It’s surprisingly hard to turn away. Stumbling across a terribly confessional blog is like eavesdropping on an obnoxiously bad date.

I found my 1st hidden bug today! I have conducted numerous sweeps on residential properties and vehicles and not to mention my own home. It’s exciting to begin a search because I get so much adrenaline built up in hopes to actually locate some GOOD spy equipment. But as usual we end up telling the client they are good to go and we did not find anything. Not today…….I located one!

When we conduct a professional countermeasure sweep it takes time. It might take an hour or more to conduct a physical search on just a vehicle to make sure what we hit is an actual eavesdropping device or just another radio signal. Not only that, in most areas we sweep, the airways are flooded with radio signals and it’s not uncommon to get as many as a dozen or more false alerts in just one small area. Most of our searching is done by an electronic measures scanning device and after a full scan is completed a manual search is then completed.

If and when an employee of ECC locates an electronic eavesdropping device the client will be notified immediately. Before anyone removes the eavesdropping device photographs should be obtained of the area and the device for legal purposes. For legal and safety purposes ECC is not allowed to remove these devices for you.

Growing old, not growing up.

I saw an old man today. I watched him and listened to him as he rants about everything there is to rant about. His rants about the difference between the present generation and his were as if nonstop. From the looks of it, he’s the only one enjoying the conversation. Then it occurred to me that someday, somehow, we’re all gonna be like him. We’ll all grow gray hairs and perhaps, with a million more things to rant about. At some point we’ll get stuck and won’t be able to cope with the changes. I think it’s a phase we all have to go through. We’ll all stop growing up and begin growing old. We all have to accept that it is like death; it’s inevitable.

Yeah, I guess it is.

philly.com
IN MARTINS FERRY, Ohio, the police chief is going to jail.

A jury yesterday found suspended chief Barry Carpenter guilty of receiving stolen property, theft in office and tampering with evidence relating to a break-in at the home of Michelle Ross, the surrogate mother who carried twins for Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick. Carpenter was acquitted on charges of burglary and unauthorized use of property or services.

Carpenter put his head in his hands after the verdict was read.

Prosecutors alleged that Carpenter broke into Ross’ home in May, took items related to her pregnancy and the surrogacy and schemed with Police Chief Chad Dojack of neighboring Bridgeport to sell them to celebrity photographers.

Dojack faces trial in January.

Based on yesterday’s verdict, he may want to make a deal.

More…

I enter my apartment to the sound of screaming teenage girls outside my windows. How do I know these are the screams of teenagers, you ask? Only teenage girls have a scream that makes your hair stand on end, grates your nerves raw, and fills you with an ounce of nostalgia of the time when you, yes you, were once yourself a screaming teen girl. Suffice it to say, it’s a scream I know well.

So before I start thinking it’s a Genovesean situation, I step onto my fire escape and discover the source of the unbridled screams. I live above the Sunshine movie theater, and they’re having the New York premiere of the new Twilight movie, New Moon.

I sip Wild Turkey and watch the hilarity ensue:

This might be a weird moment to have realized this, but my life here is pretty damn cool.

(This Week’s Kind of a Big Deal )
_____________________________________________________

I had originally planned to write this morning’s blog about the joys of working on group projects in college. (And of course, by “joys,” I mean “dramatic soap opera, starring fully grown and even middle-aged adults who sling playground-level insults.”)

The idea for the post was inspired by the events of yesterday, when one of my beloved group members was, and I quote, “amazed that [I] could be so stupid.” But of course, plans change, as was the case with this article.

At 4:15 this morning, I was at QuikTrip getting gasoline on my way to the office. If you’re wondering why I was on my way to work at 4:15 a.m., it’s because I am, as my dad would say, “Busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest,” and I was trying to get a leg-up on my to-do list.

I was the only customer in the parking lot. Well, that’s what I thought; however, when I opened my car door and walked to the back for the customary pre-gasoline ritual, I noticed a white car directly behind me, parked in one of the employee parking spaces.

There were two people in the car — a male and a female. I’m not sure of their ages, but I think it was somewhere between “old enough to know better,” and “you should really be embarrassed right now.”

Is this what I have to do to avoid seeing this stuff?!

Trying not to eavesdrop, I focused on authorizing my debit card purchase and selecting the fuel type. Unfortunately, I have been gifted (or cursed, as the case may be) with amazing peripheral vision, which precluded me from avoiding the ghastly horror of two people having sex right there, in the tiny car, in the QuikTrip parking lot.

At this point, I should make you aware that I am, in general, a woefully awkward person. There are certain situations that I simply do not handle appropriately; this is even worse when I am nervous. I nearly tripped over the gas pump as I tried to flee from the scene and find sanctuary in Tulsa’s greatest asset: the QuikTrip coffee bar.

Never have I taken such meticulous, drawn-out great care in preparing a cup of coffee. I wanted to ensure that any intimate moments that might be taking place outside had concluded before I returned to my car.

But, in keeping with my personal theme of seeming to always encounter events in my life in the most awkward way possible, the two lovebirds were still at it — and now with fogged windows.

