleague in my office, I am now a celebrity.

Well, I don't know about that.

I think it was last year, I'm not sure. Anyway, I was standing in front of Wrigley Field before a Cubs game (rare occasion, I know) and some guy from Channel 11 came up to me and asked me if I wanted to do a station ID.

Those of you that know me know how shy I am. Wait, wait...I have to stop laughing so I can type this...

Anyway, I watch public television from time to time, so I knew what he was talking about when he asked about the station ID. They appear at the "top of the hour" and usually feature one or two Chicagoans doing whatever (selling hot dogs, delivering newspapers, waiting to buy Cubs tickets) who look at the camera and say, "Hi, I'm ..... You're watching Channel 11, WTTW Chicago" or something to that effect.

When my station ID started appearing last year, I was approached by random people who recognized me. It was pretty weird. The security guard from the building where I work saw the station ID, my aunt who was visiting from Florida saw it (and hence my mom), an ex-boyfriend saw it.

Wonder who will see me this year?