Still Cranky

The blog formerly known as "Chronic Fatigue"

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  • History, Interrupted

    The television screen was filled with images of thousands of Egyptians joyously celebrating in the streets of Cairo.  There, on the left side of the screen, in large cap letters, were the words "MUBARAK STEPS DOWN".

    I knew I was witnessing a moment in history.  Moments such as these happen only a few times in our lifetimes.  I wanted to soak it in.

    But while the Egyptians were celebrating their historic moment, other important news was fighting for my attention.  My eye kept going to the endless crawl on the bottom third of the screen.  There, in slightly smaller type, I was informed of several momentous events happening right here at home:

    Lady Gaga releases highly anticipated new single, 'Born This Way"

    Kid Rock defends decision to perform in snowy Arkansas

    Lindsay Lohan tweets "I would never steal"

    Donald Trump to consider running as GOP challenger in 2012

    Scarlett Johansson representative knocks down rumors that Scarlett is dating Sean Penn

    Thank you, MSNBC, for interrupting coverage of a major world event with headlines ripped from The National Enquirer.  As always, you managed to trivialize important news with total trivia.

    There was a time when crawls were reserved for major breaking news, sports scores and emergencies.  Today, that batshit crazy crawl is with us all the time.  That's bad enough.  But now, the steady stream of headlines moving along the bottom of our tv screens includes an increasingly absurd mashup of legitimate news and "Showbiz Tonite" gossip. 

    The line between hard news and entertainment is now blurrier than those nighttime scenes of Cairo's Tahrir Square.  And there is no going back.

    How I yearn for those halcyon days before the crawl.  The days before broadcasters decided to treat the audience as if we all suffer from A.D.D. and need a 24/7 drip of inane celebrity gossip to hold our collective attention.

    When the Apollo 11 moon landing happened in 1969, millions of us sat mesmerized for hours in front of our tv screens.  Can you imagine if Neil Armstrong's first step on the lunar surface had to compete with a news ticker announcing the entertainment headlines of the day?   Picture, if you will, Walter Cronkite narrating those grainy, black and white shots of Neil Armstrong emerging from the lunar module, while a ticker along the bottom of the tv screen read:

    Eddie Fisher and Connie Stevens call it quits

    Disney's "The Love Bug" highest grossing film of 1969

    The Archies' "Sugar Sugar" tops the charts for 4th consecutive week

    Twiggy celebrates 20th BD

    "The Dating Game" begins fifth season

    Would the moon landing have seemed half as riveting with the day's pop culture headlines dragging us back down to earth?    

    Now, no event – no matter how significant – is important enough to merit our total focus.  And no pop culture tidbit is too trivial to be deemed unworthy of our undivided attention.  I never thought I'd see the names "Hosni Mubarak" and "Lindsay Lohan" sharing the same screen.  But in today's world – where we no longer distinguish between news and nonsense – those kinds of juxtapositions are the norm. 

    Just once, I'd like to watch the news – or any program, for that matter – without that crazy, "Trivial Pursuits" crawl parading across the lower third.  Maybe the crawl should be optional, like closed captions.  That would be an improvement     (I wonder how many viewers would choose to keep the "crawl" option            turned on?).

    Or maybe the so-called news media will come to their senses and decide to focus just on the news.  Now, that would be truly revolutionary.  And completely unlikely.

    God forbid if World War III breaks out anytime soon.  Just as the missiles are headed towards our shores, we'll look up at our television screens for the last time and gasp as we read: 

    WORLD COMES TO AN END!

    Kim Kardashian admits to having liposuction…

    Snookie enters rehab…

    Justin Beiber introduces shampoo line…

  • The Downside of Upselling (Or “What Part of NO Don’t You Understand?”)

    I was at the Safeway Deli counter today, ordering my usual tuna sandwich        (they make a surprisingly good tuna sandwich).  Lately, I've been getting my lunch there almost every single day.  I always order the exact same thing.           And regardless of who is behind the counter that day, the exchange always – always – goes exactly the same way:

    DELI CLERK:    Can I help you?

    ME:                      Yes, I'd like a tuna sandwich on rye toast with nothing on it.   

    DELI CLERK:     Would you like cheese on that?

    ME:                      No, thanks…no cheese…nothing.  Just the tuna…on toast.

    DELI CLERK:    No cheese?

    ME:                      NO cheese…just tuna.  That's all I want.

    DELI CLERK:     Did you want tomatoes on that, Ma'am?

    ME:                      No.  No tomatoes.

    DELI CLERK:     Can I get you anything else with that?

    ME:                       No thanks, just the sandwich.

    DELI CLERK:     Would you like some tasty soup with that, lady?