All I can say is, “Wow.” Two days ago I saw an ad campaign — for shoes — based on boobs, and now I’m seeing sex in a parking lot? What is happening in this country?! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here!

Newsflash, ladies: I think it goes without saying that any guy whose idea of romance is sex in a public place (that is very well-lit, mind you), in the front seat of a car, is NOT the ticket to a lasting relationship. However, if life is a highway, and winding up on YouTube an inevitable destination, consider behavior like this to be the carpool lane.

I’m only 28 years old… maybe that’s ancient in college-student years, but in general, I’m not that old. I consider myself to be fairly liberal and enthusiasctically celebratory of individual rights. “To each, his or her own,” right? 

But what about my rights? I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect NOT to be visually assaulted every time I turn around. I’m not even saying, “don’t have sex in your car.” What I am saying is, “If you’d like to have sex in your car, please drive to a location that is completely secluded, in order to protect the public from your shameless, grotesque display of (presumably) drunken coitus.”

Moreover, I don’t think that wildly inappropriate behavior is an expression of asserting yourself as a strong, independent woman, despite what current rhetoric seems to be conveying. (Don’t worry, I’m not sexist; I think it’s equally shameful for our male counterparts.)

Why do I feel like I’ve been catapulted into the stratosphere of “Back in My Day” -ness? If appreciating decency, and perhaps just a tiny pinch of modesty – for men and women – is wrong, I just don’t want to be right. If that qualifies me as “old-fashioned,” so be it.

You can say and do pretty much whatever you want in this country, which is part of what makes America awesome. But, I would like to propose this: while you’re at it, put some clothes on.

All those in favor?

Mobile spyware comes in all sorts of different options from different vendors. There are basic packages that allow you to simply monitor the phone numbers that are being called or received and take records of SMS messages that are both received and sent.

The next level of spyware includes the options above, but also include the option to make spycalls. A spycall is an ingenious feature that allows you to turn on the target phones microphone and allows you to hear everything that is going on in the immediate vicinty. Spycall works when the phone is not in use but still switched on. Once the monitor phone number is entered into the target phone, all the monitor has to do is dial the target phone’s number and a silent call is patched through with the ringer deactivated for the spycall.

A higher level of technical sophistication for spyware is the inclusion of GPS tracking. The target phone must already have GPS capabilities for the phone to work. In the event there is no GPS function, the nearest Cell Tower ID is used to triangulate a general location, but this requires that the monitor is familiar with the cell tower locations within the targets city.

Working on the US Department of Defenses array of approximately 24 satellites, Flexispy uses the signals from this system to relay tracking information to the secure web account which is included when the spyware is acquired. Polling frequency settings can be set to adjust the intervals at which signals are detected from the GPS satellite system. This can range anywhere from 10 seconds to once per hour.

The absolute highest level of Flexipsy mobile spyware actually allows for call tapping. The monitor can actually call into live conversations being made or received by the target. The call is patched through in silence during the target’s actual conversation and monitor is able to hear every single word in privacy. Although the call is silently patched in, the monitor still has the ability to speak during the conversation if they choose to, so it is always a good idea to mute the monitor telephone when tapping a cell call and listening in.

So to sum things up there are basicly 4 levels of product difference, and should be chosen upon consideration of your needs.

Woman sitting next to me in this cafe is totally right, her ex-husband “should be paying me, he’s paying his other wife, and he’s paying the other one. I mean, I should have known, he has 3 sons….His son ain’t gonna graduate. And I told him, I asked that question, and he asked me ‘What the hell you doing to my son?’ And that’s the problem with all three. The son, and the mother, and Mel — and he’s blaming Mel because he’s not living with her. And that’s what the son told her. The son doesn’t tell her. That was another argument we had. And he’s flipping this out and in and then coming to live with us. I said to him, don’t think his son isn’t disrespective. There are ground rules. I said no sleep overs. He can tell his girlfriend to sleep at home. I come home and someone is jumping out my window, and that’s not happening. And now his son won’t come. Mildred told me to take him home. She married Mel and gave him two kids under the assumption that they were gonna stay together. What was she thinking? You don’t think his mother — Mel’s mother — even told me, she says, ‘I told him’ don’t mess with [inaudible]‘” The guy responded “Now I see the magnitude of this”. 

Now, that was transcribed as best as was possible between sips of pomegranate iced tea (tastes like grape juice) and me only hearing snippets of the conversation. The transcriber takes no responsibility for any lack of  logical order or coherence.

I’m a sucker for eavesdropping on people’s shitty lives in coffee shops — and I’m talking really shitty, and sorta depressing, and really messy and unpleasant and pretty goddamn unbearable.  I mean, this lady’s situation to me just sounds like pretty much the worst thing I could imagine.  It sounds really, really horrible and stressful.   And, if I could just interject for a minute, I have to say that Mel sounds like a total dick, and this Mildred person, whoever she is, I feel like, on the one hand, maybe she should just be keeping out of the conversation between this lady and her ex-husband, who have enough to sort out on their own, but on the other hand maybe Mildred does have a point and it’s perhaps better that the son search more actively for employment and maybe move in with his girlfriend, who by the way sounds like a total skank. Mel’s mom, I think, really hits the nail on the head with her comments on Mel’s own recklessness and emotional immaturity. It’s regrettable that Mel feels he can strike such a precarious balance between his responsibilities as a father and those as a husband, as he appears to be producing a tremendous sense of disappointment among those who depend on him most. At the same time, however, exasperated woman telling this story next to me in this coffee shop should really confront the people in her life who are forcing her to make such stress-inducing decisions on issues irrelevant to her own happiness. Either way, I sorta feel like I don’t really see the magnitude of any of this at all, so I suspect that the guy talking to this lady might totally be lying. 

