Chicken & Waffles

In All The Wrong Places

2009-11-04T22:03:00.003-05:00

It's great to lose weight in all the right places. So wrong to lose weight in all the wrong places. Of course it happens. I don't seem to be able to fill my bras out anymore. I wore my favorite red dress and it was so baggy up top that I had to pin up the top to make it fit. I simply didn't have the, uh, range to fill it out. You'd think the trade-off for weight loss would result in renewed buoyancy. Yeah, it doesn't. The boobs are smaller but they ain't exactly upright. That's one hell of a trade off. There is some renewed firmness, for sure, but I somehow imagined a pert renewal reminiscent of a Page Two girl from the London Sun.

I have also noticed a lack of curvaceousness. I thought the benefit of weight loss was a renewed sense of confidence and a confidence in curve definition. Instead, there is more definition but much less...how do I put this?..oomph. Great, I wanted to feel even more innocuous than I already am.

I've lost 30 pounds. I'd like to lose 20 more. That would put me (for my body type) at reasonably slim. I know I will have a sense of renewed good health and some sense of fitness and that's good. However, I also sense I will have a level of sex appeal comparable with Al Franken.

Funny conflict to deal with. Being a woman is a bitch.

New Skills

2009-11-01T18:53:00.005-05:00

It's crazy, but even at this advanced age in life, I seem to lack some rather rudimentary skills. To whit, Fang and I have a very large flat screen television that is in our living room. This is clearly a man-television. It requires four remote controls just to turn the damned thing on---the sound system, the uber-surround sound and the HD-enhanced viewing...to say nothing of actually turning the television on. For Christ sake, I just want a picture and some sound. The bells and whistles are lost on me.

The remotes have been so well used in their brief tenure (and let's be clear, by the ten fingers that belong to the male living in this apartment), that I can not even program a channel in the non-HD category in order to just find out..you know, today's weather. I usually resort to a head thrown back gesture and a frustrated mew when, suddenly, the remote is snapped from my hand (this would be from the male in the house) who effortlessly dials in a series of numbers to provoke a picture on the screen in seconds. I suspect this is his supreme domestic talent. It should be--he spends enough time laboring on it.

This kind of dominance bothers me. I am perturbed that I too cannot whip out double fisted remote controls and access any channel in my 200+ channel domain in a mil-second. That I can't easily invoke the picture-in-picture function on the TV. That I don't even know how to work the remote for the stereo sound to the TV. That I don't have any channel numbers memorized outside of NBC, PBS and Bravo. I fairly suck.

Honestly, I'm just trying to figure out how to turned the damned thing on.

Gangsta Pole

2009-11-01T18:28:00.001-05:00

Polish Hip Hop, courtesy of my friend Brooklyn Sue. Spanialy!!

2009-10-30T22:39:00.000-04:00

Taking Back My Domain

2009-10-28T23:28:00.002-04:00

I post alot of trivial shit daily on Facebook and Twitter and on other domains that flare for a second but that no one gives more than a thought about. The glamor has diminished from these short termed mediums. I used to blog because it forced me to write, to create, to focus energies, to express my heart when I had no outlet to do so. I need to do that again. If you're still coming here once in awhile to see if I'm posting slapdash poetry, I thank you for your confidence and encourage you to come back. I plan to attempt writing again. Starting tomorrow.

Betrayed

2009-10-20T21:33:00.001-04:00

Mount the Duke

2009-10-11T20:02:00.012-04:00

My brother Marv and his lovely wife Mei Mei are vacationing this week in Hawaii. My brother called me today to tell me he was standing on Waikiki Beach in front of a statue of Hawaiian surf legend Duke Kahanamoku. There is a live webcam focused on the statue. We coordinated times and with the webcam running, I waited for his call. When he did call, we spoke while I watched him respond to me live via the webcam(isn't technology grand?). Seeing the statue of the Duke behind him along with meandering tourists looking inquisitively at the camera, I knew I had to challenge my brother. "Dude," I said, "I'll give you twenty dollars if you mount the Duke." He paused but as expected, rose to the bait. Despite a slight time delay, I watched in incredulous fascination as my brother hiked a leg over the bronze thigh of the Duke and yelled out (with a slight time delay), "Do me, Hawaiian Man!" There were other inappropriate but hilarious actions that made me roar with laughter. My brother and I are 12 years old at heart and lack a rather critical self editing chip.

Thank God. I am sending him $50.

Bootsy

2009-10-11T20:02:00.011-04:00

Recently, I purchased a very expensive yet gorgeous pair of leopard boots. They had four inch platform heels and they folded deliciously over the knee. They were incredibly sexy. I loved them but oddly I couldn't bear to wear them. I was indecisive every time that I tried them on, considering how to pair them with tasteful business wear. I left them folded gently in their gleaming purple box. Truth be told, they were a smidge over the top to wear to work (in translation: too hoochie to wear to work--over the knee boots worn to work either means hooker or pirate) and I couldn't imagine putting them on to wear on a weekend on the street. It struck me that I had spent nearly $600 on a pair of boots that would simply reside in my close till the end of time.

