Have a Nice Trip

Because I am competitive by nature (and also- kind of a bitch) every morning I engage in a death-match race with a stupid little (what I can only assume is a) Russian (accent) girl to get to the lone one-seater on the top level of the train. Although it is childish and largely one-sided, I can’t help but feel victorious when I settle into my own little seat that I will not have to share with another commuter, stretch my legs out and look out of my own window to face the day ahead.

The best thing about this seat is that it is right by the stairs to the lower deck, so I am usually one of the first ones off the train and do not have to fight through masses of angry Jersey-ians to get up the elevator and into Penn Station. Today, however, I discovered another benefit to sitting right by the stairs when a young, boyishly handsome man made eyes with me as he was getting off the train- and then fell down the stairs.

What made this particular fall epic, however, was that as he was falling down the stairs he sang a song about falling down the stairs.

Yes- a song. Well, more of a little ditty. It went something like this: “ahh ahh I’m fall-ing down the stairs”. (Sing in ditty form).

Now, I am no stranger to falling. In fact, I fall once a week and tripped twice on the way to work this morning (new shoes). I fall so often that I have actually become good at it and when people see me fall for the first time they often comment on how graceful I am. I don’t fall so much as slide elegantly toward the ground at inappropriate moments and inconvenient places. Its something I am sort of proud of- like my useless knowledge of the American Revolution or ability to remember the names of my nail polishes (“Big Apple Red” this week- thanks, OPI).

I am also no stranger to epic falls. Last summer, during orientation, I got into the first of what would be many fight with Terrible Tom of the Oppressive Office of Co-Curricular Programs at Loyola. Terrible Tom fucked up my life hardcore that semester by completely disregarding any conversations or plans I had responsibly made with the OOCCP the prior semester AND then had the nerve to call AKPsi nationals and essentially tell on me (in case you are reading this Tom, even they thought you were a huge douche). We met the first day or orientation and by the last we were already glaring at each other across the quad and would continue glaring until I graduated. But, Tom unwittingly got his revenge, or more accurately, I handed him his revenge on a silver platter- when I emerged from the school bus transporting the orientation leaders and freshman to our own alcohol-free night at Venue (LOL) wearing an adorable black dress and my Marc Jacobs heels . When I say “emerged”, I mean “ate it hard down the stairs and landed spread eagle on the bottom step”. And, the piece de resistance of the epic nature of the tumble- Terrible Tom was standing right there, helping girls in their heels get off the bus. He was so close that if I were a less graceful fall-er, I surely would have landed right on him.

So anyway, long story short- I fall a lot. And I think if I could sing while falling, it would really add some flavor to the routine. I mean, I already have the physical aspect down, so really the only thing left is musical accompaniment. Sometimes, I involuntarily shout “FALLING!”, but that’s about as advanced as I get. So now I have to get to work on doing some serious composing. And, taking into account that a fall usually happens in less than 10 seconds, it will take considerable time and talent.

Sometimes I am amazed by my continual evolvement.

This is What Feminist Looks Like (Apparently)

Anyone who has been around me and/or talked to me in the past two weeks knows that I have been closely following the story of this wackjob in California who had octuplets recently (in addition to the six children she already had). I sort of had to at first- it directly pertains to one of our clients. But, as the weeks wore on and the client became satisfied, I still can’t tear my eyes away from this story. So many things offend me about this that I don’t know where to start. So, lets make a list:

1.Her publicist is an idiot and if Nadya Suleman paid me whatever she is paying this sketchy LA agency she could walk out of this mess with a somewhat decent reputation.

Exhibit A: Her publicist admitted she was on food stamps the SAME DAY that Nadya did an interview with dateline and said she never accepted any government money. Get your story straight, ladies.

Exhibit B: They both were on camera saying they didn’t expect to make any money off of this (although apparently Nadya was trying to sell her story to Oprah for $2 million, she ended up giving the first interview to Ann Curry at NBC for free) and then yesterday they set up this nightmare: http://www.thenadyasulemanfamily.com/ Setting the crimes against human decency thing aside for a moment, from a public relations perspective that was the most idiotic move I could ever imagine making. Wanting people to take you seriously and denying adamantly that you are asking for money and then SETTING UP A PROFESSIONAL WEBSITE (that probably cost a pretty penny) OF WHICH THE EXPLICIST PURPOSE IS TO ASK STRANGERS FOR MONEY.