First of all, today is Veterans Day.  So, to all the soldiers fighting for our freedom all over the world, self salutes and honors you.

Now then:  It was such a beautiful day!

Self worked at the Writing Center, then had late lunch with Zack, Liza, and Jonathan in Tribu again — yum! Yuuumm! Self’s pants are so tight right now, she can hardly breathe!

She had lychee shake! And shared a bibingka with Zack!

And now she is home, giving her tummy a much-needed rest. Naturally, she begins wandering the Internet, ever in search of more news, more information, more laughs, more inspiration, more what-have-you. And she pauses for a while on Open.Salon.com. And peruses the list of posts. And here are a few of her favorites  (Asterisks are for the posts that made self laugh out loud at least once) :

1. Cartoon: Proust is Boring
2. Springsteen Robbed of Spot on NPR’s 50 Great Voices List
3. Involuntary Lactation & Other Lessons Learned in Jamaica*
4. When Geeks and Nerds Cross-Pollinate
5. Iraq: Ten Lessons Learned During My Brother’s Deployment*
6. My Son Says He is White (about Sammy Sosa’s alleged use of skin-whitening products)
7. Reflections on Two Military Cemeteries in France

P.S. to dear blog readers: Post # 5 and # 7 were written by the same person. Good going, Mr. von Hoffman!

Stay tuned.

Ape-Maul Victim Kin Seek Suit

(Spotted over the shoulder of a fellow reading his New York Post on November 5th.)

(Why does no one else think this is unbelievably hilarious?)

Lesson #8: “Choose a stress free life”

I was driving out of a parking ramp, downtown Minneapolis. My mind was full of details of the afternoon, and I felt full of stress as I drove down and around the ramp, trying to get out. As I approached the parking lot attendant’s booth, the ticket taker was on her cell phone talking as she’s taking tickets and giving change.

I drive up and give her my ticket. As I wait for the change, I seem to have no choice but to listen to her conversation. The booth window is open, I can feel the warm air from inside the booth as I hand her my ticket. The attendant has her phone wedged into her hat next to her right ear, apparently so that she can be ‘hands free’. She doesn’t miss a beat in her conversation while taking care of my parking fee. She actually doesn’t miss a beat in taking care of me either. I can hear that whomever she is talking to is female, but cannot make out the words. The attendant is saying something as I drive up, and then continues to make listening noises (“uh huh, hmmmm, oh-oh”) as she takes my ticket. As she hands me my change she says into the phone (and to me?), “Well, I’d just rather enjoy a stress free life, and so I’m choosing not to worry about it. Thank you. Bye Bye.” And I drove out of the parking ramp, pondering that statement.

Huh. Is stress a choice? I’m not sure. How we handle stress might be a choice. Or is it a skill? Is it learned behavior? I wonder about this as I’m driving out of the ramp. I’d just come from juvenile court, sitting in on a court hearing that was very disturbing. My heart was heavy and my head was full of information that I didn’t want in there. The parking lot attendant’s words ring in my ears….. “I’m choosing not to worry about it.” Hmmmm. Do I have a choice about this stress? Is this stress mine? Can I just choose not to worry about it?

I know that we all experience stress, and that individuals experience stress in different ways. I believe that some stress is good for us, some is not good. How do we know the difference? Is it actually the stress that is good or bad… or how we handle that stress. What is stress? Who gets to define it? Can we choose to handle stress differently than our norm? Sometimes stress is the impetus for us to change our behavior, to make a decision. Other times, stress is what ‘causes’ health problems in our bodies. When stress is related to our caring for others, we often think that if we’re not stressed, that we don’t care enough. Or that care is shown through our stress. This does not have to be true.

At the end of my drive, I had decided that I would try to choose to not be stressed about my recent experience at court, and my client’s situation. I spent time thinking about what would help me to feel less stress. I realized that none of what I was stressed about was within my control. And yet, I was able to come up with a few things that I could actually do about the situation that might lend support (which eased my stress). Having something concrete to do, helped reduce my stress. I also made the decision to do something relaxing (stress-free, if you will) that evening.

Questions to ponder:
• How do you handle stress? Do you have a way in which you can reduce your stress?
• Think about what causes you stress. Which of those situations do you have control over, and which do you not?
o For those you have control over, what steps can you take to reduce that stress or change that situation?
o For those situations that you have no control over, do you have any influence or something that could provide support? Are you willing to ‘let go’ of what you cannot control?
• Where in your body do you feel stress? What are you ‘warning signs’ that you can pay attention to?
• Make a list of some stress-free or stress reducing activities that you can do. Keep this list handy for when you are feeling overwhelmed and unsure of what to do.

