Sometimes, old guys ‘get’ the new world.

Dylan either understands the online world (which is pretty impressive for an old guy) or he has a great team of marketers and advisors. Either way, this was fun!

High holidays 2007. Continued.

Today, I had to go to our bank to make a deposit. The Columbia Bank. Got that? The Columbia Bank.

I put my check and deposit slip in the canister and send it on its way to the nice people inside the air conditioned space. And then I saw the flyer.

Customer Appreciation Day. We appreciate our customers. Join us for hot dogs, sodas, ice cream and entertainment. Saturday, September 22nd.

Yes, on Yom Kippur.

You know, the day of atonement? A day of fasting? You know the one.

Now I realize that in the real world, Jews are a serious minority. Around 1.7% if my calculations are correct.

In our county, the percentage is much higher – I’ve heard as high as 10%, but to be conservative, let’s say 7%. That’s about 20,000 Jews. (Our county population is 272,452.)

What were they thinking?

And when I asked the teller if they mostly appreciated their non-Jewish customers, how did she respond?

Yes, we know it’s Yom Kippur. (Blush)

And as I was ready to pull away, she said “Happy Holiday!” with a big smile.

Grrrrrr.

Are you in my network?

I read a great article the other day. Problem is, I can’t remember where. Seriously. I read hundreds of articles a day and keep up on dozens of industries. If I del.icio.us’d (is that a verb?) every great thing I read, I still wouldn’t be able to find it. So sorry to the brilliant author of the article which I now intend to discuss.

This guy (and I’m just assuming he’s a guy. why? hmmm. a great philosophical, sociological discussion for another day). Anyway, this guy wrote that Social Network is a misnomer. We all have a social networks. Mine includes you (thank you) and my Facebook group and LinkedIn group and Flickr and my online colleagues and my clients (since we communicate almost 100% via the Internet) and my family (hi, Amy!) and even my secret Vox site readers. Oh and my nonprofit cohorts. In reality, there are many, many more I’d add to that.

Is there anyone who only communicates to people in one company’s network? Not the teenagers. They’re on Facebook, IM, Myspace, text… have you ever seen those kids multitask? It puts me to shame. And that’s something.

So that’s what I’ve been thinking about all day. What can we start calling the Social Networks that better suits? Clubs? You can be a member of lots of different clubs. Some members overlap. Some don’t. Some are close friends. Some not. Okay…this might work.

Or a stop on a circuit. Or one of many circles in a Venn Diagram. Alright, I’ve gone too far.

But really. If you really think about what you do online, there are overlaps and connections between people and functionality and it’s extremely hard to define.

We each have integrated these technologies and applications into our lives. I, for one, have experimented with lots and lots of applications and systems. I have a username…. everywhere. Trust me. If you have an account somewhere, you can bet I do.

And now I’m freaking out. I want to consolidate, get more efficient. I’ve done all my trials and have my favorites. Functions have been added to some that make others irrelevant. You know what I mean.

I don’t know how I’ll ever find the time to do it. It’s a daunting task.

I need to downsize online.

Jott myself.

So I’m driving north on US Route 1 today after schlepping to Laurel to pick up some brochures for NCJW. They came out great. Thanks to a really great designer (and photographer!).

The music is playing, the windows are down. The temperature is a perfect 74 and sunny. And then I spotted it. The box in the road. And the Styrofoam all over the street.

I tried to avoid it. I did. (And I almost crashed into a really cute guy in a BMW, too.)

But I couldn’t do it. I had to run over…the Styrofoam.

You may not know that I have a very, extremely, serious aversion to Styrofoam. I hate it. (And I don’t use THAT word lightly.) And that sound. Oh, that sound. I get cold sweats. I swear, it’s true. I even get like that if I don’t hear it, but just see it.

So what ran through my head? All I kept thinking was “will it give me the sweats if it’s under the car?”

As you can imagine, I was stressed out.

And then I ran over the nasty stuff.

And I broke into a cold sweat.