Fortunately, I bought them from a Stuart Weitzman boutique so I knew I could return them. I gently packed them up today in their gleaming purple box and with reciept in hand, I returned to the small Upper West Side shop. The sales staff was gracious with the return. Then the saleswoman, a pert brunette named Tanya, undermined me yet again...with the best possible customer service. She asked why the boots didn't work. She asked what colors I wore. She really bore down, getting to my clothing pain point. I admired the salesmanship and gave in to the pain.

She brought out several samples of what I might like. She nailed it. I found a black suede boot that hugged my calves like cashmere. And then she brought out a red pair of boots with the knee length I wanted and with the gorgeous soft calf embrace I desired. They were sexy but still work practical. I was in love. I surrendered my American Express card.

$1,200 later, I felt half horrified. Did I pay this much for shoes? Why yes. I did. And now I had to tell Fang.

I wandered into our apartment laden down with purple shopping bags. I had no clue what to say to my spouse of 17 years. I'm a fan of honesty so I put it out there--and to my surprise he said, "If you're happy, I'm happy." I surely don't deserve this. But I am loving my red boots. Very, very much.

Counting Down The Days

2009-10-11T20:02:00.008-04:00

In nine days, I will be here. Secluded in a private cottage on a private beach on a stretch of pristine beach on the Eastern Coast of Rhode Island. I half expect it will be my Valhalla.

My Next Pet

2009-10-11T20:02:00.007-04:00

I grew up in a house awash with critters. We were a pet friendly family. We had cats, dogs, hamsters, mice, tropical fish, gerbils, snakes, lizards, exotic birds and insects. I like having animals around me. It's comforting.

I am now petless and heard on some satellite radio station this morning that teacup pigs are now the rage. I am rather fond of the swine as a creature; the notion of having a minature version prancing through Central Park en leash is rather appealing to me.

I'm may just change my mind tomorrow. We'll see.

With A Little Help From My Friends

2009-10-11T20:02:00.003-04:00

As you may have gleaned from my disjointed posts this week, I am at a rather conflicted point in my life. We all have these moments, of course, but I have rarely been at such a crossroads at any point in my 47 years. It's made me feel as if I am cushioned in a thick layer of cotton--moving around the world as if all is normal, but not feeling anything---not the chill of the wind, nor the solidness of the pavement beneath my feet, nor the touch of a hand on my arm. It's oddly soothing to feel so inoculated and oddly alarming to feel so detached.

My friend Christo had sent me a message on Friday evening requesting some weekend time for "girl talk." It was a golden invitation at a perfect moment.

We met today on a glorious Fall afternoon on the Upper West Side and we stole into one of those anonymous eateries tucked into the many storefronts that line the endless streets of this city. Over lunch and coffee, we reconnected. I found myself spilling the events of the past few weeks to my friend. He did the same. And in his inimitable sage fashion, he put a great many things into perspective for me.

The two hours we passed talking was the best therapy I could ask for. And if you're reading this, Christo, thank you.

Extreme Office Sports

2009-10-08T22:34:00.001-04:00

Buddy System

2009-10-07T22:09:00.003-04:00

It's curious, but I seem to be one of those girls who falls under the category of "good buddy." I have oodles of good buddies and trust me, I am deeply grateful for every one of them. However, as a good friend once opined, "that's all I got." And I am starting to see that is the personalization of my role here on this fakakta planet.

I had certain validation last night that I am just that to most people. While wafting in gratitude that I can develop and enjoy such generous friendships, there exists for me a copious gap in love, in intimacy. Much as I adore Fang, at the end of the day, I am his good buddy first and foremost and today, that is what remains. Prior to Fang, any infantile relationship often evolved to good buddy status. The crushes I've employed were eventually relegated to good buddy status (not by my choice but by the crush). It's become the fat girl "let's remain friends" conversation evolved into adulthood. A strangely nightmarish reoccurring theme.

I have often thought (idealistically) that I was meant for love, for passion and someone who thought I was the feminine ideal. A girl can dream but I don't think I am the right girl. It's yet to happen and here I am, closing on 50.

At least I have my friends to lean on.

Simple Pleasures

2009-10-05T21:20:00.003-04:00

Fall advent. Stew Leonard's. Goats. What else do you want?

Cross Roads

2009-10-04T19:52:00.006-04:00

Hollaback and I met up today for a little nosh and a catch up. She's had quite a whirlwind life as of late and I queried her on all points of her life. What I appreciate most about my generous friend is this: she's clear and decisive and pragmatic. She knows what she wants, she knows what she likes and she knows what she can live or live without. I quite admire her.