That’s two lies (of many more to come, I am sure) that not only drag Nadya through the mud, they really give public relations a bad name, since people seem to think we are professional liars when really the whole job is about telling the truth and making sure a company and/or person never gets caught in a lie.

2.She calls herself a feminist and anyone who doesn’t support her choice to bring 14 children into the world without a partner (or job, incidentally) is judging her because of her lifestyle choice to be an independent single mom.

Hang on. I have to take a break because I am SEETHING WITH RAGE.

I am a feminist. I believe in equality of people. I believe that women can do anything a man can do and, conversely, that a woman does not need a man to do anything. Including having children. In fact, I think it is pretty badass when a woman does not let her marital status stop her from having children if that is what she wants.

Nadya Suleman, however, is a loonybird wackjob who only had babies to satisfy her own loneliness(this is not my personal judgement- she readily admitted this to Ann Curry in her dateline interview. Another obvious failure of media training from the crook in LA who is taking her money to ruin her reputation). When she started popping them out, she was uneducated and unemployed (she has a bachelors now, but is still unemployed). She lives in a house her parents own. She collects food stamps and workers compensation from the government. She needed to be a mother and needed someone to love her so bad she had completely reckless disregard for the 14 lives she was about to ruin (15 if you include her own, and 17 if you include her obviously embarrassed and horrified parents).

These are not the choices of an independent feminist. Nadya did not have children because she wanted them and could support them, she had them in a desperate attempt to try and fix herself. She had no identity and decided to create one as a mother and didn’t really give a second thought to how she would actually care for these human beings she was about to bring into the world.

No one is judging her because she is a single mother. We are judging her because she is clearly mentally unbalanced.

3.All of her eight kids have the middle name “angel”

No further explanation necessary.

4.She didn’t even know an eighth baby was in her womb until she had already birthed the other seven in under 5 minutes.

This doesn’t infuriate me as much as it does gross me out. When you have so many people living in you that you cant even count them all- well, it’s a problem.

And, okay I know they took them out via C-section but I cant be the only one who is dealing with some very serious and disturbing “slip n’ slide” imagery. Right?

5.No money for food, but plenty of money for fake nails.

Sunshine through this Wintry Mix of a Day

It’s cold and snowing and my throat hurts and its SO QUIET at work its almost creepy (yes, I am blogging from work, but only because this is really important and will take me five minutes). I am in a bad mood, a “wintry mix” of misery, if you will. But then I came in this morning and read this:

http://adblog.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2009/01/27/1763315.aspx

which then led me to this gem: http://www.peta.org/content/standalone/VeggieLove/Default.aspx

And, if you know me- you know I love weird shit. I have an appreciation for weird things that most people reserve for fine wines or luxury cars. When I am accidentally weird (I don’t have the ability to make it a full-time thing, but I dabble occasionally), I am oddly proud of myself. In fact, one of the most treasured memories of my ex is the first time we hung out for an extended period of time and he looked at me, head cocked and said “you can be really strange sometimes”. It pretty appropriately set the groundwork. It’s a passion of mine- right up there with TV commercials, spinach and big hair.

And well, these too hot for TV PETA commercials pretty much made my morning. Maybe even my whole day. Because I will go on the record as saying I hate PETA- I hate their attention catching antics, their offensive criticisms, their emphatic belief that animal rights come before all else, their guerrilla tactics that turn people away from the good message of being nice to animals. But damn- I love a good commercial, especially a weird one that involves big hair and spinach. And the other ones are just as great.

And, you have to appreciate the weirdness to pull this off. Not only making the commercial, but trying to buy ad space in the most mis-targeted inappropriate venue- the freaking SUPERBOWL. If there were a weird Olympics, this would definitely get PETA past the qualifying round. If PETA was a kid in middle school, he would be loudly playing by himself in the corner during a math test - completely unaware of how ridiculous, rude or out of place he was. And you know what? I would date that kid, even though I would never play with him.

So anyway, the point is- if you are looking to buy some more completely useless and mis-targeted ad space, PETA, I think we can work something out. I may wear leather and eat meat, but I can appreciate you like NBC never will.