Even I thought it was funny. So I picked up my phone and dialed Jott. “Who do you want to Jott?”, the nice computer lady asked.

“Jott Myself”, I said, and then “Styrofoam on the road still squeaks!”

As you may know, Jott transcribes the voicemail and emails it to me. Cool, huh?

Anyway, I made a quick stop at my favorite thrift shop. (Found nothing but did try on a very cool gray dress but it was too short.) Then drove home enjoying the beautiful day.

I was relaxed and happy. I’d almost forgotten about the events of earlier. And then I checked my email. And I got this, from Jott:

“Siren sound in the load still squeaks.”

Better safe than sorry.

I was a safety when I was a sixth grader. I remember that feeling – the power, the responsibility – that overcame me when I put on that belt. I was special.

Sure, my mom told me I was special all the time. But this was different. Now, the school administration thought I was special, too.

Looking back, I think it’s interesting which kids wanted to be safeties. Sure, there were your everyday goody-goodies. But that wasn’t all. Some of the kids were leaders. They were willing to take responsibilities and be in charge. You might call that being bossy. But I call it leadership development.

Reed got his safety belt today. He’s not a regular safety either. He’s a kindergarten helper. His job is to help the kindergartners get on the right bus every day. He is very excited. And proud.

I see big things for this kid.

A friend of mine is taking a poll – take it if you’d like. Pass it on if you want. Thanks!

My second husband’s first wife.

Being a second wife is not always easy. Even if the first wife only had a short stint.

Early on, Andrew would tell me things. Like Karen used to open a can of soda, drink only a few sips and leave the rest somewhere to get warm. So then, every fricking time I left a can of soda on the counter (or in the car or in the garage or on my desk) I realized that Andrew thought I was irresponsible…like Karen.

Or he might have mentioned, in passing, that she made some fabulous dish. And then, when I make lasagna that wiggles in the dish, I feel inferior. Or I’d hear that she was spontaneous and full of life. And secretly, I worried that he didn’t think I was all that.

One day, early on, he showed me a huge framed drawing that she had done. It was extremely odd, but technically amazing. Hard not to let my insecurities sneak out. And I heard that she was fun at parties. Okay, so am I. So that’s fine.

Anyway, he loved her. And the marriage exploded early on and didn’t last. He was young and had dreams and he was crushed.

Fortunately, he got up and got on with his life. He got his MBA from a fancy, schmancy school and then moved back east. Where, after a few years, he met me.

Yay.

Today, he googled her. Why?

Why not. Who knows. He just did.

And he found out that she died on August 28th. Died.

What?

The article said that she had a burst brain aneurysm several years ago, followed by a stroke in surgery. Her movement was restricted and (this part is especially sad, since she was an artist) her vision was impaired. She spent her last years in wheelchairs and rehab facilities.

A week or two before she died, she was diagnosed with cancer. Evidently, because of her other symptoms, it was undetected for some time.

The article mentions a brief marriage (that’s be my hub) and talks about her talent and her humor. I hate to say it, but she sounded like someone I’d like.

And I can say for sure, after reading the article in the St. Petersburg Times, that she was loved and will be missed.

Truth be told, I think even Andrew will miss her – even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly 20 years.

L’Shana Tova.

Happy New Year. It’s 5768 now and I keep writing 5767 on my checks. Ba da dum. Okay, not original. But it cracks me up every year. I can’t help myself.

I am not a religious person. I love being a part of the community and I love that we’re passing down thousands of years of traditions to our children. But I’m ambivalent about a lot of things – including going to services. I don’t find meaning in reading the prayers. Those are someone else’s words. I like the communal singing – but lately, they’ve changed some tunes and they are unfamiliar to me.

What I do love about services – especially on Rosh Hashanah – is knowing that there are people all over the country, all over the world reading the same words I am. Talk about being a part of a bigger community!