Thanks for listening!
~ Sandi

Jim Carrey’s “A Christmas Carol” was No. 1 at the Box Office this weekend.  And, in spite of much hype, Kenny Ortega’s Michael Jackson movie, “This Is It,” still could not unseat the “Hannah Montana” movie as the highest-grossing concert movie of all time (according to BoxOfficeMojo.com)

On the basis of a review in Salon.com, self persuaded hubby to see “The Box.”  Afterwards, hubby declared it was the worst movie he had seen in some time.  And self just had to agree.  Though she did shed some automatic tears for Cameron Diaz at the end –  testament, self supposes, to the power of those great blue peeps!

If only self hadn’t been so distracted by the prominent sideburns on the guy who plays her husband.  If only they hadn’t had to introduce gobbledygook about NASA and Mars.  If only they’d stuck with the husband-and-wife we-have-no-money-and-here’s-a-guy-offering-us-a-million-bucks dilemma.  If only they’d introduced more creepy shots of Cameron Diaz’s stunted foot!  If only there hadn’t been a student played by an exceptionally bad actor laughing maniacally at Cameron’s husband during a reception!

Still, the afternoon was not a complete waste, for the following reasons:

• Self got to see six previews.
• One of these was of Benicio del Toro’s “Wolfman” movie.  After seeing the preview, self thinks Benicio del Toro was born to play the role of a “Wolfman,” (just as he was born to play an unintelligible character in “The Usual Suspects.”)
• Another was a preview of a very enjoyable-seeming movie about zombies, called “The Crazies.”
• There was another glimpse of Taylor Lautner bare-chested in a preview of “New Moon.”  Self got all excited because she recognized Michael Sheen (who played Tony Blair in “The Queen”) as one of the Vampire Council, or whatever you call those people who sit on fancy thrones in red capes in a setting very reminiscent of the Vatican.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

I’m reading a book right now where the author writes about the importance of listening in on the conversations of others as a way toward cultivating the kind of empathy necessary for being both a writer and a decent human being.  He qualifies his advice, of course, to include respect for the law and boundaries and moderation.  But one invariably does this thing, sitting in a coffee shop, waiting in line at the DMV or awaiting the start of a football game.  Here’s a conversation I overheard a few weeks ago at a coffee shop.  A guy who works for the city sanitation department found out that the lady seated next to me was a professor of psychology.  He said to her:

“I think you can tell a good counselor from a bad counselor by this one thing. A good counselor will give you skills and see if you use them. If you don’t use them, he will bottom-line you. He will tell you, ‘don’t come back until you do x, y and z.’ A bad one will keep seeing you because his ego is filled by him giving you all of his intellect. You see, he keeps getting paid.”

And now for something completely different. Self typing while keeping watchful eye on flat-screen HDTV (Pacquiao vs. Cotto on Nov. 14!), where she’s been watching Fox News (Ha Ha Ha!). She was on CNN since getting back from her errands, but it seemed to be repeating info she already knew, so she decided to “go lite.”

Then she landed on something on Salon.com, which declared women to be so upset over the PW “Top Ten Books of 2009″ List (The WHAAAT? Self didn’t even know there was such a list, she is such a philistine. Thank you, Salon.com!). Apparently, the Top Ten did not include a single book by a woman.

Okey-dokey, self now has to check out the list. Mostly boring books, let’s not quibble over getting on to such a list, women writers! Further down is a list of “Best Fiction” (not just Top 10), and this one self reads with real interest, for there is Zoe Heller’s new book, The Believers, and also Yiyun Li’s The Vagrants (WOW!! At the last AWP, self actually got to go up to this woman and profess her undying admiration. The poor woman was standing in a corridor of the Chicago Hilton when self cornered her, but she was very gracious). There is also Sarah Waters’ latest, The Little Stranger (Self’s been a Waters fan ever since Waters’ first novel, the hypnotic Fingersmith).

On to poetry: D. A. Powell’s new book, Chronic, is on the list. And, moreover, PW calls him “perhaps . . . his generation’s best poet.” And self still can’t get over the fact that she and Powell once had lunch in her neighborhood Japanese restaurant, Higuma on El Camino. And he professed to enjoy the food enormously. (Oh my goodness! D.A. Powell and self actually shared a Japanese lunch together!). And there are also The Collected Poems of C. P. Cavafy, who self grew to love after raiding Dear Departed Prof Ardi Davaran’s collection of Cavafy books!

And, let’s see, under Mystery self knows no one. Not one single writer. So, here are self’s favorite mystery writers, who this year apparently have produced no new work (or they would most assuredly have been on this PW list!):

• Jeffery Deaver
• Michael Dibdin
• Carl Hiaasen
• John Le Carré
• Henning Mankell  (There was one summer, a couple of years ago, when self read nothing but Henning Mankell books.  Thank goodness there were already a number that had been translated into English!)
• Ruth Rendell
• Alexander McCall Smith
• Donald E. Westlake

And that’s about all the books self has time to comment on at the moment, dear blog readers!  Stay tuned.