Because sometimes the levee just breaks

I try hard not to get too political. Because when I get political, I get scary and out of control and no one wants to be my friend (in fact- I am pretty sure my parents didn’t want to be my parents during the months preceding the election. But they’re republicans). But today wasn’t really about politics- which is what is going to make this administration different from the only ones I’ve ever known. It is why for the first time in a really long time I felt proud to be a part of this country. Because as pundits and commentators were listing the flaws of this country, the history of segregation, humiliation and degradation it was much more than textbook rhetoric- for the first time in my lifetime it was an acknowledgment of substantial growth and the good direction the country is headed in. Just as I am sure that things will get worse in the coming months- I am just as positive that things will get better because I believe in the person who’s job is to make it that way. And that isn’t about being a democrat or a republican, it’s about the future of this nation and how much I believe in it.

I watched the inauguration at Haru café with a bunch of my coworkers and I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. All morning I was bouncing in my chair, live streaming CNN and just waiting ( I tried to work- I really did, but that didn’t really happen). I really wished I was in New Orleans for this, because when I think of the disenfranchised and the voiceless I think of the Ninth Ward- which should convince any nonbeliever that racism and classism are still as alive as ever. Which was why it was fitting, and why I was especially touched, when Obama mentioned us and mentioned them and the importance of kindness of strangers when the levee breaks. It was especially important (and for me- quite moving) because although our former president, the president who resided over the crisis and didn’t get his boots wet, who failed to mention us in his State of the Union address that friends of mine watched from FEMA trailers and who basically forgot about us as soon as the camera crews left -our current one recognizes and acknowledges the importance of Katrina 3 and a half years later.

And to be honest- levees are sort of breaking in my life right now. And in a lot of people’s lives. The recession is real and it is affecting everyone and nothing is really stable or secure. As much as I love Obama, I was raised by a brilliant economist and I know better than to think our problems can be solved by legislation. Our economy is cyclical and there is no way to bypass a recession. But I also believe in the crisis of confidence and I think that has a lot more weight now – I believe that the government spending will may inspire people to spend again. But even moreso, I believe that the crisis of confidence in the administration, in the fear and distrust of our leaders will also be resolved in 2009. You cant prevent these things (recession, war, etc.) from happening but you can believe in something more, in deserving something more as a nation and believing the people in charge will do their best to give it to you. And that’s not about politics, its about your life- its about trusting someone to take you in when the levee breaks.

P.S.- I cant mention/write/speak about Obama without mentioning how FIERCE and amazing Michelle is and damn, girlfriend delivered today. I used to think that I loved her but now I’m pretty sure I want to be her in a way that is mildly creepy. I’m okay with it if you are (and if you aren’t – just kidding! I would never think something so weird…). I am so excited to see her dress tonight, and her plans for this administration, but mostly her dress.

P.P.S.- Didn’t you just MELT when Obama was too excited to properly state the oath? Like- he’s so composed and held together and then finally you see him lose his shit and it was AWESOME. This whole time he’s been sort of brushing the dirt of his shoulder and it was as if it just hit him and I love that he was laughing because that’s exactly what I would have done- laughing because it wasn’t even real .OMG I am still melting thinking about it.

P.P.P.S- Does anyone else just want to cuddle with Joe Biden? No? I am loving his speech at the luncheon. I really want him to be my grandpa (even though I love the ones I have- I am just greedy)

P.P.P.P.S.- The gay man in me was SQUEALING when Aretha Franklin came on. And that hat? Yes, please.

I Might Regret This Later

There is nothing like a trip to target to inspire some deep thoughts. My mom texted me (from downstairs) that she was going go go and asked, knowing how much i fucking love target, if i wanted to come with. now- for those of you lucky enough to not be in the northeast, let me explain that it is about 5 degrees outside and I proclaimed as I came home from work yesterday that I was not leaving the house for anything unless it got twenty degrees warmer (which would still be well below freezing, btw). but i went- because thats how much I love target. And as I waddled down the aisles (i was wearing three pairs of sweatpants), haphazardly placing things (Penelope, season 10 of Friends, Mario Party for the Wii, air fresheners, face wash, a hamper, a sweater) in the cart that I didn't have to pay for it hit me- I fucking LOVE living at home.

Now- I know this may seem like a slightly pathetic thing to say. Living at home with your parents after college still, for some people, has some sort of stigma. A mix of sympathy ("omg that SUCKS. i would hate to live with my parents") and judgement ("really? time to move out, loser"). But to those people I say- who made YOU chocolate chip pancakes with a side of love this morning? No one? Thats what I thought.