    ME:                       No thanks, just the sandwich. 

    DELI CLERK:     Would you like to order a large sized soft drink today?

    ME:                      NO THANK YOU.  I…JUST…WANT…THE…SANDWICH.    

    By the time my sandwich is finally made, and it's time to pay for it, I am about to go postal.  But I'm not out of the woods yet.  Because that's when the Cashier attempts to close the deal by asking, "Do you want a refreshing soft drink with that today?  Or may I suggest some delicious soup?"

    At which point, I respond with, "NO, I JUST WANT THE #@!!% FREAKING SANDWICH!!" (Note: I don't actually swear at the Safeway counter…but this is what I would LIKE to say.  Regardless, my expression – and the steam escaping from my ears –  says it all.  The Sushi chefs at the neighboring counter have been known to stare).

    What we have here is a failure to communicate.

    Now, I know the Safeway Deli clerks are only doing as they are told.  And they have been told to always ask if the customer wants another item.  Even when said customer makes it absolutely clear he or she doesn't want another item – they must still ask the question (it should be noted here that most Safeway Deli personnel have a rather tenuous grasp of the English language to begin with, which tends to exacerbate the situation).

    Of course, this technique is quite deliberate.  It's called "upselling". 

    I call it a pain in the butt.

    This popular practice is hardly unique to the Safeway Deli counter.  It happens almost everywhere nowadays.

    Jamba Juice, for instance, is notorious for their upselling tactics.  I can't order a smoothie without being asked if I'd also like a "yummy baked good" with my drink.  Since I've  caught on to their methods, I've tried to head them off at the pass, immediately jumping in at lightning speed with "No, I don't want anything else with that", just as the eager Jamba clerk is forming the question.  Alas, it does no good.  The question gets asked anyway.  These people have been given a script, and by golly, they are going to stick to it.  Which means they don't even act that much like real people.  They're more like perky automotrons with aprons.

    Upselling isn't new.  As anyone who has frequented a department store cosmetics counter knows, you can't just buy a lipstick without being asked to sample the latest miracle serum or amazing, line-smoothing foundation.  But for some reason, I expect this at the makeup counter.  And when you tell a Lancome salesperson "no thanks", it tends to stick.  He or she just gives you a dirty look and skulks away to ring up your measly purchase.

    But this new breed of aggressive retailers won't take no for an answer.  I assume that's because they must have had some success with this technique.  It's all predicated on impulse buying and the power of suggestion.  I guess a certain number of people who had no idea they wanted soup with their sandwich suddenly want soup when the suggestion is made.  But when I am asked the question repeatedly – regardless of what I've already said – I have an entirely different impulse:  I want to strangle the person asking the question.  Better yet,     I want to strangle that person's boss.

    Good customer service used to mean that you listened to what the customer wanted and gave them exactly what they requested.  But listening is just so passé.  Today, you simply tell impressionable customers what they should want.  And if they still don't want it, just tell them again.  And again.

    Retailers of America: Come to think of it, I would like something else with my sandwich or smoothie or whatever the hell it is I'm about to purchase: someone who actually listens and knows enough to not presume to know what I want.

    Not that you asked.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Hopelessness We Can Believe In

    There's a new Nutrisystem commercial on the air now, and it's one of the most shocking TV commercials I've ever seen. 

    The spot opens with a haggard looking middle aged woman talking to camera about the dramatic weight loss she achieved with Nutrisystem.  Nothing remarkable about that – just another standard Nutrisystem real person "before and after" testimonial. 

    But then the woman says something stunning:  "I just feel if you're fifty years old and overweight, there's no hope for you."

    She doesn't smile when she says this.  There's no nervous laugh that indicates she's trying to be funny, or is intentionally exaggerating to make a point.              She delivers the words with a deadpan, dour expression.  She really means it:  There's no hope for you.

    The moment she delivers this bombshell – just as you're wondering if you really heard her correctly – oh no she didn't! – they cut away to perky spokesperson, Marie Osmond.  Marie, of course, gushes about the woman's transformation on Nutrisystem, telling her how fabulous she looks (I fully expected Marie to congratulate the woman on just narrowly escaping an utterly hopeless existence).

    Now, I'm usually less than thrilled to see Marie Osmond in these commercials    (or anywhere else, for that matter).  But I gotta tell you, I was actually relieved when they cut away to her; she's the overly perky antidote to the dire pronouncement we've just heard about…no hope.

    There's no hope for you.  The statement is both shockingly clear-cut and            curiously vague.  No hope about what?  Of ever losing weight as you get older?      Of ever looking attractive?  Of fitting into your clothes?  Of controlling your cholesterol?  Is that what she means?   