She brought me a sampling of her thoughtful glassblowing as a gift. It was an opaque sand blasted piece of heavy glass which initially resembled a swan in repose. She then explained the final product looked like a heavy pair of testicles and a flaccid uncircumcised penis. I could so see that and was flattered to know she thought I would appreciated it. I did.

I found today that I was awkward. For once, I had so little to say to such an old and trusted friend. I did have a lot to say; I just couldn't say it. Truth is, I can tell Hollaback anything but right now, I don't know how to actually articulate it. I am at a true cross roads in my life.

I am rethinking everything in my life right now. I think my marriage is waning. I am thinking I need to start investigating my second career. I think I need to leave New York. I think I need to let go of the pressure of always doing the right thing because in the end, someone is never satisfied. And I need to stop giving a shit about things that really aren't important.

I've actually endeavored to do the right thing my entire life. I've stayed on the straight and narrow and sucked it up. It's garnered me some wins and a fair amount of discontent. And I don't think I want to do it anymore. I want to be selfish and I want to please myself now. I want to wake up in the morning and feel I am actually and fully in control of my life.

I need to screw up the courage to make those things happen.

I couldn't tell you that, Hollaback, as much I wanted to. For once, I need to sort this out for myself first.

The Fondest of Memories

2009-10-01T23:30:00.001-04:00

I woke up this morning and damn, it was suddenly a new season. It was cold. My first thought was of my dear old Bunny and how much she loved hugging the century old pipes in my ancient apartment building on a chilly morning. Hollaback knew. And suddenly I genuflected, appreciating her recent reference. The Bunny did love her heat sources.

Outtake

2009-10-01T21:39:00.001-04:00

I know a reporter's life is tough so you have to appreciate this example of a gutteral reaction to working in rural work conditions. I expect I would react the exact same way. And let's admit it, this is pretty damned funny.

The Bucket List

2009-09-30T21:54:00.003-04:00

This article in New York Magazine this week left me in raptures. Fried chicken is now fashionable!

The Bunny

2009-09-29T17:26:00.003-04:00

The worst thing about being a pet owner are days like today.

My sweet geriatric old feline, commonly known as The Bunny, finally went off into that long good night this morning. I rather prefer to think of it as a sun filled meadow full of small prey to be chased (but not captured)with a full buffet of all the human food they can eat. I prefer that image, actually, so I'm staying with it. But I digress.

The Bunny and her brother Figaro joined us as awkward kittens in 1988. They were the last remaining kittens from an abandoned litter housed at the San Francisco SPCA. Figaro was gawky and had yet to grow into his bat-like ears; The Bunny was small, undoubtedly the runt of the litter. We were enchanted and brought them home, little knowing that they would be a part of our family for two decades.

For her diminutive size, The Bunny turned out to be the huntress of the family. She was bold in her pursuit of small creatures and hauled all manner of insect, fowl and rodent into the house to present to her masters. I always admired her deft skill, for she never actually killed her prey and they were always released back into the wild unharmed.

She also had a ferocious wail to her meow, again surprising for such a delicate and docile feline. My dear friend Hollaback referred to her today as Her Yowliness and I agree; she cold raise a substantial racket when in need of something (food, a scratch behind the ear and in older age, directions from one room to another when she became disoriented in the hallway). She was the house alarm clock, for if food did not magically appear by 5:00 am, the yowling sonata commenced. If we ignored it, she would mount the bed, loom over us and balefully meow until someone (yes, that would be me) hastened the delivery of Fancy Feast to her bowl.

She was a bit of a princess and loved her small comforts: lying in the sun like a walrus, even on sweltering hot days when the humidity rang in at 90%. Of the two cats, she was considered the braver sibling because she was rather fearless. Yet, she was scared of thunder and hid under chairs when it clamored overhead. She had a catnip addition. When I'd buy the loose stash to restuff their cat toys, she'd always leap to the counter and roll in it, lost in her own personal Valhalla.

The Bunny loved her warm spots, one of which was me. I have slept on either my stomach or back for 21 years in order to accommodate The Bunny's penchant for sleeping on my stomach or on the small of my back. Even in her weak and dying state last night, she managed to mount the steps next to the bed and plop down on my belly as she'd always done. I may have to sleep on my side tonight.

The Bunny and her brother traveled more than cats probably should do: San Francisco (three locations) to New York City to New Jersey to San Francisco to New York City (two locations). I imagine they saw the cat carriers come out and thought, "Oh Christ. Not again." They became good travelers and adapted easily to every new environment.

I have a lot of memories tonight. I think of how she followed me around from the minute I walked in the door till the time I left in the morning, yowling at me for food, affection, the proffering of a warm lap for her to climb into. How she would get up in the oddest places, curl herself into a little ball and threaten you with ardent green eyes not to displace her. The house feels quite empty without her here. I keep expecting to look down and see her sitting next to me as I write at the computer, waiting for a lap to be offered her.