And really, I think the stigma is mostly in my head. Most of my friends moved back home with their parents, and if not, their parents support them financially. Just the other day I was reading an article on MSNBC about how people in their late 20s and early 30s are moving back home because- in case you havent heard- we're in a recession. Although the thought of having to move back home with my parents in my 30s is mildly horrifying, I can't say I don't understand it. Living with your parents is not only seriously cheap, but when you are down on your luck (which you have to be to move back home in your 30s), moving in with the people who have to love you unconditionally could be a great ego boost.

So, to help those people, my friends and myself come to terms with moving back home with their parents, I've created a list of reasons why living at home is the fucking boss.

Reason Number One: A Severely Reduced Cost of Living
Now, living at home is obviously cheaper, but in ways you can't even begin to imagine. When you don't have to pay for rent, groceries, utilities, bills or food, all of your income is expendable income. For someone like me, for which shopping is a low-grade and more expensive form of crack-cocaine, having only expandable income is dangerous and amazing at the same time. But for someone like me 4 months ago, who didn't have an income at all, it is literally the greatest thing ever. You don't even have to become accustomed to a cheaper lifestyle. In fact, its an upgrade in most circumstances because most parents don't live like college students. And, as a bonus, my parents like to buy me things, like movies and Wii games from Target. My mom will sometimes even just hand me $20 as I am walking out the door for no other reason than the fact that 22 years ago she pushed me out of her body in a sterile room while my father watched a Redskins game. For me- its economical. For them- its a financial burden that is a mix of their DNA.

Reason Number Two: An Immensely Easier Way of Life
When something breaks, or starts leaking or starts burrowing a nest into the attic space above your bed there are no more lengthy and tiring back and forth calls between landlord and you, landlord and plumber, plumber and you and again between you and landlord when you walk into the kitchen to get a granola bar and the plumber has shown up unannounced WITH A KEY and already made himself comfortable in your kitchen without even telling you. Now when something breaks, all I have to do is go downstairs and say "dad the toilet is running again!!!" and the problem is magically solved, as if there never was one to begin with. And, if I don't feel like going downstairs, a simple email will usually suffice ("Subject line: Your House is Falling Apart Through No Fault of My Own". Body Message: "A hole has appeared behind the door in the den because someone slammed the door after playing an infuriating game of Mario because, seriously, there is NO WAY TO BEAT that big brown monster in level 4, you can only run around it for hours and you know how much I hate running.")

Reason Number Three: Benny

My parents would never let me take him with me.


Reason Number Four: It's a Lot Different The Second Time Around

Now, having left my house the first time at the ripe old age of 17, my memories of living at home weren't quite so peaceful. I had a lot of feelings, and most of them were bad and made only worse by my parent's unconditional love and support. They were smothering my angsty spirit, preventing me from leaving the house in clothes that were too revealing, showing up drunk or getting a tongue ring. It was constant lying and curfews and "are you high?!" (yes) and who needs that in their life? This time around though- much different. Not only do my parents seem genuinely disinterested in what I am doing, who I am hanging out with or where I am going, they are openly accepting of my lifestyle choices. My mom tells strangers in line at the grocery store how cute my tattoo is and my dad, unlike my "friends" never lets me drink alone- because he's drinking too and probably more. They aren't smothering my spirit- they are enhancing it, or at the very least- ignoring it. I once came home completely wasted as my mom was getting up for the day and she cocked her head, looked at me and said "oh, you're alive. good." Yeah, it is good.

Reason Number 5: Built In Friends of Convenience

You know how you have friends who you will call if there's nothing else to do, but would never invite them to your birthday party? Well, meet Mom and Dad, the friends who are always there when there is nothing else to do. When there is no one around and you want to go to Applebees, split some half off appetizers and talk about your day- your parents probably don't have plans. And you know, its the craziest thing, but parents are people too and they have interesting things to say that may even add to the quality of your life. Things about their lives, about raising kid and being married, about coming of age in the 60's and having years of experience to impart unto you. And, if not, they will pay for your meal and maybe even give you $20, which is just as good anyway.

How Much Is Too Much?