    Or…does she mean "no hope" in a bigger sense?  There's no hope of not losing your husband to a younger woman?  No hope of ever getting a job?  Of finding new love?  Of achieving even a crumb of human happiness?

    Actually, I believe that's exactly what Debbie Downer is saying: That if you are overweight and over fifty, it's over for you.  Period.  Game over.  Better hurry and call Nutrisystem now or you're doomed to a life of misery and destitution, living under the freeway, wearing a tattered muumuu, sharing a can of Fancy Feast with your cats.

    (Note to Nutrisystem: if you're going over to the Dark Side, why not go all the way and admit the real truth: that if you're over fifty in our society, there's no hope      for you, regardless of what you weigh).

    Frankly, I'm amazed that this commercial made it on the air in its current form.  Most marketers bend over backwards to avoid even the slightest hint of "negativity".  They focus group every single word to make absolutely sure there's zero risk of offending even a single customer, of tarnishing their brand, or having their message misconstrued in any way. 

    Did Nutrisystem think that older women would respond positively to this woman's startling admission that it's all over for the fifty-plus crowd if they don't lose their love handles?  Did they think that kind of blunt scare tactic would be compelling?  Or did they just not think about it?

    I don't offend easily, but there's still something very unsettling about this commercial.  Maybe it's too honest?   Maybe there really is no hope.  Maybe we just can't handle the truth.

    At the end of the commercial, bubbly Marie Osmond asks the woman what it feels like to lose 60 pounds with Nutrisystem.  The woman says it's incredible…she's never looked better or been happier in her entire life.  Yet she looks tired, drawn and utterly miserable.  She actually looked healthier – and younger – in her "before" photo.

    That gives me hope.

  • Turning Lemons Into Lulus

    This morning, I walked past a sign
    in front of the Lululemon yoga apparel        store in downtown San Francisco. 
    The sign said, "Do one thing a day that scares you." 

    Really?  Just one thing?

    My day is already chocked full of
    things that scare me; from answering my phone to opening my cable bill or
    watching promos for "Keeping Up With the Kardashians".  I
    don't need to do more scary things; I've already met my daily quota –
    and then some (and if I want to do something truly scary, all I have to do is
    try on a pair of those Lululemon low-waisted stretch yoga pants.             That could
    traumatize me for weeks).

    But what really scares me
    is this kind of precious, oh-so-self-conscious marketing parading as something
    else.  The harder companies try to appear "authentic", the more
    phony-baloney they seem – and the more manipulated     I feel.  
    I don't shop at Lululemon. 
    Horror of horrors, I don't even do yoga.      But I do know that Lululemon is
    a wildly successful brand with a cult-like following (known as
    "Luluheads").  Their founder, Chip Wilson, has a reputation for
    being a marketing genius.

    Well, Chip, you certainly got my
    attention with that sign of yours.  I'm sure it was meant to prompt some
    long overdue introspection – and send me running into your store to buy a
    $100 hoodie.  Instead, it immediately set off my bullshit detector. 
    I wanted to run as far away from Lululand as I could get.

    Frankly, I resent having a retailer
    that sells overpriced yoga pants and sports bras doling out unsolicited advice
    on how to find enlightenment and improve self-esteem (you really want to boost
    my self-esteem?  Try raising the waistlines on those damned pants).

    But I get it: what that sign was
    really saying was:  Lululemon is an authentic, unique brand…we don't
    sell clothing…we sell self-improvement, personal empowerment and
    one-size-fits-all spirituality.  Oh, and we're also just so darned
    irreverant and playful!

    What I didn't realize was that the
    cheeky advice on the store sign is only the tip of the Lululemon
    self-improvement iceberg. When I checked their website, I discovered an entire
    Lululemon "    Manifesto".  For sheer wacky-ness,
    the Manifesto is the motherload – a splendid mishmash of the practical and the
    downright wierd.       Some of the items are clearly
    related to yoga, health and exercise:

    "Sweat once a day to
    regenerate your skin."

    "Breathe deeply and appreciate
    the moment."

    "Stress is related to 99%
    of all illness.    "     

    "Drink FRESH water
    and as much water as you can.    "

    Those seem harmless enough. 
    After all, if you sell yoga clothes,  it makes perfect sense to espouse
    tips about health, exercise and stress-reduction.         
      
    But the Lulunuts don't stop there. 
    Because then the Manifesto veers off into a bizarre mix of cutesy,
    philosophical and utterly random gems such as:

     "Dance, sing, floss
    and travel    ."  

     "Communication is
    COMPLICATED.  We are all raised in a different family with slightly
    different definitions of every word.    "

    "Listen, listen, listen,
    and then ask strategic questions."     