Every year, I go to Rosh Hashanah Services and wait to be inspired. And while I recognize that inspiration and motivation (and all that good stuff) comes from within, I think one role of the Rabbi should be to feed that. To give us something deep and important to consider. I want that. It’s the least he can do – after all, I showed up. Right?

Today’s sermon was, how can I say this nicely? Lackluster. He spoke about “Why Me?” and Lot and about a congregant who lost his vision and about a woman with breast cancer. It was fine. But not inspirational. Not food for thought. Not something I came home thinking about.

So the service continued. I spent some time looking around at the 50% of the congregation that fits in the sanctuary. We have split shifts because the congregation is so large. While looking around, I saw a lot of familiar faces and a lot of strangers. I saw a woman so obese that she couldn’t stand up and sit down when the Rabbi asked and a young man with a bum knee who couldn’t stand up. I was secretly envious. I don’t like that up and down stuff. It’s distracting. And frankly, I think it was written into the service to keep everyone awake – on their toes, one might say.

I saw some teenagers that I remember seeing as young children. Wow, they grew up so fast. And I saw people I really, really like and never seem to find the time to see.

I looked around the room, thinking what it will look like set up for my boys’ bar mitzvahs. And daydreaming about whether their weddings will be there or baby namings… Sigh…

And then the Rabbi said something that made me stop thinking about mitzvahs and future simchas.

He told us that our congregation has a new Torah in the ark.

It’s 400 years old.

From Iraq.

It came from Saveatorah.org They Locate and acquire Torahs which have survived the Holocaust from Eastern Europe and other locations throughout the world. They have them repaired and trace their history.

And then, they find them homes.

The Rabbi announced a seminar where we can learn about this new Torah.

Now that makes me think. That makes me excited. That is history.

I can hardly wait to find out more.

That stinks.

Okay. True confessions time.

Growing up, I never used deodorant, well almost never. I did use it at camp so I wouldn’t stand out as a loser who didn’t need deodorant. That’s why I started to shave, also, by the way. I’m so proud.

So my mom would buy me that girly deodorant – the brand everyone used. And it sat there on the shelf. Truth is, I didn’t stink.

I know, it’s hard to believe. But it’s true. I can’t stand that sweaty smell and I would’ve used it if I needed it – just for my own benefit.

But I didn’t need it.

Until about last year. At age 44.

That’s when my hormones started going berserk (I love that word) and now I actually use the stuff in my medicine cabinet.

When I first started needing it, I used Andrew’s roll-on Ban. It was fine. But wet. Know what I mean? Ewww. Then, I bought a Lady Speed Stick that says ‘won’t get white crap on your clothes’ but you know what? It does. Why would you say that on your package if it wasn’t true?

No wonder advertisers get a bad name.

Anyway, then, I got Secret Super Extra Power Gel That Also Won’t Get White Crap on Your Clothes. The gel is (okay, don’t laugh) kind of fun. It oozes out the top of the container. Hee hee.

And it doesn’t get white crap on my clothes. And it keeps me from smelling like a camel at the gym.

So yesterday got busy. I came home from the gym and ended up at my computer all day and into the evening.

When I got in the shower, the deodorant wouldn’t wash off. No seriously, it was weird.

So I decided that maybe it was because I was using fru-fru soap so I got the DEODORANT soap like what else – duh – that should wash off deodorant. It’s made specially for it. Right?

Wrong.

It didn’t work. I felt so sticky. Maybe I needed sandpaper.

So I yell (daintily, I’m sure) out for Andrew.

“Are you there? Does this happen to you? Does your deodorant get stuck on you?”

I waited for him to laugh. He didn’t.

“I use shampoo,” he yelled back.

“Really?” I asked.

“Your red is in boulders?” he answered.

“Excuse me? What boulders?”

“No, use my Head & Shoulders.”

And I did. And it worked.

Am I the only woman this has happened to? Why didn’t I know about this? I feel so…. out of touch!

Hallelujah (a haiku)

Wal-mart defines hell
Today it was heavenly
I found rain scent bleach