While dealing with a very personal and rather disgusting health problem this week, I had an unexplainable urge to blog about it. Well, not completely unexplainable. It was disgusting and unbelievable, but also epic in many ways and I felt it had the right to be documented. Also, because of the type of problem- it would have been a hilarious blog post. And no- its not an STD.

Anyway, it got me thinking about what the line is between “funny blog post” and “too much information”. I assume its different for everyone, but I needed some guidance. As an avid blog reader, I turned to other blogs to see where their line was and well…there really wasn’t one. But that may be because of the type of blogs I read and not really because such a line doesn’t exist. For the mommyblogs I read at work the line is pretty clearly drawn (either that or nothing funny, offensive or sexual happens in your life after you have children- which is also likely). But this is not a mommyblog and- God willing-it never will be.

So I was left to turn inwardly, which is never a good solution. Anyone who knows me know that I am an overshare-er. Once I have met you for five minutes I assume you want to know about my menstrual cycle, my sex life, what I ate for dinner three nights ago, my very firm stance on mittens vs gloves, my undying love for Montel Williams, my secret desire to get hit by a NY city taxi, the medical history of my family etc. And, I assume you want to hear about it loudly. Because I am an overshare-er and an overspeaker- which is at times a deadly combination.

I blame this personality defect (or enhancement! Depending on how you look at it)on two things: 1. I am Jewish, which by very nature lends itself to being loud, abrasive and expressive. For further reference, please see every stereotype of a Jewish mother. And 2. I am from New Jersey, which by nature lends itself to being loud, abrasive and socially unaware. For further reference, please see the famed MTV documentary “True Life: I am a Jersey Shore Girl”.

Ironically though, I don’t have the same feeling about this very public blog about my very public life as I do about general social interactions. While I generally cannot keep myself in check during conversations with friends (or dates, or acquaintances, or relatives, or complete strangers who are unfortunate enough to be sitting near me), the blog is different. I can keep myself in check. I can remain composed. I can hit “delete”. There have been many times where I said something, immediately regretted it and was thankful that there was no video camera or stenographer following me around. This is one of the many reasons I would never want to go on the Real World or why I linger a few minutes rather than share an elevator ride with the SVP of my company- there is no verbal delete button and I am missing a brain-to-mouth filter.

An aside: The only exception to this is at work when I am talking to the media, but usually I have some sort of notes or outline or pitch to go off of. I am often impressed with my composure when I hang up the phone with a journalist and then I turn to my coworker to discuss the phone call and say something completely nonsensical and/or awkward…loudly. Maybe I should start hanging out with only reporters and editors?

Anyway, instead of writing a post about a rather disturbing, yet hilarious and interesting thing that happened to my body, instead I am writing about not writing about it. I am also going on the record as saying I probably wont ever write about sex- unless something totally hilarious happens and I just have to (which, for those of you who know my sexual history, is not out of the realm of possibility). I tried to think of something else to round it out to three, but that’s all I got. Apparently my line is straight vertical and runs from sex to body oddities.

In other news: its fucking cold in New York. Almost too cold to justify being alive. I am on some pretty heavy-duty antibiotics so I can’t drink (read: have fun). I got some…interesting…news from work this week that I don’t know how to process. Its supposed to snow tonight. I just spilled water all over my sweater...in front of our managing director. I have been so out of the loop since Saturday- thanks to snow and then deformity- that I have not done anything social since Friday and I miss my friends.

But, on the bright side of life: Jose is back in the states so I can call/text/harass/love him whenever I want from the safe distance of 1,000 miles. I finished that awful book and I am so angry at it that I cant even write a post about it- but the good news is I get to start my social media book. I got a full night of sleep last night which hasn’t happened in almost a week, thanks to aforementioned health problem. Asher comes back this weekend- FINALLY- and it’s a three day weekend which leaves even more time for making out. I somehow got free lunch today. I won iphone solitaire FOUR times on the way to work this morning (and I didn’t even play the whole train ride which I’m pretty sure makes me some sort of solitaire prodigy). I feel 3 million times better than I did yesterday. My favorite blogger ever just started updating again after a month long hiatus and I am not (okay, I totally am) embarrassed to say that I missed her. I am booking my ticket to New Orleans sometime this week (really). I am wearing thermal leggings under my work pants (or, as I prefer to call them because it’s funnier and I am secretly a 70 year old lady- long johns) and I don’t really know why that makes me happy- but it does.