    They've also included some
    helpful retirement planning advice:      "Don't trust that an
    old age pension will be sufficient    ."

    There's this radical notion (inspired, no doubt, by a fortune cookie or Suze Ormon): "Friends are more important
    than money."

    And this lulu of an insight: "Nature wants us to be mediocre
    because we have a greater chance to survive and reproduce.  Mediocre is as close
    to the bottom as it is to the top, and will give you a lousy life."

    Yogis tell us to "live in the
    question".  After reading the Lulu Manifesto, my only question is:
    "WTF?!?"     
    I guess what I'm supposed to think
    is, "Those wonderful, selfless people at Lululemon aren't even interested
    in money.  They care about me and share my values. 
    Wow.  That's so cool."   Instead, all I can think
    about is how this cagey company managed to earn a cool $350 million last year
    by yuppi-fying yoga wear and serving it up with some quasi-New Age hogwash.

    For all I know, maybe the Luluheads
    embrace this BS with the same devotion they have for the Lulu Groove Crop
    Pants     ($86) and the Push Ur Limits Tank ($52).  Or, maybe
    they just enjoy the clothes and the cachet.

    As for me, I have a sudden need to
    breathe deeply and chant very quietly, "Spare me.  Spare me. 
    Spare me."

    But hey, at least I did one scary
    thing today:  I took a closer look into the dark soul of Lululemon.  Be
    afraid.  Be very afraid.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • It’s Like, So Amazing

    Q: What do the following words have in common?

    "awesome", "fascinating", "incredible", "marvelous", "prodigious", "shocking", "stunning", "surprising", "unbelievable", "wonderful"

    A: They are all synonyms for "amazing".

    However…you don't hear any of those other words used much anymore.       Because the only adjective that gets used to describe anything these days seems to be "amazing".

    Have you noticed that right now, absolutely everything is "amazing"?  It is the adjective du jour.  Every time I overhear a cell phone conversation on the bus  (which is a lot more often than I'd like), it's pretty much guaranteed I will hear the phrase, "It was amazing".  If it's a twenty-something who is having the conversation, then it was "…like, SO amazing."  They might be describing last night's pizza, a new brand of lip gloss or the latest episode of "Lost"…makes no difference.  Whatever it was, it was amazing!

    Remember when everything was described with that other A-word, "awesome"?  Mercifully, "awesome" gave way to "amazing".  Which would have been just fine, except now there is only "amazing".  Apparently, we as a people are only capable of using one adjective at a time.

    Earlier this year, Larry King hosted a pre-Oscars show featuring the cast of the musical, Nine.  His celebrity panel included everyone from Kate Hudson, Penelope Cruz and Fergie to Daniel Day-Lewis, Sophia Loren and Dame Judi Dench.  At one point, Larry asked each person on the panel to describe what it was like to make this movie.   Every one of them – including the esteemed Dame Judi – answered exactly the same way: "Oh, it was just amazing."  I waited to hear Sophia Loren's answer.  Surely, the legendary Ms. Loren would never say, "It was amazing" – but sure enough, she added her "amazing" to the chorus.  Then Larry asked the director, Rob Marshall, what it was like to work with such an amazing cast.  His answer?  "What can I say, Larry?  It was just amazing."

    I have to admit, I am not immune from using the A-word.  In fact, I use it way too often.  It's become so automatic, I have stop mid-sentence and force myself to describe something as "incredible" or "wonderful" (I still refuse to say "awesome"…and if I ever did, there would be gales of laughter).

    There was a time when "amazing" was reserved for people and things that were truly amazing – usually circus acts, magicians, comic book characters or natural wonders.  The Flying Wallendas?  Now, they were amazing.  The Amazing Houdini?  He definitely earned the "Amazing" part.  The Amazing Spider-Man?  Hey, anyone who can scale a 30-story skyscraper and look good in Lycra is amazing in my book.  Niagra Falls…The Grand Canyon…Mt. Everest?   All pretty darned amazing.

    But today, everything from a goat cheese salad to Taylor Swift's latest CD qualifies as "amazing" (the fact that Taylor Swift is even a recording star…well, that's what is truly amazing.  But I digress).

    I never cease to be amazed at how one word can catch on and suddenly, it's the only word anyone ever uses.  You know, it's just like, so, um, unbelievable.

  • Miracle Whipped

    Miracle Whip What does your mayonnaise say about you?  It's not a question I had pondered a lot.  That is, until I saw the latest round of Miracle Whip commercials.  