#7: “Be willing to do what you expect of others; beware of double standards.”
I was recently in the local grocery store studying the selection of coffee. A man and a woman were nearby studying the selection of beverages. The woman was picking up various drink options and reading the ingredients. The man (obviously her partner) complained loudly, “What the hell are you looking at that sh*t for? You can’t have any of that anyways, you have diabetes and have to watch what you eat and drink.” The woman stated, “I’m looking at what’s in the ingredients. The doctor told us that Coke isn’t good for either of us to drink.” She continued to study her options, selecting a container of crystal light. The man went on, “Come on, put that stuff down. We can’t afford to buy that crap anyways, so you’re just gonna have drink tap water.” By this time, their conversation had become an argument and contained more flowery words than I am putting in here. I selected my coffee choice and as I was leaving I heard the woman say, “If we can afford that 24 pack of Coke for you to drink, that we can afford something healthier for me to drink. If I have to drink tap water, then so do you.” The argument continued.

I walked away thinking about the double standard that the man had about them not being able to afford to buy beverages for her to drink, but that they could afford his choice of beverage. It made me think about the expectations we have of others, and how sometimes we don’t hold ourselves to those same expectations. I recalled times in the past where I’ve been indignant at the behavior of others, only to later recall that I’d done the same. Whether it’s traveling past a stopped line of traffic in the merge lane, talking directly to someone about a disagreement rather than to another, or even completing work – it’s all relative. Do you get angry at someone who cuts in front of you in line, and then find yourself doing it, “just this once, because you can’t be late and it’s important?” I think it’s easier for us to excuse our own behavior (or justify it), more than someone else’s. Why is it o.k. for us to judge other’s behavior, yet we get offended when someone questions ours?

I left the store with my groceries and some deep thoughts about my own thoughts and behavior. The conversation I’d overheard in the store reminded me that my frustration with others is often about my own self. Sometimes that frustration has more to do with my realizing that I’ve done (or not done) something I expect of others. It’s often easier for us to be angry or frustrated with someone else than with our own selves. Maybe, we would all have less conflict and be happier people if we were impeccable with our words and actions, holding ourselves to the same standards we expect of others. When I got home, I put the groceries away and then went to clean out the cats’ litter box.

Questions/thoughts to ponder:
o What are some of your pet peeves? Make a list. Then write down when is the last time you did one of them?
o What are some things you expect of others, that you don’t actually follow yourself?
o In what relationships have you created double standards (even in your own mind).
o What behaviors are you willing to change to live a life with more integrity?
o Next time you get frustrated with another (friend or complete stranger), examine the situation.

Thanks for listening!
~ Sandi

Brother Tommy, who is the best, absolutely the best brother in the whole world, just sent over (through his in-laws), 10 precious copies of The Lost Language.  Brother’s in-laws were staying in the City, so hubby had to rent a car to pick up the copies (since both our cars are being repaired!) Does anyone want to order? Self can do first come, first serve. She’ll bring the copies to this Saturday’s reading, as well. Then, whoever gets a copy will see that awful first story that had Dearest Mum reeling — BWAH HA HA HA — “Dumpster”

Let’s see, what did self do today?

1. She took out the trash.
2. She began reading only her second Precious Ramotswe mystery, In the Company of Cheerful Ladies (Her first was The Kalahari Typing School for Men) and is enjoying it so much! It occurs to self that if she wants to absolutely forestall any insomnia, she should perhaps quit reading World War II novels, or any books about the Holocaust, for they always make her angry and sad.  She went on quite a bender over the last one she finished, at 3 in the morning, Irene Nemirovsky’s Suite Francaise.
3. She watched “Oprah.” Hilary Swank was the guest. It occurs to self that Hilary Swank is exactly the kind of actress Oprah-watchers adore: she takes on roles with uplifting messages. She was married to Chad Lowe for many years and she divorced him without becoming tabloid fodder and is now dating a guy who is not a movie star, not a director, not glamorous. Perhaps self will relent and see “Amelia” after all? Especially as she herself could do with some “uplift” in the dull dull early weeks of November?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

So here I am in a coffee shop, listening to people talk. It’s supposed to be a good exercise for writers, eavesdropping on our poor, unsuspecting source material. But everyone in here who is talking is on a cell phone, so I can only get half-conversations.

The folks who aren’t on cell phones are trying to read or work on their laptops. Most of these people, including me, are annoyed at the cell phone yakkers. If they all talked at the same time and got it over with, it would be one thing. But no, it seems to be a tag-team effort. One person gets done, and another one makes a call. One woman is on her fourth call. Another has made only one call, but was very loud. She was quizzing the person on the other end of the line about an evening class. Then there’s the guy who has been talking nonstop since before I arrived. He’s making no attempt to contain his conversation, broadcasting it to the whole room. He is talking so constantly I wonder whether there is actually someone on the other end of the line, or if maybe he’s talking large to a turned-off phone so that the other customers will think he is the top banana of something or other. Though why it should matter is beyond me. We are not movers and shakers here. In fact, to be hanging out in a coffee shop at this time on a Wednesday hints at unemployment or a break between classes. (I am waiting for a friend to be done with a doctor appointment, after which I will drive him home.)