Quality Week

Here I am again, blogging on a Saturday night like a winner. But, this time I have an excuse- snow. I was supposed to go to Motown with Aimee and Melissa, but it was too snowy. Then we were going to do a Weeds night (I WILL get through season three one day) but its too snowy to even drive over there. So now I am snowed in, watching Blades of Glory, flipping through People magazine. I am trying to will myself to finish this awful book that I plan on writing a post about but have to finish first, because I am one of those assholes who has to finish a book before they start the next, even though I have a pile of 4 or 5 good books I literally cannot wait to tear into and therefore sincerely resent this awful book even more (moment of self actualization: i just realized how lame is it to resent literature, but upon further reflection I realize that I really mean it and therefore will not delete it).

Anyway, this week was insanely busy. We are launching a big program for one of our new clients so we've been really busy working on that. Our media materials are crossing the wire on Tuesday so I predict next week to be even crazier than this one. I am really excited for this program though and I think our branding efforts for this client are going to be a lot of fun to work on, particularly as we get farther into it. For another client we have some pretty cool national hits in the making, so thats exciting as well. We also signed a new client this week and I dont think I will be working on it because its a corporate client, its a really interesting client with a lot of potential for some great outreach. I hope there will be some opportunity to work on it a little bit because I am really interested in what they do.

After work this week I went out basically every night which is definitely different for me. Mexican with Shayner on Monday, drinks with Sar on Tuesday, Thai with Mary on Wednesday (at this BOMB ass thai place right on my block that I had never even noticed before), and then last night was thai with Shayna again and one of her friends from school. After, we went to this bar (Dinky's? Ding Dong?), which was basically empty, decorated like a practice garage for teenaged boys who think they are in a "band", and sold us a 5-pack of Pabst for $10- or in one word "awesome". Good times with good people.

Also- I may have found an apt!! Its beautiful (from what I can tell), in Park Slope (which is one of my favorite areas of the city) right across from Prospect park, big closet and really affordable rent. And the girl who lives there (aka my potential roommate) sounds really normal and not like a psycho and I think expects nakedness to remain private (like in the shower or while boning). Also- she has a dog (yay!), it would be a straight shot commute and we are pretty much on the same move-in schedule. Anyway-- fingers crossed!

Oh- I watched Towelhead last Saturday night and holy shit I have never felt more uncomfortable as a result of the movie. I expected a good coming of age tale, mixed in with a little bit of the anti-war and "don't hate brown people" messages but no. It was about a 13 year old, having sex. With everyone, but particularly a fucking SEXY Aaron Eckhart and then getting smacked around by her dad for being a disgrace. And while there was a mild anti-war sentiment. And the "brown people are just like you and me" message was pretty clear-- brown, black, yellow, white, purple, we're all fucked up.

My problems with the movie were numerous- so much so that I have to talk them out. First of all, holy uncomfortable awkwardness, Batman. Watching a 13 year old realize her sexual identity in most movies is sort of quirky and adorable, stirring a nostalgia about the first time you realized you had boobs or that all of your friends had gotten their period and you still hadnt. Watching a 13 year old's hooha being shaved by her mom's bf in the first scene does not fit into any of those categories and certainly did not inspire any sort of nostalgia. That basically sets the stage for the entire movie, where she moves on from discovering her growing hair, to getting her period, to kissing, to foreplay, to having sex etc. And thats not part of the story line- that IS the story line. The whole time I was watching it it felt wrong- like the feds were going to bust in any moment or Chris Hansen was going to jump out of my closet (which would really be a dream come true for me, but thats a personality defect to explore in another post). Not only did the movie just feel wrong- it felt wrong for THREE HOURS. Also, Aaron Eckhart plays this sketchy neighbor who ends up having sex with her (of course) and he was an overall creep but HOLY SHIT did he look GOOD. I am not a fan of blondes (or white guys in general really) but damnit if he wasnt the sexiest statuatory rapist I've ever seen. Which made me even MORE uncomfortable that I found him attractive. Just thinking about it to write this posts makes me so uncomforatble I might have to shower after this.

Anyway-This post sucks. My creative energy has been zapped. I usually get the urge to blog at work, but I won't blog on their time so I have to wait until I get home and by then the ideas aren't really flowing anymore. Im going to go finish that book so hopefully I can rant about it tomorrow.