    These spots feature attitude-inal twenty-somethings dancing, hanging out and occasionally munching on sandwiches made with Miracle Whip.  Against an aggressive music track, we hear a flat, in-your-face young male voiceover snarling, "Don't go unnoticed.  Don't blend in.  Don't be ordinary…boring…or bland.  WE are Miracle Whip and WE will NOT tone it down.  Don't be SO MAYO."

    Wow.  I'm "too mayo".  Who knew?  I used to think that jar of Hellmans in my fridge was just bad for my cholesterol.  Little did I know it was also bad for my image.  I never realized my brand of mayo carried a stigma.  Now I know better.  Oh, the shame.  Quick!  Hide the jar behind a milk carton and pray no one sees it.

    Of course, the marketing folks at Kraft clearly aren't talking to me.  For reasons      I can't quite fathom, they've decided to target the youth market.  Maybe young people don't eat enough mayonnaise.  Or maybe young people are the only ones who can actually afford to eat mayonnaise, because they're not worried about consuming a gazillion calories and the words "artery-clogging" haven't yet entered their vocabulary.

    Regardless of the rationale, Miracle Whip wants this demographic.  And they're willing to alienate  the rest of us in the process.  Actually, they may even be turning off the young folks they're trying so desperately to win over;  a quick search on YouTube reveals that this commercial is being dissed – and spoofed like crazy.  My faith in young people has been restored!   Check out this hilarious rant by my new hero, "boydman 117":

    The strategy behind the "don't be bland" message is transparent; it surely came out of an ingredients story.   Miracle Whip has always positioned itself as a tastier alternative to mayonnaise.  Maybe it has a tad more flavor or is tangy-er than other brands of mayo.   In the past, they would have said Miracle Whip tasted "zesty" or "zippy".  Corny, perhaps, but I'd rather stomach a few, dumb adjectives than have to watch these unbelievably odious spots.

    I thought the launch spot in this campaign was bad.  But now, the miracle workers at the agency have whipped up a new spot that's even more obnoxious.  In this latest commercial, they really throw down the gauntlet.  Same edgy twenty-somethings.  Same droning, confrontational voiceover.  But this time, the
    commercial ends with a challenge, asking "Are YOU Miracle Whip?".  The graphic on the last screen simply says, "Are you MW?", as if they couldn't be bothered to spell out the whole name (if you have to ask, this mayo is definitely not for you).

    In other words, are you a rebellious, hip, young person who is on the cutting edge of condiments?  Or are you a tired, old BORING person who is willing to settle for anything — in life or on top of your Turkey Club?

    All I know is, every time these commercials come on, I just want to gag.          Thanks for asking, but I am so not Miracle Whip.  And thanks to these utterly tasteless and offensive spots, I am so not going to buy it.

  • Transform Your Whole Life in 60 Days! (Actual Time May Vary)

    Sorry that I haven't posted anything for a while.  I've been busy trying to          reinvent myself. 

    "How's it going?" you ask.  Uh, not so great.  In fact, if you must know, I've made remarkably little progress.

    Where do you even start when you're told you need to "reinvent yourself for the 21st Century" or wind up eating catfood?  (The un-reinvented me was more than acceptable in the previous century, but hey, this new century is a bitch).

    Reinvention is big right now – for good reason; the current economic crisis has forced many of us into survival mode.  Like it or not, we have to reinvent ourselves.  And we hope we can figure out how to do it before we find ourselves flipping burgers at McDonalds on the nightshift.

    It's scary.  But we don't have to go it alone.  A whole industry has conveniently sprung up to exploit, um, guide us through the reinvention process.

    There are endless self-help books about how to reinvent yourself.  A gazillion websites are devoted to the topic.  Personal coaches are coming out of the woodwork, eager to help you on your road to reinvention (or, as they say, while you are "in transition").   There's even a Reinvention Institute – their website cheerfully proclaims, "We are the Reinvention Institute, your partner in transformation".  The site offers a myriad of products to help facilitate your transformation, including the "Momentum eKit" ("…to keep the ball rolling!")…yours for a mere $79 (minus shipping and handling).

    Pick up just about any women's magazine, and you'll find endless, "inspiring" real-life stories of midlife women who "reinvented" themselves only to find greater happiness, success and satisfaction than ever before. O, The Oprah Magazine, is the Bible of Reinvention.  Which isn't surprising, since Oprah practically invented "radical reinvention" and has created a mega-empire from it.  Virtually every issue features stories with titles like "Transform Your Whole Life in 60 Days! – One Woman's Incredible Journey"  or  "How to Become the Person You Were Meant to Be" (that might take more than 60 days…better allow at least six months).