Figaro passed away two years ago at the ripe old age of 19. And today, I've lost my sweet Bunny at age 21 and I have to admit, I think a little piece of my heart is broken.

Classy Dominatrix

2009-09-27T19:03:00.002-04:00

Steve Madden at Loehman's, only $49. Four inch heels combined with patent leather. Had to have them.

Early Planning

2009-09-25T21:04:00.002-04:00

Halloween is coming, people. That means costume planning. After much deliberating, I've decided to go this year as Marilyn in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." I won't sing "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" (because I have terrible voice), but I may just shimmy and exclaim "Talk to me, Harry Winston!" That I can do.

Target Audience

2009-09-22T22:34:00.003-04:00

An industry colleague sent this column to me today (from an unnamed source) which I particularly appreciated. Maybe I am of a certain age, but it most definitely spoke to me. We often capitulate too easily to trends and forget perhaps where the money really is. You tell me.

Take Me To Your CFO

I make my living as an advertising creative director in New York City. For the last 30 years, I've done campaigns for major brands that you have no doubt seen, won industry awards and made a very nice living.

Today, I'm going to bite the hand that feeds me. Actually, not so much the hand, more like the whole arm and part of the shoulder.

Why? Because I'm addressing this article not to the Chief Marketing Officers of the world, the people who would normally hire me, I'm addressing it to the Chief Financial Officers.

CFOs love numbers, especially the kind that are black and accrue to the bottom line. This article is loaded with them, but it's not about a new type of accounting or a way to shelter revenue from the IRS, it's about the numbers that CMOs are ignoring at the expense of their brands success, especially in this economy.

According to McKinsey Consulting, by 2010 (3.5 short months from now) 50% of all consumer spending in America will be by people over the age of 50. People 50+ earn $2.4 trillion annually compared to $1 trillion for the 18-34 group (and they spend at the same rate). Also according to McKinsey, people 50+ generate 41% of all disposable income, while they represent only 30% of the population. They buy 60% of all packaged goods, over half of all new cars and spend 75% more per vacation than consumers under 50. And in 2007, those over 50 spent 3 times the national average holiday shopping online.

And yet, less than 10% of all U.S. marketing dollars are spent against the 50+ consumer, and nationwide research shows that the majority of consumers over 50 feel that advertising and marketing either portrays them negatively or ignores them altogether.

If you're a CFO, right about now you're probably thinking something like ... if people over 50 spend over $2.5 trillion a year and the 18-34 group spends $1 trillion a year, my CMO better have a damn good reason why we're not also talking to people over 50.

To which I would answer ... they do, but you're not going to like it.

The reason? To most CMOs, older just isn't cool.

The marketing world is obsessed with the idea that youth equals success. Get the young audience and you've got them for life ... young buyers drive new products ... they decide what's what ... they make or break brands.

As I've said in this column before, this is a way of thinking that made perfect sense in 1975 ... when we boomers came up with it. Today, however, things have changed.

Cool is no longer a factor of age. Just ask Madonna, Bono, Alec Baldwin, Ellen, Frank Gehry, Oprah, Diane Keaton, Meryl Streep, the Cohen Brothers, Anna Wintour, Jake Burton, Steve Jobs or ... need I go on?

These days, cool is in the eye of the beholder, and the fastest-growing, richest, most advertising- and brand-conscious group of beholders are consumers 50 and older.

And, chances are, this will be the case for quite some time to come. In fact, the most recent numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics show that the highest incidence of unemployment in the country is in the under-29 segment, where July hit a whopping 11% (highest) unemployed rate vs. 5.4% (lowest) for the 50-64 group. And the last time I checked, the unemployed weren't high on any marketer's list of targets.

So, if you're a CFO, and you want to improve the look of your bottom line (and show me one who doesn't), I suggest you forward this article directly to your CMO. And while you're at it, you might remind them that they get paid like everyone else in the company ... by the amount of product or service sold. Not by how many You Tube clicks, Facebook friends or Tweets your brand amasses.

In this economy or any other ... sales are what's really, really cool.

Fox News Anchor: "Keep Fucking That Chicken"

2009-09-18T22:52:00.001-04:00

Excuse me?!

Body Building

2009-09-12T16:53:00.001-04:00

Yes of course, I'm watching "The Real Housewives of Atlanta." And I just want to know how it was that Sheree didn't look down when she went to see her trainer at the body building contest. Hi ho silver!!!

Golen Throats

2009-09-12T16:26:00.001-04:00

No, that's not the name of a porn film. It's a category on YouTube that features actors' brief shining moments as vocalists. There are some real train wrecks here but nothing as quite as cringe worthy as a geriatric Mae West belting "Twist and Shout." At least they didn't have videos then.