Sparkwood & 21

You Turn Me On to the Idea of Growing Old

That and a Healthy Dose of the Stubborns

This.

Today is going to be a good day.

It's only going to get up to 85 degrees today and there is a pleasant, almost ticklish breeze in the city. I bought a squirt bottle for kitten training that I aimed squarely at the one who likes to lick my eye to wake me this morning, which allowed me to sleep until 7 am. 7 am! Glorious.

My jeans fit well today. I feel sexy, even.

Then walking to work there was a man dragging a suitcase and holding a bubble machine and shouting, "You got troubles? I got bubbles!" Incandescent, temporary little fragile spheres floated around my hair and danced up my arm. If there is anything better to happen on a Wednesday at 8:49 in the morning in midtown Manhattan, we'll I've yet to experience it.

I bought a Sprite Zero and called it a pop.

Today is going to be a good day.

{photo by Rhett Maxwell}

Poor John

Trust Me

Trust your gut. They say that, but after 33 and three quarter years, let me repeat this refrain: Trust your gut.

That's Good Online Outreach

The Pilot Precise in question was the first of its kind I'd bought. Got it on a whim at the drugstore. Fell in love immediately and have been smitten ever since.

Then I saw this:

 
The Pilot people faved my tweet. Aw. Someone at the Pilot place clicked the little heart. 

Way to jump into my feedback loop with a simple little ego stroke, guys. Nice move. Now send me some pens. (Just kidding. In a way.)

Do Not Want: Google+

Let's talk about Google+ for a hot minute. Errbody else is, and I can't resist a good bandwagon.

I first learned of our new social media overlord's existence on Twitter, where I get most of my news. And my immediate reaction was, "Oh, fuck."

I ignored it for a couple of days. Stuck my fingers in my ears and sang LA, LA, LA. Didn't want to see it. Hoped it would go away.

No dice.

Soon I was getting notifications that I'd been added to these cultish-sounding Circles and I knew I had to shake hands with reality. Google+ is here.

It may not be here to stay, but dammit, it has parked its ass on the couch with a beer and your remote and it isn't hitting the door anytime soon.

Okay, fine, I admit it. Once I started getting notifications I wanted in. I like being FIRST! at new online servies, even if I discard them like an OK Cupid date if they don't put out. I wanted my wristband into the potentially happening new party just in case the venue became overrun.

I got my invite, walked past the rope, took a look around the club, saw a few familiar faces and a lot of white space. Then I left.

I'm scared to go back.

Google+ is, I fear, a part-time job I desperately don't want to take. But if I want to eat, I will. As a blogger, marketer, outreacher it is essential that I stay abreast in social media, new and old. I enjoy it, so really, no complaints, but with Google+ I am afraid it's going to be a huge project that ends up sucking major time.

My attention is already splintered by the likes of Google Reader, Facebook, Twitter, Foursquare, Instagram, and shall I go on? Will Google+ supplant all of those? Or will it become one more digital commitment?

I don't know. And I'm frightened to find out.

[Image via cambodia4kidsorg]

And I Never Saw Him Again

Once at a family gathering a young man I didn't recognize sat next to me on the couch. I was probably 9. He was probably 19.

We were watching television. A commercial for maxi pads came on the screen, a man's hand pouring electric blue water onto the pad.

"This is what they make women's magazines for," the teen boy turned to me. He said it as though he'd read it in a text book. I nodded and made a mental note.

35 Cents

In elementary school, there was this afternoon treat for kids whose parents could afford it. Every afternoon, around 2:15, kids who brought an extra 35 cents could leave class and stand in single file line that led to a milk room that held a cooler full of ice cream treats.

There were ice cream sandwiches, red, white and blue rocket-shaped popsicles and even Nutty Buddies, the wrapped cones with the chocolate-nut hats.

Once you handed over your quarter and a dime, you got to pick the ice cream treat you wanted to enjoy in the classroom during social studies. 

If you didn't bring an extra 35 cents, for whatever reason, you sat at your desk while your classmates left to pick out dazzling ice cream treats. Then you watched eat them when they got back.