The loud woman’s conversation was so banal, I refuse to reconstruct it. On her fifth phone call, the first woman’s conversation goes something like this:

Yes.
Yes.
Having coffee.
A skim latte.
No one.
No.
I’m not here with anybody.
No.
I don’t-
But it’s-
…
Yes.
Yes.
I love you.
I. Love. You.
How many times do I have to say it?
Yes.
Fine.
I’ll be home later.

There was more, it seemed to go on forever, but it was all in the same vein and I feel I have fairly represented it here.

Hmmm, now that I’ve re-read it, maybe half a conversation can be better than a whole one, for an eavesdropping writer.

Happy Happy Halloween!

Here’s hoping a ton of kids come to self’s door tonight!

Let’s hope self gets to see at least one Octomom!!!

Weather is really lousy, and hubby just returned from the mechanic to say his car needs a new oil pan, whatever that is.  Quote:  “At least $600.”  Self tells hubby:  “Stop worrying about saving because at this rate, you can never win.”  Self knows whereof she speaks:  Just look at how often self’s uncles and aunts have declared bankruptcy in the last decade, and all of them have nicer cars than we do!

Anyhoo, while browsing Chowhound this morning, self stumbles on a thread (on the “Food Media and News”) board about

Worst Food Trends of the Last Decade

Apparently, Anthony Bourdain on a recent show decried two:

• The Cheesecake Factory
• Kobe beef

Self begs to differ on the Kobe beef (But, after all, she doesn’t know anything about it, never having once tasted a bite of this absolutely stunning beef, though she has heard that one of her brothers ordered a batch flown in from Japan, and then had a chef at one of Manila’s Japanese restaurants cook it for a special dinner.  Self was visiting at the time, but Dear Bro did not invite self.  She only heard about the dinner later, from Dearest Mum, and then she practically salivated over the description of that absolutely wonderful, melt-in-your-mouth beef), but she quite agrees on The Cheesecake Factory (Again, self, what do you know about it?  You have never even once stepped into the closest Cheesecake Factory, the one on University Avenue in Palo Alto, even though Dearest Mum has taken niece G and any number of relatives there, every time she visits!)

Another reader recommends “cupcakes.”  HA HA HA HA!  Self still remembers the line for “Sprinkles” in the Stanford Shopping Center, when Penny was visiting last year!  Took us 45 minutes to just get inside the store!

And there’s a new store devoted entirely to cupcakes that just opened in San Carlos!

And at Dean & De Luca’s when self was in New York, the line of people buying cupcakes was absolutely unbelievable!

OK, on to another topic which self has been wondering about ever since Dearest Mum boasted, a few weeks ago, that she can call the whole world over, for free.  Since then, self has heard that she’s been calling various aunts and uncles, almost every day (Not self, though:  self’s phone never rings).

The name of the wonderful device that has enabled this momentous and free calling is

Magic Jack

Apparently, someone installed it on Dearest Mum’s phone.

Let’s see, self spends about $30 on long distance calls every month, which includes self’s and hubby’s frequent calls to the Philippines.  So, total spending on long distance for a year would be $360.  Well, that’s actually quite a hefty savings, if all the properties of Magic Jack are indeed as described.

And in the mail a few days ago came a flyer advertising this wonderful device, that declared it was PC Magazine Editor’s Choice (Choice for what?  Alas, quote from PC Magazine does not explain, simply says:  “MagicJack’s call quality is amazing  –  almost too good to be true.”)

Ahhh, decisions, decisions.  Maybe self will give this a try?  Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

mailonsunday.co.uk
The Finchley Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares heading out of London. It leads traffic north past Lord’s Cricket Ground and the multimillion-pound houses of some of the country’s richest hedge-fund managers all the way to the M1. At three in the afternoon it’s always pretty slow going, but on this particular summer Monday the traffic was almost at a standstill.

This was partly because the normal three lanes going north had been cut down to one. But it was also because of drivers slowing down to a crawl so they could gawp at the massive police operation unfolding on a busy corner of the road.

Police vehicles – both cars and menacing armoured trucks – jammed up two lanes. Dozens of armed officers in bulletproof vests were standing ready, waiting to be called inside an anonymous-looking building. From the sheer manpower and weapons on display it looked like the capital was under another terrorist attack. But while this was the Metropolitan Police’s most ambitious operation in its 180-year history, it had nothing to do with national security. Only hours before, at a special briefing, teams from SCD6 (the Economic And Specialist Crime unit) and C019 (Specialist Firearms Command) hunkered down with technicians armed with angle grinders and drills. Also present were dog handlers, their animals trained to sniff out guns, drugs and explosives.

I almost never wake up hungry. I think this is because I’m not naturally a breakfast person.

I suppose my allegiant consumption of oats and/or yogurt messes every morning would suggest otherwise. But, I’m actually an amateur breakfast aficionada. Throughout high school I was an avid breakfast skipper; in college I progressed to a light breakfast eater. Though, if I forgot to grab my morning yogurt or apple on my way out the door, it was no big deal. I’m just not hungry in the morning.