    These stories are meant to inspire us; and sometimes, they do.  It's inspiring to read about Middle Aged women who gave up secure but boring jobs to pursue their passion, whatever that may be.  Like the woman in the recent  MORE Magazine story titled  "Extreme Reinventions"  who "quit her job as a corporate Marketing Executive to become a professional rodeo barrel racer!"  Or the former editor-in-chief of Playgirl magazine who found fulfillment as an ordained interfaith minister (no, I'm not making this up).

    Frankly, I've always been fascinated by these stories.  In fact, I've needed these stories.  We all want
    to believe that it's possible to reinvent oneself…to make a
    meaningful, midlife career change…pursue a dream…have a "second
    act".           And I give credit to anyone who actually does it.

    The underlying premise behind all these stories is that reinvention – even late in life – is just a matter of pluck, passion and determination.  If you are willing to "follow your bliss", work hard, and take some risks, you will be rewarded with a meaningful new career, a satisfying new life, a fresh start.  You might even make a fortune and never have to send out a resume again.

    Well, maybe.

    You see, I've noticed a pattern with lots of these stories.  More often than not, you discover that the woman who "started her own fashion line after 40" didn't just have a passion for fashion…she also happened to be married to a hedge fund manager (what we used to call a "Sugar Daddy"). 

    Or that the woman who "always dreamed of having her own restaurant" is actually a former, high-paid fashion model living in a villa in Tuscany who can now well afford to "risk" going to culinary school and "follow her dreams".

    And the woman who quit her boring Accounting job to devote herself to full-time volunteer work?  Well,  there's this one, tiny detail:  she just happened to have a large inheritance to fall back on.

    The salient point buried in many of these stories is that women who successfully "reinvent themselves" in midlife often possess more than guts, passion and initiative; they possess a healthy bank account (theirs or their hubby's).                 In other words: they are already financially secure. 

    That rather significant disclaimer is at the heart of many (not all) "reinvention" stories.  And for me, it's always a colossal bummer.  Which is probably why every time I read one of these accounts, I inevitably have what Oprah likes to call an "Aha" moment.  Because while these  dramatic "life transformations" may seem "inspiring" and "brave",  it just doesn't count as much if the person is already independently wealthy or has some other means of financial support!

    Case in point:

    At MORE Magazine's third annual "Reinvention Convention",  New York
    real estate mogul, Barbara Corcoran,  told an audience of midlife women how she was faced with reinventing herself after her first business
    closed.  It was a painful time…and she learned a lot.   The celebrated broker shared her "10
    Lessons of Reinvention".  She offered up "hard earned advice" such as  "Good
    things come out of insecurities" and "When making new contacts, don't
    forget 'thank-you' follow up emails".

    I suspect she left out Lesson #1: Before you reinvent yourself, it helps to sell your first 
    business for $77 million dollars.  Let's face it, that kind of cash can be a comfort
    when you are "jobless", over forty and struggling with your identity.

    I am reminded of a popular self-help book that came out in the early 1990s.      The book was called  Your Money or Your
    Life: Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Achieving Financial Independence    .  The radical idea behind the book was that by spending and consuming less, people could leave the corporate rat race to pursue their dreams and find real happiness.  According to the blurb on the back cover, the authors, Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin "took back their lives by gaining control of their money.  They both gave up successful – and stressful – careers in order to live more deliberately and meaningfully."  As one reviewer gushed, "This is one of those rare books that can really change your life!  The authors live their own advice, and it works."

    Since a sucker is born every minute, I immediately plunked down my $15.95 for the book, eager to discover Joe and Vicki's "inspiring and empowering" nine-step program that held the secret to financial independence, greater personal satisfaction and inner peace.

    About eight pages into the Prologue, I unearthed the secret: it turns out that at age thirty-one, Joe Dominguez "retired from his career on Wall Street – never again to accept money for any of his work."  That same year, he met Vicki.            "Her open mind and substantial savings allowed her to recognize the value of Joe's new road map for money and apply it to her own life."

    Translation: Joe had Wall Street money and he married well.  His wife, Vicki, didn't just have an "open mind" – she had an open wallet.  Bingo!

    After I learned the truth about Joe and Vicki, their book lost all credibility;        after all, the authors were living off their substantial savings and were obviously set for life.  My feeling is, once you're set for life, it's a lot easier to focus on "attaining a wholeness of livelihood and lifestyle" (i.e. live frugally and learn to stick to a budget …which, as it turns out, was the core message of the book). 

    Reinvention is a swell idea.  But try telling a single Mom who works two jobs and earns minimum wage that if she just "followed her dreams", she could go to medical school and become a heart surgeon.  Or that an older, unemployed woman without a rich hubby can – and should – start a gourmet chocolates company because that's her "passion".  Sorry, it just doesn't work that way – especially in today's tenuous economy.