However, since discovering the creative culinary capabilities that lie in each bowl of oats and container of yogurt, I’ve converted. While I still do not wake up hungry, I do rise with breakfast eagerness and enthusiasm. These days, you couldn’t pay me to skip my beloved B.

Except yesterday, I had to.

And, of course, on the one morning I had to skip breakfast, something extraordinary happened. Yes, I woke up hungry.

So why did I have to forego my a.m. fuel? I had an early appointment for a fitness evaluation at my new gym—and I was told not to eat, drink or exercise an hour beforehand.

In retrospect, I should have skipped the silly evaluation entirely because getting pinched, weighed and hit on all on an empty stomach did not set a good tone for my Monday. During my evaluation, I learned that—in the personal trainer’s words—I have “close to zero percent upper body strength.” And also that I “weigh more than I look.” Lovely.

I was frustrated with this for about 5 minutes until I spoke with one of my friends who pointed out the hilarity and absurdity of having “zero percent upper body strength.”

He queried, “How can you have zero percent upper body strength? That makes me think that you can’t even pick up a spoon. Like if someone asks you to hand them something, you can simply respond: ‘Sorry, can’t. I have zero percent upper body strength.’”

My friend’s sound logic assured me that I must have at least one percent upper body strength, and I’m okay with that.

I moved on to breakfast.

(Yea, when I said I skipped breakfast, I probably should have said I delayed breakfast.)

My appointment was only a half hour, and the moment I got home, I reversed any breakfast skippage.

Con cafe

And a pumpkin duo.

Pumpkie Pie Baked Apple Yogurt

Pumpkin Pie Yogurt (1 container plain greek yogurt, 1/2 cup pumpkin, maple syrup, cinnamon and pumpkin pie spice) topped with one chopped, “baked” gala and Fiber One.

It was a wondrous hybrid of pumpkin pie and apple pie—in their most bodacious breakfast form.

After all of your woes with Stonyfield’s Pumpkin Pie flavor, I’ll be sticking to the homemade version—SO GOOD!

My other pumpkin component was an always amazing microwave pumpkin pie. 

I forgot to save some greek yogurt for frosting—so I just threw some maple syrup and cinnamon on top.

These 3-minute-in-the-micro, addictively DELICIOUS pumpkin cakes never cease to astound me. If my weakling arms could lug more than two cans of pumpkin out of the grocery store at a time, I’d live on these.

The pumpkin duo did me well on the breakfast front, so I opted for an apple duo as my on-the-go lunch.

New Zealand Eve apple (type of Braeburn) and TJ’s This Apple Walks Into a Bar

I wasn’t really on-the-go, but I’d made a productivity date with my local Starbucks. I’m not sure why, but I’m a much more efficient writer/to-do list crosser-offer when I’m in a comfy Starbucks.

Maybe they pump a little productivity into the pumpkin spice lattes.

I got non-fat soy pumpkin latte. Iced because NYC brought the beautiful weather again. And grande because I’m an animal, and I can kill a tall in one sip.

I’m too awkward to bust out my camera in busy cafe—so I opted for a little sneaky webcam shot.

Success! As you can see, I was already halfway through my monster grande. ‘Twas perfectly pumpkiny—and definitely productivity prompting! I got mucho accomplished—but efficiency isn’t the only reason I enjoy a good Star$ session. It is, perhaps, one of the best people-watching grounds ever. Or, in yesterday’s case, eavesdropping grounds.

I now present to you, Overheard in Starbucks…

• Middle-aged woman on the phone: “It’s ironic that Pilates rhymes with biscotti.” This woman, much like Alanis, was never taught the proper definition of ironic.
• 20-something chica on a coffee date with cute boy: “Yea, I really want to see ‘Where the Wild Things Are.’ I heard it’s really gory, but Brad Pitt is supposed to be amazing!” Seriously? Who confuses Where the Wild Things Are with Inglourious Basterds? Poor cute boy.
• 80-year-old lady to her 85-year-old lady friend: “See you tomorrow, sex pot!” I liked her.
• 6-year-old to her mother: “Why can’t I drink coffee? Is there wine in it?” I really liked her.

I adore entertaining people.

After returning home from Starbucks, I felt sort of gypped in the lunch department. (I’m really not a bar person.) So, I made a quickie turkey and cheese sandwich.

I really wanted a grilled cheese and turkey sandwich—but neither toasters nor microwaves can produce those. So, I settled on a double vegan cheese turkey sandwich. Now there’s a little irony for you.

I’m really loving this vegan cheese; it’s thicker and gets more melty than standard deli American slices.

Dinner included one sliced cucumber marinated in a balsamic, honey and krazy salt combo for 24 hours.

Gah, I LOVE salty and sweet.

I also created the best bowl of savory oats. EVER.

Double Cheesy Egg Scrambly Oats

• I cooked 3/4 cup old-fashioned oats in 1 and 1/4 cup water and salt for 2 minutes. I then added a chopped up Laughing Cow wedge, and heated for an additional minute.
• In a separate bowl, I microwaved spinach, cherry tomatoes and 3 egg whites and another Laughing Cow for 3 minutes—stopping after each minute to stir.
• Plop cheesy veggie-packed eggs over cheesy oats. Top with sriracha. And devour the creamiest, cheesiest, most flavorful bowl of savory oats EVER.