    These sunny stories of radical reinvention make it sound as if reinventing oneself was as simple as changing your hair color or trying on a new outfit.  The whole notion of "reinvention" is way too facile.  Worse yet, it's downright misleading. 

    The truth is, try as we may, most of us will never reinvent ourselves.  We may learn new skills.  We may even take a stab at a new career.  But mostly, we'll      just muddle through with our un-reinvented selves, make whatever adjustments we can, tinker around the edges, try to adapt and be resilient, keep plugging away, and hopefully, somehow manage to survive in an increasingly challenging and unforgiving world.

    I know that's a downer.  But it's a lot closer to the truth than what Oprah would like us to believe.

    Reinvention may be a necessity.  But these days, it's also a luxury that only a few can afford.

  • Waiting For My Poinsettia To Die

    Ipoinsitta So, I've been meaning to write about my poinsettia plant.           I would have done it sooner, except I didn't know how to spell "poinsettia". 

    Over the holidays, a friend gave me a poinsettia plant as a gift (or, in the parlance of today, she gifted me with a poinsettia).  I placed it on my kitchen table, where it added just the right touch of color and festive cheer to my drab surroundings. 

    The poinsettia continued to grace my kitchen table throughout the month of December.  I watered it faithfully, and tended to its dried leaves, doing my best to keep the plant healthy and preserve its bright crimson cheeriness.

    By the time New Year's rolled around, the poinsettia was still thriving.  And I was still watering it, although not quite as enthusiastically.  I mean, everyone had already discarded their Christmas trees and holiday wreaths…it was time to move on.  To water or not water?  That was my dilemma.  I felt guilty if I withheld water, but at the same time, I didn't particularly want to nourish the damn thing and prolong its life (and my suffering).

    By mid-January, I was practically ignoring the poinsettia.  And feeling terribly guilty about it.  The thing is, the plant was starting to wreak havoc with my whole sense of Feng shui.  What looked so right during the holiday season, no longer looked right at all.  In fact, it looked very, very wrong.  It's not the poor poinsettia's fault.  But face it, no plant is more season-specific…and its season had passed.  Still, I couldn't just let the poor plant die…or could I?

    Now it's almost February.  The poinsettia is still on my kitchen table.  A few of its red leaves have turned brown.  Several leaves have shriveled up and fallen off.         I hardly ever bother to water it.  I don't even want to look at it.  Yet it stubbornly refuses to die.

    I know, I know…the Internet is full of helpful advice about how to replant a poinsettia.  One site promises that "…with proper care, poinsettias can retain their beauty for weeks…and some varieties will stay attractive for months".

    For months??  Do you mean to tell me I may still be looking at this plant on Memorial Day?  That I will be explaining why I have a poinsettia on Labor Day?   (I suppose if it's still alive by Halloween, I can always just say I did my Christmas decorating early).

    I've searched the Internet for advice on how to kill a poinsettia, but haven't found anything yet.  Clearly, ignoring a poinsettia for weeks at a time doesn't bother this perky, little plant one bit.  It can withstand even the most hostile environment.

    Ok, now I'm feeling even guiltier about my poinsettia.  Guess I'll just have to water it again.

  • Reach Out And Reject Someone

    Anyone who has ever applied to an online job posting knows there is no more frustrating, dehumanizing process than filling out boxes on a long, electronic job application and then sending your carefully crafted cover letter and painstakingly customized resume into the Cyberspace equivalent of the Black Hole.  The system is intentionally designed to give the job applicant (you) a minimum of contact with the job provider (them). 

    Of course, that assumes that there's even a them on the other end to admire your brilliant prose and impressive credentials.  More likely, there's merely some computer software scanning your resume for key words.

    Whatever you do, don't expect a response.  These days, you have a better chance of landing a spot on "Idol" or losing that last five pounds than ever hearing back from an HR person or recruiter.

    Sometimes, though, you do hear back.  And on those rare occasions, I've noticed that the responses all tend to sound strangely alike.  As a matter of fact, they sound exactly alike.  

    In an effort to put the "human" back in Human Resources, the folks in charge of hiring have latched on to a stock phrase to say "thanks, but no thanks".  It usually goes something like this: 

    "Dear so-and-so: 

    We received your resume.  Thank you for reaching out to us.  We appreciate your interest in Company X and will keep your resume on file in case an appropriate opportunity arises."

    Thank you for reaching out to us??  The first time I heard this, I thought it sounded warm and fuzzy. . .you know, kind of a New Age-y approach to the standard rejection letter.  But by the fourth or fifth time, it finally dawned on me:  "thank you for reaching out to us" is now the official jargon used by virtually every HR person and recruiter in the nation.  It's basically Corporate-ese for     "HA! HA! HA!  Are you &^%% kidding me? ?  We've received 8,000 resumes in the last hour alone. . .oh, and did we mention the job pays only slightly higher than the starting salary for greeters at Wal-Mart?".

    Look, the job-hunting process is daunting, at best.  It's always nice to get an      email back, regardless of how it's worded.  So if you've responded to my application, thank you.  It can't be easy facing an Inbox full of highly qualified, hopeful applicants, all competing for the same, underpaid position.  Maybe the "reaching out" thing is simply a kinder, gentler way of dealing with doling out rejection on a mass scale.  Or, more likely, you're just following the directions in your company's HR manual.  I understand.  It's stressful for you, too. 

    But whenever I hear that phrase, I can't help thinking of someone who is safely aboard a crowded lifeboat, yelling to some poor soul who is bobbing in an icy, shark-infested sea, "Sorry, there's no room in the lifeboat right now, but thanks for reaching out to us!"

    Memo to those in the lifeboat:  Don't get too comfy.  Sure, you may be safely in the lifeboat today.  But tomorrow, you could be out here with the rest of us, treading water and composing endless cover letters.  Face it, there aren't even that many lifeboats to go around anymore.  You could be just a budget cut away from being the one reaching out to those nameless, faceless recruiters in Cyberspace.

    If that happens, don't panic.  Remain calm.  Re-format your resume.  Proofread your cover letter (again).  Then hit "Send". . .and get used to the sound of silence while a robot reviews your qualifications and deems if they are worthy of sending on to an actual (overworked) human.

    Your next job is out there. . .just out of reach.

  • Stupid Pet Pics

    Warning:  The following post is likely to make a lot of people very angry – including a lot of friends of mine.  But I'll take that risk…because  I can no longer remain silent on this issue.

    Ok, what is it with all those people who post pictures of their pets – instead of themselves – on their Facebook profiles?  Am I the only one who has had it up to here with this practice?

    The first time I saw a photo of so-and-so's dog or cat on their profile page,             
    I thought it was cute and charmingly original.  But now that almost every other Facebook profile picture is a portrait of a dog, cat  or pot bellied pig, it's completely lost its cute factor.  In fact, it's just downright annoying.  I'm so over it.

    Like a lot of people, I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook.  Actually, it's more like a mildly interested-couldn't care less relationship.  At times, I admit I can get caught up in the intersecting orbits of friends, acquaintances and total strangers.  At other times, I'm so bored by the whole endeavor, I rarely even visit the site.  Frankly, I wonder if the fascination of Facebook has run its course and question if it will even be around in a few years. 

    But that's a topic for another day…back to those annoying pet pictures.  I think I finally figured out why they bug me so much.  It's not because I don't like animals.  And I certainly don't mind when people post photos of themselves with their animals. 

    No, the reason I find the furry profile photos so disconcerting is because they contradict the whole point of Facebook.

    Ostensibly, Facebook is about connecting.  But for many of us, it can have just the opposite effect.  A few minutes on the site can make me feel even more disconnected and alienated than ever.  There's the wierdness of "friending" people you don't even know (and would probably never spend any time with even if you did know them).  There's the false intimacy (and intense boredom) of reading  those endless, narcissistic "Dear Diary" entries ("Today, I decided to try herbal tea!").  Plus, the unspoken pressure to constantly write something oh-so-clever or cryptic on your "Wall" only adds to the superficial, distancing effect of it all.  It's a game – fun at times – but it bears very little resemblance to interacting with actual, non-virtual friends.

    So when you choose to not even share a picture of yourself – and decide to hide behind a photo of your adorable Golden Lab (or cartoon character clip art, or a stock photo of Clark Gable, or whatever), it  adds yet another layer, feels even more impersonal and just compounds the whole unsettling effect.  It's especially frustrating to finally track down a long-lost  schoolmate or childhood buddy only to find a blurry photo of a Miniature Poodle with Red Eye.

    Look, nobody is forcing you to be on Facebook.  But if you're going to be on it, the very least you can do is show your face.

    Too self-conscious about sharing your photo?  Fine, then don't go on Facebook.  Feeling ambivalent about Facebook and not sure you really want to participate?  Great – then don't.  Want to show off your adorable kitty?  Then pose with him – or just post Mr. Whisker's photo on one of those Facebook-type sites just for pets (yes, they really exist…how could they not?).

    Mr. Whiskers may be darned cute.  But if you're going to bother to be on Facebook, I want to see your face…not your feline's.

    There, I've  said it.  Now I'll sit back and watch the fur fly.