No really, look at that corner. You can see the Laughing Cow melted into the oats.

I kid you not. I oohed and aaahed at every single bite. I’m going to do my best to keep switching things up—but this is, perhaps, my greatest microwave discovery. I’m fairly certain I could be completely content solely eating bowls of this and that microwave pumpkin pie. 

As in, I really wish I hadn’t just eaten lunch. Yo quiero esto ahora!

I didn’t think I’d have room for dessert, but alas…

My last bag of Kettle Corn—doused in cinnamon, brown sugar and salt. I’m curious to see how long I can go before giving in and restocking my microwaveable popcorn stash. If I can make it through the week, I will be thoroughly impressed.

Preguntas: What’s the most outrageous thing you’ve overheard in a cafe? Also, are you a breakfast person? If so, have you always been one?

Adios,

-Sarah

Yesterday, self learned that Zack was flying Delta/Northwest to Manila. Self’s eyebrows went waaaay high and she couldn’t help exclaiming, “What? After that stunt those two pilots pulled on the flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul?”

Since there was nothing on the Black Box that records activity in the cockpit, self shared with Z her ultimate theory for the pilots’ distraction: They were having wild crazy sex in the cockpit!

And now self learns from this site that the pilots claim they were “busy on their laptops.”

Oh, yeah, uh-huh, right.

Self can only imagine what those two were looking at, that made them miss their target airport by 150 miles.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Lesson #5: “Sometimes it’s good for us to NOT do as we please.”

We were visiting my dad in the hospital, the day he had a heart attack. He was in Cardiac ICU, where people talked in hushed tones. He had recently returned from an angiogram, where they went in through the femoral artery in his leg to take a peek at his heart. Dad’s heart wasn’t looking very good: 99% blockage in two arteries and 70% blockage in a third artery. He was hooked up to an IV machine, where various tubes were pumping medicine in through his veins. He was hooked up to several machines including a heart monitor. He was obviously not happy to be there nor to hear the news that they planned to do an open heart triple bypass surgery in the morning.

The nurse came in and told us we’d have to step out for awhile as she checked some things. We shuffled out of the room, and as the door was closing, I heard her say in a loud voice, “How are you doing today, Arnold?” And I heard Dad respond, “Normally I do as I please, but apparently not today.”

If Dad would’ve had his way that morning, mom never would have made him go to the emergency room. He apparently had argued with her about going until she made it clear that she was going to drive him to the emergency room whether he liked it or not. He didn’t want to go the hospital. While at the Fergus emergency room, they told him he needed to be transferred via ambulance to Fargo for cardiac care. He didn’t want to do that either. After the surgery was over and he was recovering, I asked dad if he was glad he went to the hospital and ended up having surgery (rather than dying of a heart attack at home). He said, “Oh, sure. Sometimes, it’s good for us to NOT do as we please, and I’m glad to be around for a little while longer”.

Questions/thoughts to ponder:
• What are you avoiding that might be good for you, but not pleasant?
• Whom in your life can see you sometimes more clearly than yourself?
• How often do you listen to the advice of your loved ones?
• Review your actions when you ‘do as you please’. Which of those are healthy and which are unhealthy?
• What would you have to give up if you followed advice of your loved ones on things you normally ignore?

Thanks for listening!
~ Sandi

unless you have listening devices hidden in your hair like this lady I found on Ventura Boulevard might–

Anyhow, my dad used to take me and my sister to the mall when it was his turn to look after us when mom was at work.  He said people watching would cause less eye strain than television, but I dunno with those 80’s day glo colors.   We’d sit on a bench and giggle about people walking by or listen in on them for a good laugh or two.

It’s a lot of fun to listen in on people, especially if you don’t think you understand their language. Hear that? learning foreign languages is good for you.

I found someone on the internet who is very good at using their ears- @shawngold.

Here’s a smattering of his latest – true insights into our current day humanity:

overheard:

When a GUY says, “I’m SEEING HER”, what he really MEANS is, I’M TOUCHING HER

If you WON’T open my DOOR and pull out my CHAIR, you can’t open MY LEGS and pull down MY PANTS

I’m 40 yrs old but I consider myself 37, becuase I don’t count the time I have been kept on hold for tech support.

Research shows MONOGAMOUS couples LIVE LONGER. And CHEATERS who DON’T get caught LIVE LONGER than those who DO get caught.

a POST OFFICE was shut down for a BOMB SCARE when a VIBRATOR in a package turned on. Police suspect a single woman acting alone.

I CAREFULLY told my parents I was GAY last THANKSGIVING. I said, “mom, could you please pass the gravy to a homosexual”.

I hear a MAN reaches his sexual PEAK at 18 and a WOMAN reaches hers at 35, But they must be talking about MINUTES.

I read PENGUINS MATE FOR LIFE. I think men wear Tuxedo’s at weddings as a TRIBUTE to Penguins.

simple, poignant humor. kudos to all you mysterious, random people Shawn has eavesdropped on for our behalves.